When I was in high school, one of my favourite classes was art class. I loved every part of it. Well, almost every part.
I liked pencil sketching best. I liked the precision and control of a freshly sharpened pencil. I liked the clean lines and the crisp, black and white images. I liked that the lack of color meant it could fit into any room, any decor, any other color scheme without “clashing.” I liked that if I made a mark I didn’t like, I could erase it, like it never happened. This clean, controlled, erasable art medium was right up my type-A-control-freak-don’t-make-a-mess alley.
I did not enjoy painting. I especially did not enjoy watercolor. What colors should I choose? What if the colors run together where I don’t want them too? What if I change my mind later but it’s too late and now I’ve spent all this time and energy on a painting color scheme that will now live in a drawer? What if I make a mistake? You can’t erase paint!
Really what it came down to was that watercolor was just so messy. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t make my paint brush be a pencil. Every time I attempted it my painting came out looking cartoonish and amateur. Soooo frustrating!
It took me years to realize that this was a profound metaphor for my life.
Somewhere in my 30’s, the lines stopped being straight, and my black-and-white world started swirling grey. My carefully crafted a+b=c formula for life was not working, and I began to unravel. Disillusionment, anxiety and anger became my constant companions; unwanted house guests who just wouldn’t leave.
These intrusive companions did bring me a gift, though. It was the gift of an identity-crisis. As I tore open the layers of lies I had believed about God, I discovered more lies I had believed about myself. Sitting there on the floor, the pieces of who I thought I was in shreds around me, I heard the soul-wrenching sound of a veil tearing in two, from top to bottom, and the truth came pouring out.
Like Dorothy opening opening the door of her black-and-white world to the breathtaking colors of Oz, I had a realization. I was not designed to be a pencil sketch. I was designed to be a watercolor. I am not the paintbrush, I am the painting. And so are you. Learning to release your death grip on control and embrace mess is costly. It blows up your plans and burns down your comfort zone. It changes your relationships even smudges your reputation, because Jesus does not color inside the lines. He delights in freedom. He delights in color. He delights in you.
Saturated with living water, embracing color, releasing control and “neatness,” something amazing happens. Not a perfect impersonation, but a beautiful expression. You know what happens when God makes art? You. You happen. And were you to be found in a gallery, you know what your price tag would be? The life of God’s son.
When the creator of the universe designed you, what colors did he use? What does your picture look like?
Lavona says
Wow Jennifer what a beautiful illustration of what God has in store for us when we let go of the paint brush and give it back to the original painter. Wonderful words to reflect on. Thank you.