Imago Dei Confetti
Maturing into a deepening communion with God, vibrant community and sustainable mission can’t be done in generational silos. The young need the old. The old need the young. So, then, “How can we increase reciprocity and mutuality between generations so that together, young and old, we are really following Jesus?” We asked Victoria, a millennial, this question. She described ways to create safe spaces for mutuality to happen. Talking “with” and not “at” others. Making room for “reflexive listening and gentle truths.” Enjoying fun and shared meals. Swapping authentic stories, not just the “overly spiritualized versions of ourselves.” And she shared about learning to see others differently … with awe and wonder because of the beautiful image of God in them (that is in us too!).
by Victoria Ky
I remember his brown eyes. They were filled with a mixture of anger, fear, and jealousy. His nostrils flared as his tiny hands ripped the papers off of the classroom walls. With tears welling up in his eyes, he waited to see what I would do. The other students watched in shock as he continued his outburst in silent, but deafening defiance towards his perceived threat: me, his first-grade teacher.
This wasn't the first time that he had expressed his emotions in this way, and it wouldn't be the last. Some days his outbursts faded quickly, but other days it seemed like he held onto these emotions like a safety blanket. Some days I was able to respond with compassion, other days I reacted with annoyance. And I know he felt the difference. After all, he was just a boy who wanted to see if anybody would love him in his anger, fear, and jealousy.
But as I reflect on my memories with this student, I also remember his smile. His smile radiated throughout the room. It was like his whole being was lighter and freer when he smiled. And his laughter. Oh, how his laughter unlocked his joy! Sometimes it was a stifled giggle and sometimes it was a laughter that danced throughout his whole body. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me to see if I was laughing with him. After all, he was just a boy who wanted to see if anybody would love him in his joy.
One of my fondest memories of this student had to do with the word, "wept." As the class was writing the word 'wept' on their papers, I heard him exclaim to his tablemates, "You know Jesus wept, right? Yeah, Jesus wept!" He smiled brightly as his tablemates replied, "Huh?! What?!" I giggle every time I recall this memory. After all, he was just a boy who wanted his friends to know that even Jesus felt sad from time to time, too.
Aren't we all like this little first grader? Aren't we all just trying to navigate our emotions in this rollercoaster ride of life? Aren't we all waiting to see who will love us when we experience the highs and lows of life? When we weep with sorrow, silently seethe in anger or laugh with joy and everything in between?
My biggest takeaway from teaching is this: Everyone has confetti inside of them. Everyone has that godly spark in them. The beautiful imago Dei confetti. A mixture of all their emotions and thoughts sprinkled with God's tenderness and craftsmanship. After all, we are just people who long to know that we are loved because of who we are and not by what we do.
“But you have to slow down, make space, and be present with people in order to see the imago Dei confetti.”
But you have to slow down, make space, and be present with people in order to see the imago Dei confetti. It is not easy to do these things, but it's worth it. To be able to truly see another person and let yourself be seen is a beautiful and vulnerable experience. When I was able to slow down, make space, and be present with my students, that's when I saw their imago Dei confetti. That's when I grew in tenderness. That's when they grew in tenderness. And we were all better for it.
May God continue to illuminate the imago Dei confetti in you and others that you encounter on the journey home.
Photo on Unsplash by Damiano Lingauri
