"The Farmer in the Dell," 8x10, oil on panel.
This is Joshua, my nephew, also known as “Josh,” “The Professor,” “Troubleman,” and sometimes “Goob.”
As you may have gathered from his nicknames, Josh is in the prime of toddlerhood. He’s a curious little guy—and I don’t just mean “curious” in that he studies everything, (hence the “professor” moniker,) but also in his endearing peculiarity. For example, Josh likes to reorganize things with an unpredictable precision. Toy airplanes go in the tupperware cabinet, matchbox cars most certainly belong in shoes, and if it can be stored in multiple pieces, it should be.
Josh is goofy and sweet, chaotic and methodical (which seems contradictory, but it’s true). And as you may also have gathered, Josh is not very good for productivity.
In the reference photo for this painting, Josh’s mama was out working in the garden, so this capable little fellow grabbed a shovel and took up the mantle of project supervisor.
See, another thing about Joshua is that, if you’re one of his people, he just wants to be with you. He doesn’t really ask for entertainment or attention, he just wants to be in your presence—preferably touching. And when he sidles up to you, his tiny frame overflowing with a simple, sincere affection, you melt.
No one feels this more, I’m sure, than Josh’s parents. I was thinking about this as I watched him holding that shovel, pointing and babbling while his mom worked. If Josh were getting a performance review, it would probably say something like “He has the heart, but he’s not very helpful. Also he keeps putting rocks in his pockets.”
But Josh’s mom doesn’t care. She is delighted that he delights in her presence.
Childhood Development 101
Do you know how often Jesus’ followers are referred to as “little children” in the New Testament? I counted eleven. There is a very real, tender love present in Jesus’ interaction with children (Luke 18:16), and I don’t think it’s a mistake that He would refer to his followers by that name.
The family unit, including the relationship between parent and child, was designed to reflect elements of God’s relationship with us (Eph. 3:14). In fact, Jesus even said that “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3). There’s a lot of wisdom in Josh’s childlike instinct to simply abide.
For whatever reason, that’s really hard for me to synthesize. My natural inclination leads me to feel like I have to prove myself to God—that I have to be an asset to His team to justify His interest in my soul. This flies in the face of the picture of a helpless, naive child happily depending on their parent. I recognize this, logically, but it doesn’t make the truth any easier to swallow.
That is, until I encounter a tangible reminder—my two-year-old nephew, standing in his clunky boots next to his hard-working mom. Do I expect him to say “Mom, I can’t seem to keep up with you. I clearly need to go sort myself out until I have something to offer”? Of course not!
At barely two years old, what matters most for Josh’s safety and development is that he stays close to his mom. And ironically, in doing so, he will gradually be able to imitate her, but that growth cannot happen in isolation.
“The measure of the stature”
In Ephesians 3:17-19, this is what Paul prays for the church:
that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
That phrase, to “be filled with all the fullness of God,” is expounded further in 4:13 as growing into “the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.”
The idea is similar to a child who grows up to resemble someone else, spending time with them and taking on their characteristics until, full grown, someone could look at them and say, “You look just like so-and-so!”
The structure of Paul’s prayer shows the method by which this growth occurs: through an experiential knowing of this love as a byproduct of being rooted in that love.
I have been called, in a sense, to “tend the garden”—to do the work that God has set aside for me (Eph. 2:10). But I don’t have the strength or understanding to do it by myself. I just stand there babbling with my shovel, entirely unhelpful while He does all the work.
Miraculously, that is all God asks of me.
In an infinitely magnified version of the love between Josh and his mama, God knows that I have nothing to offer, yet He longs for me to be with Him (John 17:24). My insufficiency doesn't inspire insult, annoyance, or disapproval. It stirs up the tender affection of a parent.
And, like Josh, I need this presence. It is my one true source of safety; it is crucial for my development. I was made to be fully dependent on God, and the best thing I could possibly do is return to that childlike state of delight in being at my Father’s side.
That closeness is a prerequisite to my ability to do the work, not the other way around. And as I learn to abide in Him I will be transformed, growing into the likeness of Christ, until someone can look at me and say, “You look just like Jesus.”
Food for thought:
Gentle and Lowly, by Dane C. Ortlund
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