Therapy Bits

Thanks Christine for hosting the simply six minutes challenge!

Simply 6 Minutes – Welcome to the Challenge: 06/17/2025 – Stine Writing

This week our picture is of a construction worker working on the gates to heaven.

Ok here is my take.

Every morning, Hank laced up his steel-toed boots and hoisted his battered lunchbox onto his shoulder, same as he’d done for thirty-five years. But today was different. Today, he was working on the site. The Big One.

He didn’t know how he got the job. One minute he was patching concrete on a downtown overpass in Detroit, the next, a clipboard-wielding woman in a white jumpsuit appeared out of nowhere and said, “You’ve been reassigned. Heaven needs a gate repaired.”

He figured it was a joke. Until he blinked—and found himself standing on a cloud, surrounded by golden scaffolding.

The place shimmered like morning dew on polished marble. The air buzzed with peace. Not noise, not silence—peace, like the hum of a memory too good to forget. There were angels. Not harp-strumming caricatures, but foremen in celestial hard hats, barking orders in the voice of choirs.

“Name’s Hank,” he introduced himself, brushing his calloused hands on his jeans.

“Yeah, we know,” said the archangel Gabriel, tossing him a level. “One of the best. We need you on the east hinge. It’s sticking.”

The gate in question soared a hundred feet high and was made of something between pearl and starlight. It groaned every time it opened, letting souls in. Not broken—but tired. Old.

Hank ran his hand along the worn edge of the gate. “Ain’t a matter of fixing,” he muttered. “She just needs respect.”

He worked in silence for hours, tuning, oiling, welding with light instead of fire. It was a strange sensation—welding beams of forgiveness to support brackets of grace. But it made sense in a way only dead men understand.

“You’re not surprised to be here,” Gabriel noted, watching him work.

Hank shrugged. “Figured I’d end up somewhere after that bridge collapse. Just didn’t expect to clock in again.”

Gabriel gave a soft laugh. “You didn’t just die, Hank. You volunteered. You held that beam so your crew could get out. Sacrifices like that echo.”

When the final bolt slid into place, the gate swung open without a sound. Souls passed through: trembling children, weary old men, a mail carrier with a limp and a smile. Hank stood to the side, watching them enter.

“You coming in?” Gabriel asked.

Hank looked at his hands, cleaner than he remembered them. “Soon. But I think I’ll stay a while. This gate’s still got years left in her, but I want to make sure she opens easy.”

Gabriel nodded. “Then welcome to eternity, Hank. Heaven’s got a spot for builders too.”

And so, Hank stayed—guardian, greaser, welder of mercy. Not because the gate couldn’t open without him, but because it opened better with him there.