My friend is convinced she has only two or three years left as a guest on planet Earth. She is oddly calm about it. After our conversation, I thought of what I should have said: doesn’t it worry you? Being extinguished?

I know from past talks what she would have replied: “No. Why would it? It’s just like being asleep forever, but without the dreams.” Oblivion, in other words.

“But,” I would have said, “what if you are wrong? What if you find yourself face to face with God? Could you look into those eyes, that face of perfect holiness, and not turn away in shame, trying desperately to cover your exposed self, reaching for the nearest fig leaf?”

She would likely have said: “If God is good and kind as Christians say he is, he will see that I am basically good too. I’ve always tried to do my best. I’ve never robbed anyone, never murdered anyone. I’ve always worked hard. I’ve given to charity.”

To which I probably wouldn’t have said: “But the entire architecture of your psychology is built on shame and your avoidance of it. Doesn’t that suggest your spirit knows it has a problem, that somewhere deep inside a part of you knows things are not right?”

We paint pretty pictures of ourselves on the glass so the mirror won’t show our true selves. Regardless of what we consciously allow ourselves to believe, doesn’t some inner part know how this transaction really works?

I cannot look God in the eye without crumpling into a whimpering heap of fear and shame, because I know—better than I can admit—how awful my true self is. In that moment, would I not see, so very clearly, how much I need Jesus?