As recently as yesterday I’ve said it, how I hate change. Even good change.
But this morning I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Is it possible that even this turbulent place in me could be transformed by the touch of light?
A tinge of excitement creeps in as I realize the truth. Every change is a fresh canvas on which God is beginning to paint. Every transition holds a new opportunity to marvel at His skill and His passion and His loving creativity.
There’s a lot of uncertainty in an empty canvas. Lots, too, in an empty apartment waiting to be filled with color and laughter and faith.
But there’s a lot of certainty too. The brush isn’t held by an unknown artist, but by the One who has painted beauty into the past, sometimes with dark strokes, sometimes bright, but always creating a work which, if I stand long enough with the artist, leads me deeper into the exploration of light and hope and love.
Master artist, you
who created worlds with a word,
and now hold and shape me with your own hand,
stretch my heart to trust you with the empty canvas,
train my eyes to see your glory painted into each new place,
and teach me to marvel at the love which isn't satisfied with painting itself once,
but overflows onto canvas after canvas of startling beauty.