forgiveness is an art, and i am afraid that i am still using crayons.
at the end of all my effort and creativity, i look back and see a crude representation of what i had imagined.
instead of the desired masterpiece created by oil paints, mixing, shades, and brush techniques,
i see a child’s drawing where the creatures are disproportionate, the colors aren’t quite right, wax is thick on the page, and lines of white are still visible between strokes of color.
as i look back, i find myself frustrated that it didn’t happen the way i wanted.
maybe i left out something.
perhaps i added too much.
it just doesn’t look like i thought it would.
yet, maybe, just maybe, i have been mistaken in what to expect.
is it not possible that child-like wonder and approach are more beautiful and heartfelt than concern with making it look right?
in what other areas of life might i need to pick up the crayons in favor over the charcoals, the pastels, and the oil paints?
in laughter?
in writing? in dance and song?
in worship and thought?
in love?
