I sit before the easel, blank, white, full of possibilities. Grabbing a charcoal pencil, I sketch a design, images as the completed project forms in my mind. I see it clear, eyes closed, but once opened again, it's no more than vague lines.
Dipping paintbrush into a swirl of color, bristles sweep across white expanse and a thrill erupts in my heart. We are on our way. What will happen? How will it all come out in the end?
Almost, as if taking on a life of it's own, the paint and brush sweep, blend, mesh and I gasp, "No, not quiet what I had in mind." I fight back, trying to regain control. Add more yellow. Yet the blue grasp and changes it to green.
In this tug-of-war endeavor of creating, I find I can hear God quiet clearly in the brush strokes.
"I understand your frustration. It's how I feel while I'm trying to mold you and
you have your own ideas. Your own color scheme... Yes, dear one, I
I stop and set my brush down. "I do, don't I? You say yellow and I want orange. You draw a crisp, straight line and say don't cross, yet my toe constantly brushes against, blurring it. Yes, it must be frustrating for you as well."
So He waits as well.
So does He.
As my project nears completion, I add defining lines, light and definition to each form.
In my life, I feel him doing the same. Setting boundaries. Highlighting the good in me. Defining who I am.
I start off as a big mess. A swirl of assorted colors. No real form. But he creates in my mess of a life, a work of art if I'll let him. His masterpiece. Something that bears His name.
And I want to proudly bear his name. I want to be a thing of beauty that brings joy to those who behold the work he's done in me.