Humble Imitation

Therefore be imitators of God [copy Him and follow His example], as well-beloved children [imitate their father]. And walk in love.

— Ephesians 5:1-2, AMPC

Elijah's three-year-old legs pump as hard as they can go, his head is flung back, and his hair blows in the breeze. His breath comes in audible, hard rushes. He looks like he's running the last ten meters of a two-hundred-meter dash or perhaps running for his life. Every ounce of energy, every fiber of his being, is stretched to the breaking.

I imagine the crossing of a finish line, the breaking of a taut ribbon, the victory dance. But instead of victory, there's a miscarriage of hope. Elijah gradually slows, from full-on irrepressible run to timid trot and, finally, to a dejected walk with his head hanging down. Then his feet stop moving entirely. He's motionless; his goal is beyond reach, his dreams crushed, and his heart broken. It's the three-year-old version of locusts and ashes.

You see, Elijah was not chasing after a blue ribbon but rather stretched out in pursuit of his father. My husband, Josh, was running his three miles on our long driveway. Up and back. Up and back. Up and back. We were playing outside when Elijah saw his daddy run past and wanted to run with him. He wanted to be doing just what he saw his father doing.

The sight was beautiful and heartbreaking. As hard as he tried, Elijah was unable to run as far or as fast as his dad. His lungs were too small and his feet too slow. His body failed him, his efforts insufficient.

But then from around the bend came Josh. Seeing the tears flooding down Elijah's face, he scooped him up and ran a few hundred yards with him in his arms. Tears of sadness turned to tears of joy. The run with the father was sweeter because it was unexpected; the arms that held the boy dearer because of his own failure; the closeness cherished even more because it was all grace. It was just when hope was lost, and a small heart thought its desire was out of reach, that the father reached down to turn heartache into relationship.

How like our heavenly Father. It is often when night seems darkest that our Father God's pursuit of us becomes clear and real. It's in the hour of defeat. It's when we break off from running, our feet motionless and our heads hanging down, feeling discouraged and disillusioned. It's when our efforts and our intellect and our stubbornness run out. It's when we need God — when we acknowledge that need to ourselves and to Him.

It's then that our Father makes His presence known. He picks us up and holds us close with arms full of strength and grace and forgiveness. He delights in us. He upholds us. And our tears turn to joy. Our ashes turn to beauty and our mourning to dancing. He redeems the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25). He renews our strength. He promises that those who hope in the Lord will run and never grow weary (Isaiah 40:31).

Our children are constantly imitating us. In their unselfconscious desire to be like us, their moms, we see Ephesians 5:1-2 lived out. We see what it means to be "imitators of God"; it's living as beloved children, children who copy their parents. As imitators, children also show us that the one who loves us is nearby and always pursuing us. They teach us that following Jesus means radical freedom and that, when we follow and humbly imitate Jesus, we're surrounded by love on every side. Let's explore each of these ideas in turn.

Pursued Followers

I watch in awe as my two-and-a-half-year-old mimics my morning contact routine down to the last idiosyncrasy. He opens the contact case and takes out a pretend contact. He rinses the clean contact with solution — never you mind that it's been sitting in fresh solution all night. He peers up into the mirror, a move made more difficult by the fact that he's standing on the sink counter. He scrutinizes his face critically, pries open his right eye, and gently pops in the contact. I am speechless. I had no idea Elijah had been watching my morning routine, let alone so closely. He was beyond excited to be doing something big, to be doing something that I do, and to be doing it just the way I did.

My awe turns to dismay as I realize how closely those little eyes have been watching. Every small moment is one of impact when the eyes that see have yet to turn three. Little eyes watch to see how I react to the slow grocery-store line or to the service representative on the other end of the phone. Impressionable eyes observe the way I drive, the way I talk to my own mom, and the food (including massive amounts of Diet Dr Pepper) that I put in my body. I desperately want to be a good example.

Then a bigger realization hits even closer to home. Do I seek to emulate the person who I'm supposed to be becoming like? Am I living out the Ephesians 5:1-2 exhortation to be an imitator of God, to copy Him and follow His example, as beloved children imitate their own parents?

Jesus is spotless. He is righteousness. His loving-kindness knows no end. His Spirit reveals His character, one of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23). The entire universe was created by Him and through Him and for Him (Romans 11:36). And somehow we are supposed to become like Him, as Paul said he did in 1 Corinthians 11:1. We are to follow in Jesus' steps (1 Peter 2:21) and to have His attitude and mind-set (Philippians 2:3-8).

But am I living this? Am I imitating Him as a beloved child? Do I begin my day studying Jesus, as my two-year-old clearly studies me? Do I see, really see, how He loves people, how He approaches the unapproachable, how He gives away grace, always? Do I see the patience with which the Lord treats the Israelites? Time and again they rebel, yet the Lord continually pursues them with His "never stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love." Or am I too busy? Too distracted? My son desperately wants to become like me. Do I desperately want to become like Jesus?

The answer is painfully clear. No. Not always. Not often, even.

There's certainly a place for my heartfelt prayer, "Lord, help me to be more like You; Lord, help me to want to be like You."

But as I watch my children, I realize that even as Jesus calls us to follow Him, He's pursuing us. Our relationship is all grace. Even the imitation and the following are more about Jesus than about me. Jesus is the author and perfecter of our faith. He draws us close and enables both our desire and our transformation. Jesus promises to be with us, to give us new hearts, and to keep working in us until He returns. We are His workmanship.

You see, Elijah's morning contact routine was made possible only with my support. My arms held him close, preventing a tumble from the bathroom sink and enabling his imitation. Elijah's imitation was...