Artist Eyes

 When Juleigh and I were walking through Central Park, we discovered a gentleman drawing an amazing likeness of a young lady. We decided to have him do our portraits as a present for our mom and dad. Juleigh posed first, and I saw him transfer her eyes, then her nose, cheeks, mouth, and hair to the paper. It was fascinating watching him capture her so perfectly. It was beautiful!

 Soon it was my turn. As I sat in the chair, I discovered that I was not the best model. I knew from watching him draw Juleigh that he started with my eyes. Let’s get real. At 51 I have my share of not so fine lines and wrinkles. Under his intense gaze I knew he couldn’t help but see them. I wondered how dark he would have to make them in the sketch. The artist would stare and then draw, stare and draw, draw and stare. I wanted to run away. It was disconcerting to have someone look so closely. I wanted to ask him to eliminate the wrinkles, make my eyes the same size and not have the one higher than the other. While he was at it, he could straighten my crooked smile, and go ahead and make my face a bit thinner. I would gladly double his price if he didn’t add any whiskers (an unfortunate cruel reality of PCOS) if I’d missed some during my morning plucking routine. What made me think that memorializing my fat face now, before I lose more weight, was a good idea? Thanks to all the thoughts running through my mind, he had to ask me to smile when he was ready to draw my mouth.

 When he said he was finished, I hesitantly came to look at his finished work. I saw a crooked smile, mismatched eyes, frizzy hair – yep – it looked just like me. (Thank goodness no chin hair!) Later, as Juleigh and I looked closely at the drawing, it was amazing. Juleigh had on mascara. He drew her with eye lashes. I didn’t have on mascara so I didn’t have eyelashes because he couldn’t see them. I am sure this artist saw my face more clearly than I have ever really seen myself. He looked at each feature individually and put them together to make the whole. I look at myself and only see what I would like to change. But what if all those flaws were changed? The simple truth is that the picture would not look like me. I am thankful that I had the experience of sitting for my portrait. His close scrutiny was uncomfortable, but he helped me see myself through new eyes. It made me realize that when I am so critical of myself I am being critical of The Master Artist.  The balanced whole of imperfect pieces that make up me is "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139) I’m  OK with that.  Let's lighten up a bit and not just focus on the imperfect. Let me encourage you to join me and celebrate your whole.