We Will Be Known

On the way to school, my 10-year-old muses, “I don’t want to die when I’m an old man, Mom.” I ask why, and he explains. “If I die when I’m an old man, Dad won’t recognize me when I get to heaven. Other people will say, ‘How could this be your son?'”

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Feel my throat tighten with that now familiar sadness. My eyes cloud with tears. Think, Mama. Pray, Mama. What to say?

I take a deep breath and begin to tell him the familiar story. The man who’s lost his Teacher and Friend. The One who appears unrecognized. The moment that sparks memory, affirms belonging, renews love. “See my hands. Touch my side. Believe.”

What will our bodies be like when they are transformed with immortality? I don’t really know. But if Jesus gives us any indication, I can be assured of this. We will know one another. Eyes will shine with recognition. We will be known, even if it is only through our scars.

“I have that scar on my head from when I fell,” he replies with relief. “Dad will remember the big pack of Oreos he gave me after we left the hospital. I still have the Snoopy he gave me too.” He’ll remember more than that, I assure him. How vast a memory has love.

Published by Clarissa Moll

Discovering grace in grief

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