When I was younger, people would tell me about Jesus and His wonderworking power to wash me white as snow. “But I’m not all that dirty,” I would argue. “I take a bath almost every day.”
“Honey, it’s not that kind of washing we’re talking about,” Aunt Heather informed me.
My mother tried to explain to me in greater detail, but I think it confused me even more when she told me Jesus was washing off the blood. “But Mom, I haven’t even had a cut in a long time,” I answered. “It’s been two weeks since I fell off my bike.”
“Darling, it’s not that kind of blood I’m talking about,” she added to the mix.
One day, I was practicing writing my numbers and letters in cursive. No matter how hard I tried I kept messing up. My father saw my frustration and came over to the kitchen table where I was writing to ask me what was wrong. “No matter how hard I try I just can’t seem to make my Qs and Rs the way the teacher wants them to look,” I said, almost in tears.
Dad looked at the notebook page I was on and saw how many times I had written bad Qs and Rs all over the page. “Well that’s why you have the next page,” Dad said with a calm and gentle voice.
“What do you mean, Dad?” I asked, scrunching my nose and squinting my eyes.
Putting his hand my shoulder and giving me a little squeeze, he said, “The next page is a fresh start, Dylan; a clear white page with no mistakes on it. It’s your chance to do better than the last page.”
Suddenly, I felt like I made a connection to what my mom and aunt had tried to explain to me about Jesus. “So it’s like washing away my bad Qs and Rs and giving me the next white as snow page to work on? Like Jesus washes us clean from the bad things we’ve done?”
“Umm, yes, that’s exactly what it’s like.” Dad said, scrunching his nose and squinting his eyes. “How did you…umm, where in the world…who?”
“Mom and Aunt Heather.”
“Oh, well, yes, your next page analogy is very good.”
“What’s an analogy?”
“Practice those Qs and Rs, son,” Dad said, escaping into the living room.
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