Five Minute Friday: paint
There are many paintings I could speak on, the lovely lakes, the mellow mountains, the fantastical field.
But they are not my best paintings. Not because they are not good, but because there is a truer painting.
I remember mixing the colors. Black, mostly black, with streaks of darkened green, shadowed blue, burned red, polluted purple. I remember each color was a confession, a type of grief over my shame and guilt, and I painted and the confession was more than the words I spoke. That painting is of my broken heart. My brokenness.
But there, in the ocean of chaos, shadows and darkness is a small island dimly lit by a bright little lantern.
The lantern is Him, patiently standing in the midst of all the ugliness of who I am, shedding light, burning slowly away the edges of the darkness.
Only He can do it. I am glad He decided to plant His little lantern in me.
Your word is a lamp to my feet
and a light