I wish I was more artistic. I wish that I had the ability to create something out of pieces of cloth or soft thread or to be able to put brush to paper and capture a moment. I wish I could look at something in a thrift store and see the potential in it and where I might artfully place it in my home. Oh to have an amazing camera and to be able to wield it to take glorious pictures. I love to look at others art and dream of creating it myself. But all I can do is basic crochet and even that not well. I scrapbook some but mostly all I see in a thrift store is overpriced junk. My camera is just a plain and simple one and t he photographer is mediocre at best.
After prattling through blog after blog of artistically talented women I am often left feeling jealous and inadequate, a tad bit bitter that God didn’t gift me with the ability to create and at times wishing for a different life. A life filled with more beauty and less diapers, a life that looks more like a picture from a Martha Stewart magazine and a life more, dare I say it, perfect.
One day while perusing my favorite blogs I came to this post and was immediately hit by this statement…Your life is art. Who mine? Wow…what a revelation. Is my life art? It was designed by the Creator, so it must be.
Psalms 139:13-14, You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous and how well I know it.
My life is a drawing in the beginning stages, the artist a master. It is an unfinished painting. Done in some areas, bright and colorful. In others, dark, faded hints of what will become.
I am a book, my life penned out behind me by the unseen Author. Words leave a trail of who I am….rough words, words of light, painted words, ugly and beautiful words, healing words. I might wish some of the pages didn’t come with this book, but to leave them out would be to leave out pieces of m e. Many of the pages are strewn with dark ink blotches where I messed up and the hand writing is different in the areas where I tried to grab the pen from the Author and write my own story. My life is a work in progress and blank pages wait in front of me to be filled with all that I will learn and live.
Seeing my life as art requires that I place my life in proper perspective. That I stop seeing the failure and disappointments as ugliness but demands that I see the Father as the Artist, the Author, who takes those blights on the pages of my life and turns them into a marvelous masterpiece. I am created by a loving, talented, incapable of mistakes Artist. One who knew what He was doing when He breathed life into me. How you live your life is your art and allowing the Creator of light, dark, color, and canvas to fashion you into a masterpiece is acknowledging who He is in your life.
Friends, today is the day to let the Potter mold your life into a strong pitcher that pours out His love on those around you. Isaiah 64: 8, And yet, Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We are all formed by your hand.
It is the day to let the Weaver, weave you into a warm blanket of His security to wrap around those you cherish. It is the day to let the Painter brush stroke you into a masterpiece.
Go be His ART!