Of Canvas and the Painting of It

http://www.flickr.com/photos/
billiecordova/5400468107/

  I laid on my back in a green grassy field and watched the clouds gently float by. I squinted my eyes, trying to concoct shapes out of the fluff. After spying a strange looking face, a fire breathing dragon and a fuzzy kitty, I rolled back onto my tummy and looked over at Jesus who was sitting beside me with a canvas and palette of paint. His calloused hands moved the brush with ease and precision as he blended colors and shapes into a beautiful sunset landscape. I propped my chin in my hands and smiled.

"You paint such beautiful pictures." I sighed. Jesus eyes sparkled as He turned towards me.

"Thanks." He replied "It's one of my favorite things to do." 

"It looks so real!" I exclaimed as I admired His handiwork "Like I could just walk into it!"

Jesus laughed as He added a bit more red to the sunset. As I watched Him continue to paint, I noticed the sparkle disappear from His eye, and the paintbrush droop as He looked sadly off into the distance. I sat up.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He looked at me and forced a small smile. 

"Just thinking..." He said softly. I waited for Him to continue. He set down His brush and paint, stood up and offered His hand to help me up. 

"I want to show you something." He told me. I stood up rubbed my hands together gleefully. 

"Another adventure?" I asked. He shook Head.

"Not this time." He said "Just something I think you should see."

"Works for me." I said, not sure why He was still so sad.

He took my hand and we started walking through the field. 

  We soon came across a young girl also sitting in the field. As I got closer, I saw that she had a canvas and paints. Curious, I came up behind her to see what she was painting. It was a beautiful portrait of her. It was the most lifelike painting I'd ever seen - it captured every detail about her from the mischievous glint in her eyes to the soft sprinkling of freckles across her nose. It was breathtaking. Suddenly, my hands flew to my mouth in horror as she clumsily scooped paint up onto her brush, and smeared it across the portrait, attempting to cover the freckles. I saw Jesus wince beside me as she smeared more paint on different areas of the canvas that she thought didn't look quite right. By the time she was done, you could never have guessed how beautiful the painting had originally been. As she stood up and walked away with her painting, Jesus motioned for me to follow Him. Not far off there was another young woman with a beautiful portrait of herself, only this time instead of smearing paint all over it herself, she was paying someone else to paint over her portrait. And while the man she paid was obviously very skilled and trained, what was left was a mere shadow and imitation of what the painting had been before. I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears as I turned around and saw another woman painting black letters and designs on her portrait, all the while declaring loudly that it was her painting and that she could do what she wanted with it. 

  As we kept walking, I saw many people with their paintings around me. Men and women of all ages. Some of the paintings they carried had been neglected and were falling apart from lack of care while others were so obsessed with their paintings that they had no time to see the beauty of the field around them and the other people that were in it. 

I turned and looked up at Jesus. Tears filled His eyes as He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"I painted every one of those portraits." He said softly "I spent days adding details and unique features to each one. Each is different and special. And now look at them. These people are more concerned about what others think of their paintings than what I think."

I stood in silence, not sure what to say.

"Why don't they ever like their painting the way I make it?" continued Jesus "It doesn't matter how I paint it - they're never happy. There's always something they'd like changed or think should be fixed. What's even more sad, is that so many care more about their painting than they do about getting to know me, and letting me change their perspective and make them beautiful from the inside." He looked at me sadly.

I suddenly remembered the painting Jesus had given me. I turned and ran across the field to my house where I had tucked it away. I pulled it out of it's corner and blew the dust off it. To my chagrin, there smeared straight across it, was my attempt to paint over it. I sank to my knees as a tear rolled down my cheek. I now realized that it wasn't beautiful because it was perfect or flawless in my eyes or anyone else's, but because it was Jesus who had painted it just as it was. I heard footsteps behind me and turned towards Jesus

"I'm so sorry..." I whispered through my tears

"I forgive you." He whispered back. He sat down beside me and pulled me close. "You know" He said "I might be able to fix it."

I looked up at Him hopefully

"It'll take a lot of time and patience, but I think I might be able to get some of that extra paint off to see what's really underneath."

"I'd love that." I said as I offered Him my painting and He tucked it safely under His arm.

"You're so special." He said with a smile

"Only because you made me that way." I winked.