Wednesday, November 23, 2011


I see it at a glance and groan.
This had been Avonlea's art project. Under those vibrant pinks and purples, was a well thought out, perfectly centered and arranged, cluster of people in vintage clothing. Avonlea's specialty.

I called my girls to me to reconcile this offense. One big girl, one little girl. One dark, one light. One poetic, one prosaic. Sisters by birth, opposites by nature.

Avonlea's jaw dropped at the sight of the desecration. Rose hid her face. I was angry because something beautiful was ruined. I was angry because I hated to see hard work wasted. I was angry because....this situation felt all too familiar.

I lay my plans, work them out diligently. I make a sketch of tomorrow, perfectly centered and arranged. It's my specialty.
God has a specialty also, and it often resembles the vibrant crayon which annihilates my etchings.
Sometimes, in my humanness, this makes me angry.

As I talked to the girls I saw something emerge. Avonlea acknowledged, even in her disappointment, that her sister is more important than a drawing. Rose apologized sincerely, Avonlea forgave. More was gained than lost from the interaction. 

The plans of mine that lay lifeless....are more gain than loss. I don't see that now it it's fullness, but I'll tell you what I do see.
I see the signature of God on my picture.
Doesn't that alone make it a masterpiece?

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