Hi, Jesus, it’s almost Easter and You look so Kansas-like I say! Light

brown hair, beard and sometimes mustache of the same color. Anglo brows. (Thank the Father You have no sideburns!)

Those babyish pink cheeks need to go, Man. I mean, where’s Bethelem anyway as in which hemisphere is it located in? Wouldn’t be near the wet Mediterranean would it? And Nazareth—how do those Nazarenes really look? Are they indeed pink and so handsome? And who gave you those freshly washed, spotless white robes to wear? Have you not been traveling much? Have you not been in the hills preaching and praying where there are stony paths and briars and all those bushes? Have you not been in the desert sweating and fasting? Was there a Maytag and box of Tide behind a tree or rock somewhere? You may laugh. You like laughter, don’t You? I just aim to please then…

I don’t like You, Jesus, to look so Kansas-like, although I have absolutely nothing against Kansas if You want the truth and utterly have no control, alas, over how OTHERS in their blessed ignorance depict You. I want You to look like a Middle Eastern Jew, Jesus. I want You to look like any other Nazarene although in many ways You certainly weren’t like any other one. I want You to wear their clothes, for Your skin hue and demeanor to reflect theirs. You say don’t get upset. Don’t give too much importance to a mere pix. Okay, Jesus, I’ll try. I’ll try to abide, but it isn’t easy. I don’t feel comfortable with it all. I once heard a little girl say she saw You Jesus. Now how did she know she saw You when I wouldn’t know if I saw You? Of course, come to think of it, I don’t need to see You, do I? All I need is for You to hear me. And You do—loud and clear. Wonders of Your love.