There’s a sense of uniformity in the car pick-up line.

Minivans and SUVs line the sides and front of the school parking lot. Even in their various shades and ages, it appears to be laid out in a pattern. Black SUV, silver minivan, silver SUV, black minivan.

Today, on the day I wore a jumpsuit that I liked most, in a color that resembles terracotta clay pots. And I didn’t want to get out of the car. I wanted to blend into the pattern.

Clearly, this outfit was a mistake. I should have worn my typical black leggings and t-shirt to blend in a little more. However, the same thing happens every time—I’m stopped, I’m asked if I look like a specific Disney character—TA DA! I stand out again.

The thing is I like this terracotta color. I also love the way terracotta reminds me of the word “tierra“ meaning dirt, ground, and land in Spanish. I like the double letters and especially how the Rs roll together like a trill down a musical scale. But terracotta doesn’t seem to fit in fields of corn among tractors.

So, I watch the clock tick down a second closer to when my little guy pops out of the preschool doors. Not that Bible characters have our same stories, but I wonder how Ruth, the Moabite, would feel picking up little Obed in the school line. Would that fact follow her around? Ethnically different, but culturally, they’re her people, too.

I constantly have to remind myself that while different, the Imago Dei applies to me as well. Differences matter in ways that they should be celebrated. I’m reminded of that fact as soon as my preschooler runs out with arms wide open as soon as the doors open. His hugs cling for a second longer.

“Mom, I missed you.“ I missed you too, buddy.

He holds my face with his little hands. And that’s when I’m reminded of the small gift that God gives when he set up mothers and children. I’m sure that’s the way God sees us, too.