My life is in the hand of the Painter, allowing Him to stroke the canvas with hues and depth that I often quite don't understand, but He is good and His plans are perfect. When I try to take the paintbrush from Him to paint, the canvas blurs...I must hand the paintbrush back, relinquish, release, trust. And as soon as I do, it all seems to make sense again. Truth is revealed. Anxiety dissipates. Perspectives shift. How long does it take to learn? He wants to make my life into a masterpiece.
Each of us is given a canvas. We don't know how long our canvas will take to paint, each day is a gift. My hope is that when my last breath is taken on this earth, the Painter can stand back (for He already knows when that last breath will be), put down the paintbrush, look at the painting, smile, and I can fall into His embrace. This is my cherished canvas.
Cherish [cher-ish], verb
1. to hold or treat as dear
2. to care for tenderly; nurture
3. to cling fondly or inveterately to
Oh to have the final canvas colored with hope in Christ, with every shade pointing to the Son. May my colors not clash, but give joy.
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