“I do not count the sufferings of our present life worthy of mention when compared with the glory that is to be revealed and bestowed upon us” (Rom. 8:18, 20th Century Trans.).
A remarkable incident occurred at a wedding in England. A young man of large wealth and high social position, who had been blinded by an accident when he was ten years old, and who won University honors in spite of his blindness, had won a beautiful bride, though he had never looked upon her face. A little while before his marriage, he submitted to a course of treatment by experts, and the climax came on the day of his wedding.
The day came, and the presents, and guests. There were present cabinet ministers and generals arid bishops and learned men and women. The bridegroom, dressed for the wedding, his eyes still shrouded in linen, drove to the church with his father, and the famous oculist met them in the vestry.
The bride entered the church on the arm of her white-haired father. So moved was she that she could hardly speak. Was her lover at last to see her face that others admired, but which he knew only through his delicate finger tips?
As she neared the altar, while the soft strains of the wedding march floated through the church, her eyes fell on a strange group. The father stood there with his son. Before the latter was the great oculist in the act of cutting away the last bandage.
The bridegroom took a step forward, with the spasmodic uncertainty of one who cannot believe that he is awake. A beam of rose-colored light from a pane in the chancel window fell across his face, but he did not seem to see it.
Did he see anything? Yes! Recovering in an instant his steadiness of mien, and with a dignity and joy never before seen in his face, he went forward to meet his bride. They looked into each other’s eyes, and one would have thought that his eyes would never wander from her face.
“At last!” she said. “At last!” he echoed solemnly, bowing his head. That was a: scene of great dramatic power, and no doubt of great joy, and is but a mere suggestion of what will actually take place in Heaven when the Christian who has been walking through this world of trial and sorrow, shall see Him face to face. (Streams in the Desert)
It was one of those probing theological talks one only has with preschoolers. She looked up with eyes that melt my heart and asked, “What does God look like Papa? Does He look like you?” I’m not sure why or how she included me in the question, but I was taken aback on both counts. What does God look like to a preschooler or anyone else for that matter? The best I could muster was to gesture toward brilliant sunset hues filtered through tree limbs on the horizon to our west and say, “God is more beautiful than that.”
My wife shared an old Dennis the Menace cartoon that bears the same sentiment. Dennis looks up, points to the sky and says, “If Heaven is that pretty on the bottom, think how it must look on top!” The best we can do here and now is appreciate God by comparison. One day, oh glorious day, we shall see Him and all else will pale in comparison.