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.