God is like this . . .

This was an e-mail that was written in October sometime, I think.

If I could paint a picture of Jesus, I would paint Lety as she turns from washing the tables and smiles at me. Her dimples are deep pits in her round cheeks, her little white teeth flash at me, her dark eyes twinkle and her curls bob. “Hola, amiga,” she says, and reaches out her chubby arms to embrace me. As we hold each other tight, I can rest my chin on her head, trying to avoid disturbing the three or four sprouting ponytails that come out of the top of her head (she likes her hair like this although we’re not really sure why). I would somehow paint her warm little hands, her infectious giggle, her trusting eyes. A twenty-two year old with the mind of a child.

I would paint German riding in the back of the truck last Sabbath, looking seriously at me as we bounced up the mountain. The other children crowd around him, yelling, arguing, laughing, hanging on to the truck for dear life as we crash into potholes and splash through puddles. I would paint him in his raggedy jeans that are too big for him and are about to fall off, his untied and muddy shoes, his runny nose. I would paint him scampering over the bed of the truck to me and nestling down on my lap. I wish you could paint the way little boys smell (well, maybe it’s just as well that you can’t). I would paint his little hand holding my arm and his stubbly hair scratching my cheek.

I would paint Manuel learning to cook today in the kitchen with Jodi, his eyes lighted up, as they always are when he’s around food. I would paint Jodi patiently helping him measure the ingredients for cookies, first the oatmeal, then the baking powder, then the sugar. Carefully counting . . . uno, dos, tres . . . I would paint him standing on the folding chair, fighting manfully to keep his hands out of the dough (one moment his hand hovers over the bowl, then he snatches it away, then it creeps back, and he watches it, fascinated). Jodi helps him stir, and he looks up at me and grins with delight and surprise, as if to say, “Look! Look what I can do!”

In each child, God sends me a message of love. He says, I am the girl who looks forward to your smiles in the morning and who longs for a real “amiga” who will never leave her. I am the boy who searches for a safe place to rest when the world is topsy-turvy. I am the child who needs someone to teach him the most important lessons of love, trust and self-control. He says, “When you see one of the least of these, you see me” (Matt 25:40).

I wish I could paint a picture of Jesus on earth, encountering the multitude every day, seeing each person with the eyes of One who knows the innermost thoughts. I wonder what He would have thought of me, me with my little, sinsick soul, one girl in a crowd of more impressive people. If I could have been there, gazing at His face in awe and a little bit of fear that He would notice me (but hoping, hoping He would), when His eyes fell on me, what would He have seen? One who loves her neighbor, or one who is desperately in need of His love? One who has “arrived,” or one who longs to be changed? One who wants to show others their faults, or one who’s willing to learn her own from the Master Teacher? Would he see a strong spirit, full of pride and self-sufficiency, or a humble spirit, broken and willing to become anything He wants? I fear I would shrink from those eyes, unable to look into them, and just say, “Be merciful to me, a sinner.”

To this He would say (I would paint this if I could), “I am the Friend who will never leave you. I am the Safe Place you can come to for comfort and rest when your world is upside-down and inside out. I am the Teacher who will teach you life’s greatest lessons and help you learn love, trust, and self-control. I will train your hands and your heart to do and be what they should. Do not be afraid. I am.”

An impossible job, to paint these things. Maybe I don’t actually want to paint a picture. I can’t do the subject justice. If I can be part of a painting by the Master Painter, any part, I will be satisfied.

“And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”
2 Corinthians 3:18