A Portrait of Love
“I have loved you with an everlasting love…”
Jeremiah 31:3
When we think of a mother’s love we each conjure our own picture. Perhaps we recall the love of our own mother or think of the love we feel for our children. Or maybe the picture on the canvas of our minds tugs at the lonely corners of our heart, places that the love of a mother never reached. Several years ago, God replaced the picture in my mind with a beautiful portrait of a mother’s perfect love—His everlasting love.
The picture unfolded during a Palm Sunday worship service in the middle of a conference I was attending. The traditional service took me back to the church services of my childhood. Hymns written hundreds of years ago by the saints of old were sung and the low moan of an organ accompanied the reverent lyrics. The service culminated in remembrance of Christ’s blood, shed for us.
Conference faculty, pastors and laity from various denominations, served communion in ceremonious silence, passing the elements row by row. As I raised my head from my prayerful stance to accept the tray of bread passed to me, my eyes met the brush strokes of the Master Artist. I saw a mother several rows ahead of me. Her gray curls and stooped shoulders revealed her advanced years, as did the trembling of her hand as she reached for a crust of bread—Christ’s body broken for her. Next to her sat her son, a man in his forties, trapped in a body broken by cerebral palsy. His drooping head and spastic movements belie his keen mind and tender heart. He was there as a conferee. His mother was there to attend to his needs.
I felt the Holy Spirit nudge me, calling me to pay attention. I watched the pair, mother and son, for a few moments. Upon first glance, the picture seemed self-explanatory—a loving mother caring for her son. I wondered, as a mother myself, what heartbreak must ensue as you watch your child broken by life.
It occurred to me that maybe God wanted me to encourage this mother. I’m reluctantly growing accustomed to following God out of my comfort zone and approaching strangers when I feel Him leading. So I again bowed my head and asked Him, Lord, do you want me to encourage her? He whispered His answer to my heart. I want you to see Me.
Anticipation and awe commingled as I again raised my eyes and took in the picture before me. For I knew God was about to reveal to me another facet of Himself.
This time the portrait revealed the love of a mother. Unconditional love. I saw a long life dedicated to nurturing the child God had given her. I saw years of service I could barely imagine. I saw the heart of the Artist. Hues of heartache and sacrifice were splashed across the canvas. Unconditional love was the theme of His work. And the portrait was signed with the blood of His Son.
Again the Spirit whispered to my heart. This is how I love you, with the sacrificial, everlasting love of a mother. Just then the elements reached me again, this time a small cup representing the ultimate sacrifice—the blood of the Son of God. A sacrifice made on my behalf, on behalf of the mother a few rows ahead of me, on behalf of her son, on behalf of the other 400 or so conferees worshiping with me, on behalf of all of humanity.
I took the cup and drank, the portrait of a mother’s perfect love, God’s love for me, blazing in my mind and heart. And I remembered, with a heart humbled and uncomprehending, the perfect sacrifice, the Son of God, Jesus Christ.
