The white shed doors reflected the cotton-candy pink and baby blue of a February dawn.  Although an imperfect reflection, it was still a glorious way to start a winter’s day.

The setting sun is sliding north along the western horizon as we near the calendar boundary of winter and spring.  White garage door panels were transformed one evening by echoing the day’s last golden and rosy rays.

Windows do a better job at reproducing the image of the sunset.  Hints of clouds and brush strokes of branches paint the glass, but the picture is warped and imperfect.

The side mirror of my car captures the glowing clouds just minutes after the sun has dropped over the snowy horizon.  The picture is clearer (and would be sharper still if I’d cleaned the surface of the mirror), but still flawed and incomplete.  The image comes with a warning:  “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”

In the same way, we can see and understand only a little about God now, as if we were peering at his reflection in a poor mirror; but someday we are going to see him in his completeness, face-to-face. Now all that I know is hazy and blurred, but then I will see everything clearly, just as clearly as God sees into my heart right now.   1 Corinthians 13:12  LB

As Christians, we are living “images,” reflections of the character of Christ.  The word “reflect” means to bend back.  However imperfect we are and whatever substance we’re made from (metal, painted wood, glass, or mirror), we are to “bend back” the love and glory of God so that others may see glimpses of His nature and pictures of what the Good News can do in our lives.

It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.   2 Corinthians 4:6   MSG

When we gaze on a reflection, despite the beauty that may be there, we’re missing the original.  We have to change our perspective and find the source of the light.

And who wouldn’t want to turn around and see this,

the source of the machine shed’s glow?

Or this gorgeous sunset reflected in a mundane garage door?

Or the broad, cloud-spashed sky above darkening fields,

painted with gold and lavender and aqua

that was incompletely captured in a jumbled likeness on a west-facing window?

Or the grand beauty of the whole of the western sky lit bright,

cooling jet trails and lavender clouds alike?

How exquisite your love, O God!  . . .
You’re a fountain of cascading light,
and you open our eyes to light.

Psalm 36:7, 9   MSG

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linking with Jennifer Lee Dukes