This afternoon while I was washing up the hospital basins in Mother's bathroom after I had bathed her, I heard her whispering to Dad over her hospital bed. It was something about her pink robe he had bought her last month for her birthday. When I re-entered the room, I asked if that was what she wanted to wear when her new .part-time caregiver tries to help her get up. In a low, shaky voice, she said, "You know, when I meet Jesus. Do you think it is alright to wear that?"
I replied, "You can wear what you want." Dad reminded her that my sister-in-law Carol had been buried in the matching pantsuit she had made for her wedding to my brother just four months earlier from when she died in 1975.
I need to add that my mother is no closer to meeting Jesus than you or I, meaning that only God knows. I knew since she came home under hospice care in March that she had congestive heart failure. Somehow, she did not know, and I guess Dad had forgotten until the hospice office told him yesterday. Now, in her mind she is closer than ever to "meeting Jesus."
Of course, she meant she wants to be buried in that pink robe. It does not matter what we are "put away in" because when we do meet Him, we will be in glorified bodies. Our earthly shell in that casket is for the mourners left behind because, in fact, those of us who belong to Him will never be more alive than when we meet Him.