Gospel Prism

Yesterday, we visited my aunt in San Jose (Brian’. For the first time, I got a chance to see his room. It had been completely cleaned and most of his things were put away. I opened his closet to see a few things hanging there: his jackets, a LeBron James jersey, some shirts, some neckties. I took some of his clothes and took a whiff, wanting to see if his smell was still present. His mom, with a sigh, told me that his distinct smell was no longer there in his room after a month’s time. His scent had passed along with his body. Or as James 4:14 says, “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.� Brian is now that mist which has vanished from this earth forever, scent and all.

And once again, I began to think about life and heaven. It is so strange to think that someone is no longer existent in this world. Paul writes in Philippians 3:20-21:

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, 21who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.

Boy, I cherish that in light of the finality of life on earth. To have been guaranteed through the work of God’s Son (Rom 6:23) a place with Him forever and ever, it is an unfathomable and unmatchable delight.

I am struck by the fact that one day everything about me will no longer reside here on earth. My thoughts will vanish. My scent will disappear. The aches and pains of a slowly decaying body will be gone. People, including my loved ones, will forget me, because it truly is the case with limited humans, out of sight, out of mind. I will be a faded memory one day here on earth. But at the same time, I will also be experiencing a joy that is indescribable and a satisfaction that no one on this earth can even come close to imagining. Now, I understand a bit of David’s thoughts in Psalm 139:6 when he says: “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.�