The Painting Room
In a quiet corner of a quaint, little room
Stood an easel with a fresh, new canvas.
Stood an easel with a fresh, new canvas.
Pure and white.
A canvas filled with possibilities.
The Artist began to paint.
With purposeful strokes,
Bright, hopeful hues filled the canvas.
He knew exactly what His masterpiece would be.
He's always known.
It is beautiful.
Over time, others came along and try to add to the canvas.
Not as adept as the Artist,
They left their mark.
Still others came and left a mark not wanted.
An ugly, dark stain is left behind.
The once bright and beautiful canvas is no longer the same.
The ugly stain weighs heavily upon it.
The Artist is there.
With paintbrush in hand, He lovingly restores His prized piece of art.
But the piece is different now... more strikingly beautiful than even before.
Deep crimson strokes cover the marred ugly spots.
It is bold, it is beautiful, so unexpected, yet breathtaking.
I am His masterpiece...not yet finished.
A canvas of beautiful strokes by a Master Artist.
Mixed with splatters and smudges where others and I have tried our hand at helping.
When I begin to look less like an original,
When gloppy, oily mistakes begin to weigh me down and make me unrecognizable,
I come home again to the Artist's Painting Room.
He is patient and loving with every stroke.
He covers.
Again.
He restores.
Again.
He recreates, yet again, the masterpiece He birthed in His heart so long ago.
I am His masterpiece.
Again.
And Again.
Always.
