Sammy and I were talking about Roger the other day, and my vanity kicked in, again.
“I hope when I get to heaven, I’m not too old for him,” I said. Roger was 36 when he died. I’m 47 now.
“I think you get to choose how you look,” said Sammy.
Was he trying to make me feel better, or is he right? I think it just won’t matter, but who really knows. The thing is, though, why is it so important to me?
Arguably, conceit is on a spectrum, and I’d say I’m about a quarter of the way over the arc. If our vanity is only activated during our Earthly life, what else will we leave behind when we go to heaven? Will we be able to smell? Hear? Gosh, I hope I can taste up there.
What if I live past 100? Are there looks past the Pearly gates? Maybe Sammy’s right, we get to choose what we look like in heaven, or maybe it doesn’t matter, just like it shouldn’t here on Earth.