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Yesterday, I headed out to the nearest Starbucks, grabbed a tall drip with plenty of room, and sat down in a comfy corner to study the book of Joel and write a little bit. It was a much needed time to focus on God. As I was studying though, something in my periphery caught my eye - a caricature. An artist called Illy sat there to my left with a stack of blank paper and a fine-tip marker and slipped me a finished portrait he quickly created while I was unaware. It’s a great drawing. I especially like the Detroit skyline in the background.

Once I received my drawing, I noticed almost everyone else in the shop had their own portrait thanks to Illy. He continued working through the stack of paper as though each sheet was meant for someone in particular and he didn’t want them to miss out. Most people were amused with the drawings. Some, a little embarrassed, but gracious to let Illy practice his talent. Other patrons were not very impressed or pleased he would depict them on paper without warning. One departing customer shucked Illy’s extension to take their unfinished portrait saying, “That’s not me!”

There’s something provocative about seeing your own image…
through objective eyes.

When you don’t know you’re being drawn, you don’t have the chance to strike a pose and the artist has nothing to go on except what is clearly seen. To be honest, I didn’t like Illy’s portrait of myself when I first looked at it. I was caught off guard and thought, “Is that really what I look like?” With nothing more than smooth paper, a black marker, and many inconspicuous glances my way, this artist showed me how I still have my father’s eyes, my mother’s nose, and more often then not, a look on my face that reminds me of them both. This is me.

As I continue to look, I have to ask myself: Do I see Christ? Are my eyes looking with compassion? Is that exhaustion I see or is my strength being renewed? Would I approach this person in the picture if I had never met them before? Are there words of hope waiting on those lips? I must remember, many will never see Christ unless they see Him in me. This portrait is a gift revealing the truth and the reality of who I am.

And I’ll tell you what I do see… I see love.

1 Cor 13:12 | Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

Whenever I read my journal entries going back a couple of years or even look at my calendar and how I used to spend my time, I am amazed.  The way I look at the world and apply the idea of following Christ is constantly changing.  What I used to see as tantamount to life as a Christian is now peripheral, some of those periphery items are now front and center, and then there are all the new dimensions of Christ’s life I overlooked and have now only begun to understand.  I’ve eaten my words and I’ve reclaimed my words.  Things and ideas I wrote off are now being dusted off and restored in my heart.  Positions I formed into my personal platform have fallen under the weight and new ones will wait their turn.  It seems I’ve tried to look at Christianity as some sort of science for too long.  The science of prayer.  The science of mission.  The science of knowing God.  There is no such thing.  This is an art.

Likely thinking in formulaic, task-oriented ways, the disciples (like us) were probably overwhelmed hearing Jesus speak some of the time.  There are no bite-sized pieces of the Gospel, just as there are no bite-sized ways to sum up a life - especially the life of God.  God is not just about compassion, or evangelism, or prayer, or psychology, or medical care, childbirth, keeping rules, or breaking rules - yet, many of us would like to believe we’ve found the right science to study and master.  God cannot be mastered.  His love is unfathomable.  He is not just prose, He is poetry. And none of us will see Him or His kingdom unless we learn to look through a more panoramic lense.

Truly I tell you, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God.  (Luke 9:27)

When Jesus said this, He was encouraging (and challenging) the disciples (and us).  He says we can see the Kingdom of God before we actually arrive there completely - in God’s presence.  Some people will actually get there without physically dying.  But we don’t all have the opportunity.  Many people find life in Christ during their last breathing moments.  For some who have more time, life in Christ will still make little sense adjacent to the way most live or the way they are forced to live.  I think of Christ-followers in nations and cultures where faith in Jesus brings great difficulty and where the popular self-help and prosperity teachings of well-meaning preachers fail to translate.  These believers may never see the Kingdom as others will - they will only survive this life, but their great hope is in the God who made a way to reach them.

Those of us who have the opportunity to dive deep into the things of God shouldn’t waste the chance.  We can see His Kingdom now.  Will we work for it?

Questions I am asking myself:

• Do I study the Word of God with real desire to know God in the ways I’ll know Him in Heaven?
• Is my relationship with God like that of a friend I’ll visit someday (like a pilgrimage of sorts), or do I thrive on every moment I can spend in His presence?
• Can I live my life in an eternal way following after Jesus so the temporary kingdom of this world will look foolish?

The Kingdom of God is now.

Yesterday I found this gallery by Jack Radcliffe on Behance Network. The images are selections from photos of his daughter Alison he’s taken over the past 25 years. Take a moment and scroll through the pictures. They’re very well done. As you watch Alison through the years and kind of hear the story being told through these shots you’re likely to find a life of ups, downs, joy, and anguish. Alison has not led a simple, carefree life. Even in her smile you see a grimace of pain and over the span of three or four poses she passes from naive innocence to what I can only describe as the sharp edge of life. She has certainly not taken the safe and popular route, but you can also deduce that she has yet to find what she’s looking for. Her journey is still a very young one, spotted and distressed, but very beautiful. What reaches me most about these photos and the story they tell is how the photographer, Alison’s father, couldn’t help but capture the inner beauty he saw in his daughter. As she stood there with thick mascara, cigarette-in-mouth, with what looks like a boyfriend, he had to long for his little girl. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. In his eyes, she was just as beautiful as ever - and worthy to be captured on film.

As Ruth and I prepare for the arrival of our daughter Addison, I’ve been reflecting on my expectations for her. Little Addi will be a joy to me. I already know that. What I’m not so sure of is how I’ll handle all the growing up she’s planning on doing. While I know she will make me so proud, I also realize that she’ll make mistakes, she’ll fall in love a few hundred times, she’ll fall on her face and look up to me with tears in her eyes, which will then bring tears to my eyes. I can’t deny these things, they’re inevitable. But my prayer is that, as a father, I would be like Jack the photographer who, in my opinion, revealed something of the character of God as he photographed Alison over 25 years. He values her - regardless of the dress she’s wearing. Just as God continues to lavish His love upon us though we rarely return the favor so equitably, Addison will know her father as the one that always loves, always offers his hand, and always finds joy in his daughter.