It’s a simple story, sad but true. BJ walks by, carrying a plate of leftovers still steaming from a reheat in the microwave. I recognize the meal and yell, “Noooooo, Beej! Don’t eat that!” We act out this little play very, very often. Now, I must confess, every now and then it’s because he’s breaking into something I’m saving for MCO (Maryanne’s Consumption Only). But, more than likely, it’s because he’s partaking of something nuclear.
You see, my darling husband operates under the dangerous delusion that refrigerated food lives forever. His trusting nature leaves him vulnerable to aged-out leftovers that he deems immortal (“It’s still good…It’s been in the fridge!”). That’s why I am forced to clean out the refrigerator very often—not because I want to, not because I enjoy it, and certainly not because I’m a tidy person. I clean it out for my husband’s safety. If I ever decide to hasten his death, all I have to do is skip cleaning the fridge for a month and he’ll die from eating hairy, moldy taco salad. Just today, I was dismayed to discover he’d polished off last week’s corn on the cob. Delicious, he assured me. Deadly, I corrected him.
Newsflash, sweet and entertaining husband of mine: The refrigerator is not the fountain of youth for hamburgers looking to live forever. It’s not the pot of gold for chicken wings aspiring to immortality. It’s not even a shot of botox for spaghetti longing for lingering youthfulness. It’s just a climate-controlled portal that fends off inevitable decay for a couple days at most.
And such is the fleeting span of human existence. The saying “nothing lasts forever” is wrong, but not by much. There’s only one thing that survives this life…the souls of people. We can kick the can of eternity down the road for a few years, but before we know it, it’s time to bid this old world goodbye. Try as we might to gather up all of our possessions, accolades, and achievements, but all we’ll walk off the field with is our immortal soul.
Yep, like even the stoutest beef stew in the priciest fridge, my body will not live forever, and I’m okay with that. Don’t get me wrong—I love this life, and I am grateful for every precious moment of it. But what I’m finding increasingly awesome is the knowledge that my soul, the very me-est part of me, is immortal. It absolutely blows me away to think that I will be me for all of eternity. And because I have placed my full trust in Jesus Christ, the one-and-only Savior, I have the promise of eternity in a place called heaven. Not because I deserve it, not because I’m anything special—but because the God of the universe offers full pardon and forgiveness of sins for those who put their faith in Him.
The way I see it, it’s basically a win-win situation. This beautiful, heartbreaking, breathtaking life with Jesus by my side…and then happily ever after with Him throughout the ages. Maybe the Apostle Paul was onto something when he said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).
Yes indeed, we’re gonna peace on out of here one day. But in the meantime, may we who name the name of Jesus constantly pray, “Teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). May we see this precious life as an ever-shrinking space for us to share the love of God. And, diametrically opposite of milk gone bad or month-old lasagna, may we delight in the fact that our expiration date is just the beginning of life everlasting.
You see, my darling husband operates under the dangerous delusion that refrigerated food lives forever. His trusting nature leaves him vulnerable to aged-out leftovers that he deems immortal (“It’s still good…It’s been in the fridge!”). That’s why I am forced to clean out the refrigerator very often—not because I want to, not because I enjoy it, and certainly not because I’m a tidy person. I clean it out for my husband’s safety. If I ever decide to hasten his death, all I have to do is skip cleaning the fridge for a month and he’ll die from eating hairy, moldy taco salad. Just today, I was dismayed to discover he’d polished off last week’s corn on the cob. Delicious, he assured me. Deadly, I corrected him.
Newsflash, sweet and entertaining husband of mine: The refrigerator is not the fountain of youth for hamburgers looking to live forever. It’s not the pot of gold for chicken wings aspiring to immortality. It’s not even a shot of botox for spaghetti longing for lingering youthfulness. It’s just a climate-controlled portal that fends off inevitable decay for a couple days at most.
And such is the fleeting span of human existence. The saying “nothing lasts forever” is wrong, but not by much. There’s only one thing that survives this life…the souls of people. We can kick the can of eternity down the road for a few years, but before we know it, it’s time to bid this old world goodbye. Try as we might to gather up all of our possessions, accolades, and achievements, but all we’ll walk off the field with is our immortal soul.
Yep, like even the stoutest beef stew in the priciest fridge, my body will not live forever, and I’m okay with that. Don’t get me wrong—I love this life, and I am grateful for every precious moment of it. But what I’m finding increasingly awesome is the knowledge that my soul, the very me-est part of me, is immortal. It absolutely blows me away to think that I will be me for all of eternity. And because I have placed my full trust in Jesus Christ, the one-and-only Savior, I have the promise of eternity in a place called heaven. Not because I deserve it, not because I’m anything special—but because the God of the universe offers full pardon and forgiveness of sins for those who put their faith in Him.
The way I see it, it’s basically a win-win situation. This beautiful, heartbreaking, breathtaking life with Jesus by my side…and then happily ever after with Him throughout the ages. Maybe the Apostle Paul was onto something when he said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).
Yes indeed, we’re gonna peace on out of here one day. But in the meantime, may we who name the name of Jesus constantly pray, “Teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). May we see this precious life as an ever-shrinking space for us to share the love of God. And, diametrically opposite of milk gone bad or month-old lasagna, may we delight in the fact that our expiration date is just the beginning of life everlasting.
BY MARYANNE TUCK GRIMMETT
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