I took a recent emergency trip to the hospital—Oh joy! Now, thankfully, I’m home recovering, eating real food, and doing fine. As I lay there alone in the quiet of the room, I reflected—or was I ruminating?—as one does in a hospital room, on the fleeting nature of life. My IV replenishment, a surprisingly good Jell-O, plus the cheery nurse’s chorus of “time to check your vitals!” helped center my thoughts and got me thinking about what really lasts beyond our time here. I considered how quickly family histories fade, though for believers, an eternal light awaits that never fades. Ask folks (or me!) the first name of any great-grandparent, what they did for a living, or whether they were Christian, and you’ll likely get blank stares—or, at best, an “I think their name was…” 

This is the way of the world—lives fleet and years fade. Yet, I found no despair in any of this. Instead, I was uplifted by an overriding view, the one truth that outlasts life’s fleeting years: When we close our eyes here for the last time and reopen them in eternity, that moment is what matters most. 

I’m speaking of Heaven.

In that hospital bed, I felt God’s peace. I realized nothing else matters in that moment we all face. No achievement—trophy, bank account, or legacy—outshines the hope of awakening in Heaven with God, a place of endless love and wonder. This is why our cherished moments of walking together in love can only carry us so far. We strive to love our neighbors as ourselves, to offer our care, but each person must face the threshold of eternity alone. Each person’s hope rests on God’s promises of Heaven: “For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor 5:1).

Now at home, my heart fills with gratitude for my recovery (and for the comfort of home-cooked meals, and family laughter, and swapping hospital gowns for more sensible clothes). I strive to hold the clarity I found in that hospital bed. Admittedly, it fades, but this remains: As Jesus’ followers, our greatest gift to others is praying that loved ones join us in Heaven someday. For we hold fast to our Savior’s promise to all who follow Him: “In my Father’s house are many rooms… I am going there to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2-3).

I hope this encourages you to lift up a loved one in prayer today, trusting Christ to guide them to their eternal home.

Kevin Murray
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