Last week, I was in Orem picking up roses for my daughter’s wedding. When I walked into Costco, I was not prepared for what I saw.
Greg Olsen was there, signing and selling prints of his artwork. One of our family traditions is to give each of our children a framed print of one of his paintings when they graduate from high school (two down, one to go). We love his work.
What took me by surprise was his painting “No Greater Love.” I don’t recall seeing it before. It was hanging prominently on the end of the display, above the artist’s table.
When my eyes rested on what the painting depicted, I was struck with great force, as if I had just recalled a stunning memory. It was so real to me. Not the art itself, but the image it represented—a moment in time when our Savior, in the Garden of Gethsemane, was overwhelmed, dejected, and even astonished, grasping for life, His face and hair tinged with blood.
Tears instantly welled in my eyes. Yes, a grown man, in public. I had to look away.
I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I was distracted by it while I ambled through the store, trying to remember why I was there. Oh yeah, roses. My simple errand took longer than it had any right to. And I accidentally bought sixteen dozen roses instead of eight (fortunately, I discovered the error after calling my wife while still in the parking lot.)
I looked at the painting one last time before I left the store. I had to see if what I was looking at was real or just my imagination. The painting was real but two dimensional; the image it conjured was even more real to me.
I have been passing through a severe personal trial. Tears, I must admit, have flowed freely, almost daily for weeks. The moment I saw that painting, I knew Someone understood. I have been resting on that hope ever since.