My slightly chubby orange cat Jasper is sitting on the rug next to my desk, biting his nails. My new kitten, Haven, is locked in the guest room so that Jasper can unwind from her never-ending assaults. My sweet, first (animal) child no longer acts like a large, aloof kitten, but sits and stares at nothing and, for the first time since he was six months old, curls up next to my head at night. Haven, on the other hand, loves everyone and yells at the top of her tiny lungs whenever she is forced to spend time alone.

I adopted little Miss Haven Gray less than two weeks ago, and I’ve been splitting my time between her rambunctiousness and Jasper’s quiet confusion. A few days ago, looking at Haven sleeping on my lap on her back, I marveled at how different two animals of the same species can be. Experienced pet owners might ask me why I would expect it to be otherwise, but the distinct personalities of my two cats amaze me. I’ve pondered the eternal significance of human personalities for a long time. (I recorded some of my musings in https://before-the-fire.com/2021/04/29/is-it-just-me/). Today I realized my furry little brood has offered some clarity.

Whenever I have read or studied parts of the Bible that speak of our old self as falling away, concern flickers in my mind.  First Corinthians 15:51-53 says that, at the end, the “dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.” Earthly relationships will fade away with the old creation, no one will marry or be married, and all our actions will be overflowing with gratitude and praise. But if such a dramatic change occurs, where does that leave our personalities as they developed here on earth? Why should I look forward to heaven if it won’t even be me there? It seems like someone else, a new person, will live in heaven in place of me.

I’ve just started studying the Gospel of Matthew with my Bible study group and Jesus’ words are shifting my perspective, as they usually do. It came to me while I was driving past a beautiful tangle of wildflowers near my house. Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount that though the lilies of the field neither toil nor spin, they are clad with beauty far greater than King Solomon in all his splendor. And the birds – each is individually known and cared for by the Father God. He sees the fall of a sparrow. But are we not more than the grass of the field or the birds of the air?

Usually, this passage makes me think of the perfection and beauty of God’s creation and our place in it as God’s stewards. Pondering Matthew 6:25-32 has shown me a different facet of its truth. Haven and Jasper, lowly dumpster-born balls of fur and claws that they are, have clearly distinct personalities – given to them by the same God I pray to everyday. If God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow thrown into the oven, how much more will he provide for us? And if God gives cats marvelously different personalities, how much more will he distinguish each one of his children? If it’s important enough that cats are given individual personalities, it must be even more important to God to mark each of us as individuals. And if God has marked each of us as a distinct, beloved child – when we are not destined to be thrown into the fire – why would he give us varied personalities and gifts that will perish with this world?

Maybe this isn’t comforting to you, or even relevant, but the more I learn of each believer being made more like Christ every day, I am encouraged. It’s easy for me to think, well, if we’re all eventually going to be made like Christ, then everything about me will be wiped away. As you can see, I think my understanding of personality needs a little more context. I’ve been assuming that my sense of self is inextricably linked to my sinful mind, heart, and body. But is it?

The grass serves its purpose in creation and is then destroyed, only to be renewed the next season. We, though we will experience the refining fire of the Lord, will not be destroyed. The apostle Paul says we will put on the robes of heaven over our old self. I wonder if, instead of a tangle of personality and sin, we are like precious silver statues left in a pawn shop’s back closet for years. My sinful life and the personality which has formed throughout it may look intertwined, but all those statues need to shine is a little silver polish and a willing hand.

God, as he refines us, doesn’t burn us to ash and then start over, though he could. Instead, he polishes, sometimes gently, sometimes not. The tarnish of the world will be erased, as if it was never there, and I, an image bearer of God, granted by him a precious uniqueness, will become more myself than I’ve ever been. He sees the fall of every sparrow, and he knows exactly how many clovers are in my yard. He even knows the number of hairs on my head. I’m a fool for thinking that God’s love, as I experience it here during the last days, will not be surpassed by the love of the Father when I see him face to face. I guess the question is, do I trust that God keeps his lavish promises? Until then, tarnish and all, I will pray, I believe! Help my unbelief!

I know all the birds of the hills,
and all that moves in the field is mine.
Psalm 50:11