Imago Dei

I'm standing in a corner of a large room near a large fake plant, holding my baby, and smiling quietly at the class of '22. I'm feeling shy, so I'm just here working up the courage to cross the room and talk to some of my old students. 

But there's no need. 

Because here they come. 

Students who now tower above me, parents who once authored some rather stressful emails, the 8th grade boy I have nothing in common with...

All coming to see me, talk, engage with my baby. 

Having Eliána has broken down so many barriers in ways I never would have imagined. 

But not just with people I once knew... everyone.

The girl with sunkissed hair, a flowery dress, licking a dripping ice cream cone: grinning from ear to ear at the sight of her.

The young, fit guys stopping for a coffee at the local bakery after a workout in the park, "Can we help you carry the stroller down the stairs?"

The couple on the park bench, melting into smiles at the sight of her. 

But also:

The withered old lady who takes five minutes of slow, methodical plodding in her squeaky sneakers to arrive at the parked stroller and beg for a peek.

The homeless man with skin leathery and crinkled from the sun, eyes scrunched as he smiles at her.

The shirtless drunk holding a sign, staggering after us in the park, slurring, "She's so cute!" 

And then:

The lady sweeping up last night's litter in the party district, bent over her broom, face filled with light as Eliána smiles at her. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit dirty, sweetie. I can't hold you." 

I turn, eyes big, as I see this lady...  only a few teeth, oozing eyes, smelling like the garbage she's sweeping. And Eli-girl looks her in the eyes, smiles, looks away, looks back and smiles even bigger, kicking her feet with delight. 

Because Eli recognizes something I am quick to forget. 

She recognizes the stamp, the imprint of the Creator on His creation. 

Imago Dei. 

God's image reflected in humanity. 

And when she smiles and engages with those who I would rather avoid, she's teaching me. 

Teaching me what it looks like to break down barriers. 

Teaching me what it looks like to love and extend the hospitality of a smile, of eye contact, and to acknowledge the humanity of each individual: the sweet little girl with the ice cream cone, and the disheveled lady sweeping the streets.

Teaching me the inherent worth of human life. 

Imago Dei in every human.

Out of the Boat

Trust is hard. And trusting Jesus in the midst of the uncertainties of new motherhood is extra hard. I keep finding myself returning to the story of Jesus walking on the water... and so here are my musings about trust, storms, and getting out of the boat:

After feeding the 5000, Jesus sent his disciples to row across the sea in the midst of a strong wind. He watched them struggle. He knew what was waiting for them, yet He sent them anyway.

He came to them walking on the water. It was almost like He was trying to scare them! He even "intended to pass them by" (Mark account). 

WHAT.

Yet He was waiting for them to call out to Him -- to acknowledge that they needed Him. 

And Peter did. 

But first He asked Jesus to prove His identity. How? 

"Lord, if it is you, tell me to come to you on the water."

Peter knew the Lord. He knew that invitation and challenge are quintessential to who Jesus is. 

He invites.

He challenges.

He calls out. 

"Follow me."

"You give them something to eat."

"Come."

He challenges so that we may step out of that boat. To experience the waves tickling our bare feet as we glide across them. To feel the defying of the natural, the embracing of the supernatural.

A moment Peter would never forget. 

And though his faith was "little," he still got out of the boat.

He experienced the supernatural. And he also experienced the closeness and presence of Christ when he faltered.

He knew Jesus deeper and more intimately because of that test.

He felt Jesus' arms around him, catching him, buoying him up even as the waves crashed around him.

He knew intimacy with Christ in a way that none of the other disciples would.

He recognized Jesus as Lord, and as the One with authority to save: 

"Lord save me!" 

This cry honors Jesus, even when said by lips of the doubter. 

"Help my unbelief!"

And so in the midst of the anxieties of new motherhood... the crests and troughs of the white-capped waves, I will cry out to Jesus, my Lord who saves.

I will cry out to the One who has already "slept in the boat" with us in the midst of the previous tempests of life. Who calmed the wind and the waves of each storm, but sent us knowingly into the next one... so that we could experience His presence, His peace, His challenge to walk with Him on the waves, and to cry out "Lord save me!" when we falter.

To trust Him deeper. 

He loves our daughter more than we could ever. 

He loves me more than I can imagine. 

He is a good Father.

He gives good gifts to His children. 

And through it all, He invites us to trust Him.