The Old Knight
A knight of old stood at St Peter’s gate, his armour rusted and battered from many blows reigning down on him in battle.
St Peter spoke and as he did the old knight dropped to one knee supporting his weight on his sword, as if in prayer, “You’ve killed have you not Sir Knight?” said St Peter.
The old knight looked up wearily, “I have St Peter,” the old knight said penitently.
“And what excuse have you for killing?” asked St Peter.
“I fought for God and freedom when tyrants opposed my people,” said the old knight.
“Killing is still killing,” St Peter said sternly.
“It is indeed,” said the old knight.
The old knight rose with difficulty, ready to accept his judgement and go to hell. As he stood there he started to shake uncontrollably.
“I see you fear the possibility of going to hell,” said St Peter.
“Not at all,” said the old knight softly.
“Then why do you shake so?” asked St Peter.
“A peculiar ailment called Parkinson’s disease afflicts me my Lord, so the court physician told me.”
St Peter put down his pen and his ledger and the gates of heaven swung open.
St Peters voice softened, “Why didn’t you say so old man, come in and rest, you’ve had enough of hell.”
As the old knight passed through the gate all his aches and shakes disappeared.
Adapted from the theme of an old poem I read somewhere a long time ago. I don't recall where, I just remember the sentiment about having had enough of hell.