I am at Starbucks…

At the table next to me sit a father and son.

The dad, a middle aged man dressed in Levis, a Charger’s sweatshirt, and a baseball cap sketches an impressive representation of Spiderman. I am immediately fascinated – I would never have pegged this guy for an artist, and he is really good.

What really stole my heart though, is his little son. I would say he is around six years old. He has a sketchbook also. A mini-sketch book, about half the size of dad’s. Mind you, it is after 10pm. I do not know many dads who are even up that late, let alone drawing at Starbucks with their kid.

The son is trying to emulate what his dad drew. He squints his eyes in concentration. He leans over his artwork with his face almost touching the page as he draws. Every few minutes, in my peripheral vision, I see his little hand tap his dad’s larger hand and say, “Look Dad!”

Dad chuckles, nods and says, “Good job, son!” and then they return to their reverie.

It is obvious to me that Dad likes his solitude. Drawing is cathartic for him, much like writing is for me. However, he was happy to pause his own drawing to take the time to admire his son’s.

Throughout their drawing time there have been intermittent statements of, “Gosh, that was fast.” This was the son’s declaration that his pencil, which was just sharpened, had gone “dull.” Dad smiles and sharpens the pencil again, even though it did not really need it.

The boy has used several sheets of paper, which no doubt are expensive, during the time in which the father has worked on one.

Dad encouraged him, “Why don’t you spend extra time on this one, son. Make it a really good one. You can do it.”

To help him in his endeavor, the dad found a picture of Spiderman on his laptop, and said, “Draw this.” He gave him a visual; something to work towards.

People walk by and cannot help but notice the cuteness that is taking place next to me. (I am sure they would both cringe at that description. Good thing they will never know.)

The onlookers say, “Wow, you are so talented!” To which the father replies, “No, I just got into it because my son likes to draw so much. He is the real artist.” Humility. I like that.

I have a beaming smile on my face because this is such a clear and avid picture of our God, the Father.

He, of course, has all the skills of a seasoned Artist. Everything He makes turns into a masterpiece. He does not even need an eraser.

Our artwork, like the son’s, seems to be a work in progress. Quite messy. Full of mistakes. In desperate need of erasers.

We break pencils. We rip pages. We interrupt Dad while He is doing important work. We need Dad to come along and sharpen our tools because we have convinced ourselves that ours are dull.

But most of all, we just want Dad’s approval.

We tap on His big hand (prayer).

We say:

• “Dad, sharpen my pencil.” (Make me stronger…)
• “Dad, don’t look yet.” (I am a mess, and I do not yet want You to see…)
• “Dad, look what I did!” (Share my joy…)
• “Dad, what do you think?” (I need to know You love me, even if what I made is not good…)

Don’t you see the analogy?

What blessed my heart the most was the joy it brought the father to see his son so eager to please him.

It had absolutely nothing to do with what the son produced. It had everything to do with the time spent together.

And so it is with our Heavenly Father. Abba. Papa.

I am so much like this little boy. Impatient. Striving. Flawed. I get frustrated with my sketches. I do not like what they look like because they never seem good enough. I want to make something really good for my Dad. Something perfect. Something He will be proud of. A picture free of eraser marks; a paper without tares. 

God is so much like this dad. Patient. Kind. A Teacher. Instructive. Uplifting. Humble. He just smiles when He hears me say His name. He doesn’t mind when I tap on His hand, no matter what the reason is. Even though He knows I don’t need my pencil to be sharpened, He does it because it makes me feel secure. And like the Spiderman-drawing dad, my Dad just likes hanging out with me. Even if what I produce is far-from a work of art. Even though I can be insecure, and I try to hide myself from Him.

He knows that I am a work in progress. He knows I will make mistakes. He knows, because I am His. He knows because one day, 27.5 years ago He named me Jennifer Lynn, and spoke me into existence. I am His creation. He had a purpose in mind when my life began, but He is just as concerned with the process of my life, as He is with the final result. He is okay with my messiness. My life is like His constantly-continuing, endlessly-evolving Work of Art. As I fumble through the creative process of my life, He puts all of that other stuff aside, smiles, and watches me draw.

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