"In my family is my Dad, my Mom, my two
brothers, one sister and Jordan like me."

I could hear my eight-year-old twins screaming and crying long before I saw them. They had gotten off the school bus at the top of our street and were struggling with each other as they made their way to our house. Seeing this from the window, I ran from my bedroom, down the stairs, and yanked open the front door. Jordan and Jon were pulling at each others’ book bags, crying, and trying to take hold of the same large envelope. The envelope contained a new school picture they had received that day.

Relieved when I saw no evidence of blood, swollen limbs, missing teeth, or broken skin, I finally got the twins inside. I pulled them apart and tried to be heard above the crying and yelling. Exhausted at this point, the three of us sprawled on the stairs right inside the front door, book bags, sweaters, and papers strewn all around. “What in the world is going on here?” I asked sternly, looking from one little tear-stained face to the other.

Sniffing and hic-cupping, Jon began to explain that Jordan had his picture. Jordan then sat up and protested loudly and tearfully. He said it was not a picture of Jon, but of him. They both claimed to be the one in the picture. I looked at the picture. I looked at each of them. They were looking at me. We all looked back at the picture. Oh dear, I thought. Although identical, in person those of us in the family could usually tell them apart. But pictures seem to average out small, minute details. They both really did look like the one in the picture!

“Let me see the other picture,” I said, stalling and praying, Lord, help me! Jordan pulled the rejected one out of his bag. It was slightly crumpled. “That is not me!” He said, his voice full of tears. “Well it’s not me either!” Jon cried. It looked exactly like both of them.

“Give the pictures to me for now,” I said. “I think we really need a snack and we’ll work this out later.” And I need help, I thought.

Hours later, after milk and cookies and popcorn, the pain and frustration had lessened. Meanwhile, the three older siblings had gotten home from school. I took them aside to help me decide who was who. With their help, I made a hopeful decision. I called Jordan and Jon into the living room and, trying to be calm and confident, told them which picture was which child. After pointing out several differences in the clothing in each picture, Jordan reluctantly accepted the fact it was really Jon in the picture and not him.

Finally, we were able to take both pictures out of the crumpled envelopes and put them over last years’ school pictures and in frames on their wall.

Once again I was reminded of the amazing mysteries, wonder, and humor of God. The Bible says we were made in His image. I wonder if He sees Himself when He looks into our faces?

Belinda Senter Kingsley is a mother of five who loves to paint, quilt, and ride horses. She grew up in East Africa, a child of missionary parents. She graduated from Dallas Baptist University and spent the next twenty years following her Navy pilot husband to other interesting places in the world. Today Belinda mentors younger women in her church and has recently published her first book, Together Again.