Paint, He said. For me.

What?, I asked; but in my heart, I knew there was but one thing to paint.

My heart.

Exposing what had lain buried, I painted

bitterness, jagged and calloused,

bruises,
clouded doubt –
chaos, and
despair.

But what seemed to cover all – was not all.
From the brush came piercing sacrifice,
and the white-hot gleam of LIFE REDEEMED slashed the dark in two.
PAID, it said, in bright blood red,
and healing stripes crisscrossed the page.

A voice spoke, naming what lay behind –
Names to no longer hold onto –
Addict, Liar,
Reject, Traitor.
Garbage.
And with each declared – each (suddenly) became naught.

When I’d set my brush,
I looked down at this ugly mess in my lap.
I felt it was past, but still… it was “mine.”
I heard His whisper yet again, and when finally I had resolved my mind,
I laid it at His feet and kneeled beneath.

This is all I have, I said. It’s Yours.

He smiled and sat with me awhile, then whispered again. Go, He said.

I rose and looked at the painting laying face up on the altar, for all to see, and He said to me – Leave it there.

The world turned. I went back to where I’d come from, but I had left my painting – myself – my sin – on the altar.

When I finally returned to retrieve the painting, my walk turned to a jump, which turned into a twirl, and I was dancing down the aisle. I was free, and the painting was dry – almost. I waved it back and forth to air it out, and then it became a banner in my dance. I whipped it about like a child with her first good school marks; no longer was it despair, loneliness, condemnation, but instead, a reminder that my God took my punishment, giving me peace (so undeserved!) in exchange

And by his wounds

I have been healed.

Sketch I - FOUND

The arena is packed tonight - it’s like the rock concert of the century.
The masses are here, and I cower among them.
All come
All await
Just a touch of his clothes, a glimpse of his face.

The arena shakes, smoke billows from nowhere
and they’re screaming, wailing, pushing, shoving
to see HIM.

He’s here, they say. He’s come.

Timidly, I strain my neck, my eyes, my ears
but I’m drowning in the din
My soul, like sand, dissolves and sinks into silence
Just another grain on a sandy shore,
too small, too meek, and I don’t belong.

Then, a hint –
a flash of His golden face among the crowd
(and I’m too afraid to look – will He still be there?)
And again, His face.
Amongst the cheering, bleating throng, His bright eyes scan, everywhere.

He’s searching.

He begins to move, past the grasping hands, the zealous cries, the crushing throng, and He’s still searching.
For who?… I whisper, when suddenly, He stops. And He’s looking at me.

And now His search has broken into running:
He’s leaping over my layers of hiding, hands out, face alight.
He wants ME.

The tears come even before He arrives –
Dad, I’m so sorry, I should have come, but I have nothing left...! I look up to His approaching face, and He’s crying, too. My daughter! My daughter! – and His arms are around me in an instant.

The chokehold I expected
is the safest embrace I’ve ever received – ever will –
and He’s hugging me, and crying, and laughing. I love you. I love you.

We’re rocking back and forth together. No longer do I hear the noise of the crowd. I breathe in hope from His sweet-smelling robes. He kisses me, and without words, I know.

I know,
finally,
I’ve found home.