The Puppeteer

The Puppeteer

 I used to be afraid that if I was authentic I might take a hit, but now I know that being real means I will take a hit.

When the kids were growing up, I used to pass by this fancy art gallery pretty often. I’d always glance in and admire the handiwork of some talented people. One day, as I walked past, I saw the most magnificent painting I’d ever seen before hanging on the wall. It was called The Puppeteer. I’m no art collector, that’s for sure, but it looked like a pretty cool painting to me. I squished my nose against the window each time passed by the gallery and mouthed the words against the glass: “Yes, you will be mine.”

The Puppeteer is an oil painting of an old guy with his family gathered around, and he’s dangling a marionette from strings, making everybody laugh. He looks like he is telling everybody a great story. I liked the painting because I’ve always imagined myself kind of like the puppeteer with my kids and their children gathered around someday. The painting also reminds me of how Jesus invites us to gather around Him and He tells captivating stories about a better life, a bigger life, and a greater love.

I asked the guy at the gallery how much the painting was. He started giving me his sales pitch in a muddled accent, and it was hard to follow what he was saying. He told me that it’s not called a painting but a “piece.” I guess they change the name when something is that expensive. Whatever.

 According to him, the guy who created the painting was an eighty-year-old master painter from Europe. I had looked him up and knew that much was true. The sales guy also said the artist was going blind (yeah, sure). He was laying it on pretty thick and said something about the artist painting this piece with a special paint brush. I was waiting for him to say the paintbrush was made of a single hair from the tail of a unicorn. I get it. It’s a really nice painting, which at least explains why it cost more than my first four cars. Still, I wanted that painting more than I wanted food. So I started saving.

It took about a year to save the money. For the final bit, I was ready to put our family dog on eBay, but after a family meeting, the idea was shut down. No matter. I finally called the guy at the gallery and told him I would be coming by to pick up the painting that afternoon. When I walked into the gallery there were two paintings waiting for me, two exact paintings of The Puppeteer. I didn’t understand. “Why are there two paintings?” I asked the guy with the muddled accent.

 “Well,” he said, managing with absolute ease to sound condescending and slick, “ze one on the left is ze real one. It’s museum qualeetay. It’s very expensive, almost priceless. You don’t want to hang ze original it might get damaged, so you put ze original in a vault. Zis other one, however, “he said as he slapped the identical painting irreverently, “iz ze fake one and iz ze one you put up on the wall for everyone to see.”

“I get a fake one along with the original?” I asked. I had never even heard of such a thing.
 “Yez,” he shot back.

Well, let me ask you, dear reader: which of the two paintings would you put on the wall? Me too. I hung the real one and threw the fake one in a closet somewhere.

I get why the guy at the art gallery wanted me to hang the fake one and hide the real one to keep it safe. If the original was put out or damaged, it would be a huge loss. This was original art from a master artist who was not long for this earth. It was rare, one of a kind, and irreplaceable.

If you come over to the Goff house, come armed. We have incredible rubber-band wars. Not the paper route, elementary school kind of rubber- band wars. We go nuclear and no one is safe. When the kids stretch a rubber band a foot or so, it can raise a welt the size of a strawberry where ever you get hit.
           
I start every morning sitting in a certain chair at my house. It’s opposite from where I hung the original Puppeteer painting. I love starting each day with a cup of coffee, a small fire and seeing my friend, the Puppeteer, delighting his family. Through the divided light windows, I watch the sun come up over the water with colors sometimes too beautiful to be real. Two windows perfectly frame the Puppeteer painting that invites onlookers to see what appears to be his next show, which has just started.
           
When I look at the Puppeteer, it reminds me of what the future looks like for me. It reminds me of stories like the kind Jesus told. And I think about how much I love that it’s the original hanging on the wall, not the fake one.
           
I woke up one morning a while ago, poured my coffee, lit a small fire, and took in the beauty of the predawn colors draping over the bay as I took to my usual morning spot. As I lifted my eyes towards the puppeteer, ready to wish a good morning to my friend, my jaw dropped.

The night before, as best I could tell, the puppeteer had taken a rubber band right in the face. I’m not kidding. There was a mark right in the middle of his almost priceless forehead.

 I gasped and spilled coffee on myself as I sprung from my chair to get a closer look. Indeed, The Puppeteer had taken a head shot. To his credit, the Puppeteer didn’t drop the puppet even though mortally wounded. Now, my kids say they didn’t do it and think it was my rubber band that took him out. But I’ve sent the painting off the FBI crime lab- it was the kids. At least that’s my story.

It’s been awhile since the Puppeteer took a hit, but I still enjoy my morning routine. I still sit in my favorite chair every morning, have a coffee, light my fire, watch the sun rise, and look at my favorite piece of art, the original Puppeteer painting. I’m still taken by its beauty. But do you think I see the damage when I look at the Puppeteer each morning? Not at all. I’m not mad or disappointed in the least. The reason is simple: the rubber-band mark reminds me exactly and fondly of my kids.

 I see my kids and the engaged life we’ve spent together so far. I see all the mischief, the whimsy, and the spontaneous combustion that is their hallmark. I see the kids lying in wait for me, rubber bands pulled tight at the top of the stairs and around the corners when I come home after work at night. Truth be known, I like the original Puppeteer painting now more with the rubber band mark on it.
           

There have been times in my life when I’ve tried to do good and it hasn’t worked out the way I thought it would. I’ve gotten into a lot of mischief and taken chances and have even taken some big risks. In the process, sometimes I’ve let people down or things I’ve done didn’t go well and I’ve taken a rubber band or two to the head. We all have. But after the Puppeteer painting got shot, I realized that God doesn’t think any less of us when things don’t go right. Actually, I think He plans on it. What he doesn’t plan on is us putting a fake version of ourselves out there to take the hit. God is the master artist and made an original version of us, a priceless one that cost everything to create. A version that can’t and won’t be created again.

 He asks us to hang that version of ourselves for everyone to see. Despite our inherent beauty, each of us is tempted to hide the original so we won’t get damaged. I understand why, I really do. And the fake version of us, it’s not worthless. It’s just worth less because it’s only a copy of the real us. A version out there, it’s not the version God created. In that sense, it’s like an imposter, a poser, a stunt double is standing in for us and telling the world that this is the best we’ve got, or the best we’ll risk. And when we put the cheap, fake version of ourselves out there, most of the time it probably comes off to God like a bad Elvis impersonation.
           

The bible says people who are friends of God are new creations. The way I heard it’s supposed to work is that old version of us goes away and a new original is painted. I can understand that picture better now, because I’ve purchased an expensive painting, and I’ve also had a cheap copy thrown in so I could hide the real one. What I know now is that our infinite value, the original masterwork that we are, is placed in us because God is the master artist, not us. The best we could muster ourselves would be a fake.

 God invites us to be new creations, original art, and to live life of engagement. He says to leave the cheap imitation in a closet somewhere. He doesn’t say when you hang the real you out there- the priceless one-that things will go great either. It’s pretty clear from watching Jesus’ followers past and present that when you risk the real you, you’ll probably take a hit. God did when He hung Jesus out there. But one thing I do know is this: when we do take hits, and we will, God isn’t going to think less of us. Instead, He gets up early, lights a fire, sits in his favorite chair, and gazes at the original masterpiece He made in us. And you know what? He loves us even more, rubber-band marks and all.