I see him working every day, outside my kitchen window. In his paint-spattered clothes & stocking touque pulled low over his ears, coffee mug resting on his belly, he surveys his home, deciding where touches need to be made. I’ve seen him poring over magazines and paint samples in his car. I’ve seen him saw and hammer and paint. I’ve seen him give a friendly wave and word to all who pass by. His smile has the power to light up my day. And . . . I see a house that is drastically changed and absolutely beautiful already.
He reminds me of someone else: my Savior. Every day Jesus patiently, tenderly surveys the rough patches of my being. He brings them to light, little by little. He sands and saws and hammers and paints. He adorns me with new trimmings. He is making me more beautiful, for He has promised this, and will always keep his promises. He has done the work that demanded the ultimate strength – He has labored for my salvation. And He has not given up since then.
I tear my eyes from the window, and look at my own two hands – immersed in dishwater. I hear my baby cry. I think of the list that calls me from the other room.
And I want to be like Him.