Let me paint a picture for you.
A kindergartener comes home from school with an art project and hands it to his mom. If Mom is being completely honest with herself, she would have to admit she has no idea what the picture is of. So, she wagers a guess.
“What is it, Jimmy? Is it a hideous blob monster?”
To which Jimmy replies, “No, Mommy, it’s a picture of you.”
No matter how bad that art project is, where does it wind up? Mom takes that picture of her–with snakes for hair and fire coming out of her eyes–and takes a magnet and puts it on the refrigerator. She wants little Jimmy to know that she is proud of him. I didn’t realize how much my wife and I valued our kids’ art like that until recently.
We planted a church twenty-five years ago in San Diego, and this past year we decided to move to Glendale, Arizona. In July.
It was 115 degrees the day we moved in.
Why would any sane person do that? They would not. But we are not claiming to be sane. You see, we fell under the spell of a little tiny human aka our granddaughter. Noa, to be exact. For Noa, we moved. In July. (Did I mention the temperature?)
My wife was still unloading boxes six months after our move. Do you know how many boxes we had of our kids’ artwork? Seven. Seven boxes marked Memorabilia. Let me give you a few of the highlights.
Here’s a gem my daughter drew. I don’t remember her right arm being that much bigger than her left, but I do remember her having a nose.
In this next one, I’m guessing I’m the one on the left with four total strands of hair and she is the one on the left with pink skin and blue arms.
This was a poem my wife got for Mother’s Day. It got posted in my daughter’s classroom. I don’t think my wife was too thrilled that the number two characteristic on her list of qualities was “napper.”
We had so many boxes of these pictures. And guess what? They aren’t all that good. None of them will end up in a museum. Clearly, they are better than the pictures your kids drew (says every parent), but they ain’t all that great. But they each ended up on our refrigerator. Why?
It wasn’t the quality of the pictures that got them up there. It was the relationship. We delighted in them.
Most people can understand the delight a human parent has in putting up a little child’s artwork. Unfortunately, most people struggle with understanding how God, who’s considered our Heavenly Father, could love us like that. If that’s you, you are not alone. I get it.
I grew up with a dad that drank. He was not the funny alcoholic portrayed on television sitcoms. He was abusive and violent and hurtful.I am guessing I’m not the only one who has these misunderstandings about God. They sound like this:
“Why would a loving God ask us to fear him?”
“If God loves me so much, why is my life so filled with hard times?”
“If knowing God is so transformational, why am I still struggling with the same habits I did thirty years ago?”
Over the years, I have learned to trade my view of my earthly dad for an accurate view of my Heavenly Dad. I have come to realize that every time I approach him with a new question or concern, he answers my questions with care and compassion and leaves me with a greater knowledge of a daddy who loves me. If you need to trade out your old, antiquated view of an angry God waiting to punish you for one of a loving Heavenly Dad who believes in you, I have a book recommendation. Just so happens I wrote it.
I’ve spent the last twenty-five years as a pastor trying to answer these misunderstandings for myself and the people at my church. Over the years, I have gained a new perspective. God is no longer screaming at me every time I drop a wrench or paint outside the lines.
My Heavenly Dad is loving and gracious and is cheering for me.
If your view of God needs to go through a similar transformation, click on the link below and get to know this God that loves you so much your picture is on his refrigerator.
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