The Fridge Art of Heaven

A couple of months ago we awoke to the unmistakable odor of a deceased refrigerator. It seems that once these faithful coolers and crispers of our bodily necessities decides to call it quits they transform into an oven. It is like Sampson of old bringing the entire house down on his head. The fridge goes all dystopian and destroys all in its death throes. To add to the Murphy’s Law moment, the fridge was filled with a plethora of freshly purchased, and might I add, innocent nutritional victims. It was carnage.

That’s a bad way to begin the day. And you know it is going to be an entire day of bad. We had remodeled our kitchen a couple of years ago and the lad who installed the fridge insert decided to be fancy. He left me 1/16” on each side to shove our fridge into the custom hole. I thought to myself at the time, “Someday I will regret this tight fit.” But I was so thrilled to finish the kitchen that I let that thought go with a lovely platitude: “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” It was bridge-crossing day.

By this time I was already nursing a partially torn bicep tendon and was in ill humors. I tried laying hands on the fridge and praying like one of those guys I had seen on T.V. But I was a little rusty and couldn’t remember if I was supposed to cast out demons from kitchen appliances. Nothing happened except the unremitting emission of hellish smells. Thus, the big grunt and scoot began.

Imagine standing over a porta-pot just for grins and I can connect you with the smell of decay that fought me every step of the way. It was then that I noticed all of the happy fridge art and had my first good moment. Our fridge is not unique. Many people use the handy magnetic surface to display their nascent Picassos. I’ve been in the homes of wealthy people who proudly display their boring, spotless refrigerators. They are cavernous. You could hide several bodies in some of them. Not ours. I go for the best deal – not the cheapest; nor, the fridge that could prepare your taxes – something in the middling middle. And our fridge always does double duty. Besides holding our food and beverage at the right temperature, it is also a display of life: graduation announcements, months old Christmas cards, the occasional coupon which quietly expires underneath the ever-expanding kid-art exhibit.

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I looked at those pictures. The two year old had slashed a crayon across a blank page a few times, smiled and called it good. The three year old added a splash of color with her slashes. The six year old was showing some promise with attempts at animals and boats and self-portraits. He could fill several homes with his fridge-art productivity.

And here is the thing that struck me: each picture represented their best effort in the moment. Mastering the muscle control for a pencil, pen or crayon is no small thing. While drawing, the six year old often has his tongue slightly hanging out one side of his mouth – the universal sign of concentration and effort. Each image is a treasure of his best effort and love.

I wondered about that in respect to our journey. Faith, like art, is a learning process. We are, and always will be children in respect to the Father. We’re not expected to do more than what we’re able to do in what is called “today.” But to be able to do more tomorrowand the next day and all the days after that – we are expected to do what we can do today – to give it our best in the moment as an offering of love. It’s the fridge art of heaven.