Reflections on Refrigerator Art

Between the ages of three and five I drew crayon pictures for my parents, and they put my drawings on the refrigerator. Here are some questions I have about the candidacy of my productions on display in the kitchen:

1: To what extent did my background and education factor into the selection of my pieces?
2: How much did they consider my choice of color in relation to the overall room?
3: Did my reputation as an artist influence their decision to hang my pieces?
4: Were they interested in the resale value of the art?

Or if perhaps these factors did not influence them, what motivated them to put my pictures on the refrigerator?

My parents were not poor and could have hung a reproduction of a Michelangelo or a Van Gogh. Did my parents view me as more talented than these famous artists? Or more prestigious?

My opinion on the matter is this: my artistic capabilities at four (which unlike wine have not improved over time) were in all honesty pathetic compared to the abilities of any professional artist. Without the ability to provide my parents with any worldly distinction in my art, what did I have to offer them?

My answer? Love. For love does not view anything through the same eyes as the world.

So here is the urgent question which we must ask ourselves as individuals before God: what worldly distinctions do we have to offer Him?

Could we build a tower to the heavens? Perhaps, but this is nothing in comparison to a tower he could construct in an instant. Could we paint a beautiful sunset? Certainly, but one as lovely as the sunset?

Like my artistic experiences as a child I find myself completely unable to build, construct, or produce anything that would pale in comparison to a similar work done by my Father in heaven. So what do I have to offer Him?

If the world is like the refrigerator God has provided to show the best of works, what criteria does He invoke in making His selections? Is there anything I could contribute to such a canvas?

My answer? Devotion.

The best contributors ... the ones who work not in oils and pastels but in trust and obedience ... may very well seem pathetic and uncomely to most people. Perhaps the ones God is the most pleased with were those martyrs who laid their lives down in the name of Jesus ... only to hear people say, "Their life has ended so needlessly ..." And, "They have missed out on so much ...".

Such a critique is like a guest visiting our home who - perhaps in confusion about the pictures on our refrigerator - said, "You could really find some much better art than that." But my parents would refuse to have it any other way.

My chances of being famous in life are slim, and I'll probably never be rich. But there is one way of excellence in which I may find some hope of contributing something meaningful, and that is love.