Have you ever looked at a picture and wondered, “What was he or she thinking when they created that?”
I was babysitting my granddaughter one afternoon and she insisted on drawing a picture of me. I gave her a clean sheet of paper and a bucket full of crayons and markers and asked her to create a masterpiece. She sat at the kitchen table while I silently observed and began to prepare dinner. I made sure I turned my face in different directions so that she could see me from all sides; after all, this was a picture of me and I wanted to make sure that she portrayed the best image on her canvas.
Her little hand reached into the bucket several times and pulled out one color after the next to fill the empty sheet. All of a sudden, she gasped, “Grandma, I can’t find blue!” Knowing there were plenty of colors in the bucket, I went to her side to help her look. I must have found eight different shades of blue but they were all rejected for being the wrong color. “What kind of blue are you looking for?” I asked. “You know grandma, your favorite color of blue.” She was right, I had told her that my favorite shade of blue was that of the sky and it wasn’t in the bucket. Almost in tears she went to the drawer in the family room in search of the perfect shade of blue. Knowing that the color she was looking for wouldn’t be found; I quickly noted that one of the shades in her bucket was more beautiful than any blue sky. “Are you sure Grandma?” she said. “Positive” I answered.
Several minutes later she unveiled her work of art and much to my surprise she had drawn a picture of the back yard and my garden. And in the background was the perfect shade of blue rolling upward over the wooden fence. Her idea of a picture of me was not of my face or even my structure but of our common interest. After all, that’s where we spend a lot of time together. There in her picture were the flowers that we planted from seedlings and the vegetables that we picked to prepare the perfect salad. But more than that was a portrait of the place where our memories are made.
In a swift moment, I was also reminded how differently we see ourselves from that of our Creator. I’m certain that God doesn’t care about the wrinkles around my eyes or whether my hair is combed; neither does my granddaughter. He gave me the perfect shade of blue sky to worship Him while tending my garden with someone I love dearly. He gave me those little hands that add the special soil called memories to work alongside. He created me to know Him, love Him, and to share His Son Jesus with others.
Now when I look at other portraits I have to wonder what was on the mind of the creator as he or she masterfully created their work of art or as they snapped the picture while looking through the lens of their camera. Was it the image they had in their mind or the Image they held in their heart that made it a work of art?
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