A while back I blogged about the joyful simplicity of my (then) 2 year old, Elizabeth. The world to her was shapes and colors. She’s 4 now and is catching on to bigger realities.
The other day Elizabeth and I were reading The Jesus Story Bible, one of her favorite books. And God used her to open my eyes to a pretty simple, but stunning truth. I'm not sure exactly which story it was, but after we finished reading, Elizabeth, sitting in my lap, looked up at me and asked:
Mommy, Je-je-Jesus has feet, just like me?
Yes, sweetie. Yes, he does, I replied.
And wittle bitty hands like me?
Now holding back my laughter, Yes, and at some point he had little bitty hands like yours.
The rest of the day I couldn't help but to hold my little girl’s hands. And look at her little feet. God really dwelled among us. This incredibly simple observation dammed up the gnostic undercurrent that so forcefully wants to drag me away from the realness of God.
Jesus isn't merely this theological category that needs to be clearly defined. He is a person. A person who, in the fullness of time, God sent forth into the world. He really came. God made man. He lived a life I couldn't live. He fulfilled the law that I could only break. He died a death I deserved. He defeated the death that should have defeated me. He ascended into heaven where he is now seated at the right hand of the Father. He is victorious. He has brought me to God. To God, granting me access that I could never merit.
This exalted King over everything is my savior. I am united to him. And by grace, abiding in him forever. This one who was God with us — who is now God in us.
It’s a bigger reality than shapes and colors. We’re talking little bitty feet, and little bitty hands.