Well affixed

Mona Lisa, move over.  “Bob the Tomato” enjoys prominent display at the Zornes art gallery, aka refrigerator door.  “Bob,” from a Christian cartoon series featuring vegetables and fruits, was delivered with great flourish to our house about a year ago by its artist, grandson Josiah. Never mind that “Bob” (Josiah calls it Bob the “ToTAto”) has a mere hint of red crayon instead of the intense red of the edible real thing. Bob is a winning piece of art in its creator’s eyes. Recently, after 4-year-old Josiah removed “Bob” to show a visitor, I noticed “Bob” was re-affixed with extra security. You can never have too many decorative magnets to hold up a pre-schooler’s art—or at least Josiah must think so. 

While I chucked over Josiah’s extra-magnetic-security “affixing” of “Bob the Tomato,” something from the Bible clicked in my heart about the word “affix” and its relative “fix,” in the sense of “securing” something. I found it in Hebrews 12:2 (NIV): Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.  Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

This verse reminds me how I need to keep Jesus—and especially His suffering and victory—front and center on my spiritual perspective. Especially this past year, in the midst of bewildering spiritual challenges, I’ve realized how hard and how necessary it is to “not grow weary and lose heart.” Through adversity, He disciplines and “grows” me.

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.  Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. (v. 11)

“Fixing my eyes” requires that I guard against the busyness of life (like those random magnets) which could cover up:

*The “skull”—the grotesque, skeleton-like hill in Jerusalem where Jesus was nailed to the cross for my sins as part of the “sins of the world.” I don’t need to confine that remembrance to the season of Lent.

*The “scowls” and “scorn” of sinners who had no idea how much He loved them. As part of my spiritual training, He’s allowed me to experience “scowls” and “scorn” from  troubled people I’ve tried to reach out to—though certainly what I experience is a speck compared to the burden He carried.

*The “sweetness” of knowing, through faith, the Author and Perfecter of my faith who helped me to understand and have a relationship with God.

By the way, speaking of  “sweet,” our little “Bob the Tomato” artist (in contrast to many preschoolers) enjoys eating real tomatoes, especially the walnut-size “Sweet One Hundreds” from our tomato patch.