Painting With My Hands Open

It feels selfish to talk about the peace that comes when I spend time with Him. The security and joy that accompanies that peace feel too immediate, sometimes too easily won.

There was no 'precedent' for me in this area. I did not grow up attending services on Sunday or reciting scripture. But that Spring leading into Summer nearly 10 years ago brought the most beautiful and most peaceful gifts I never asked for, but was in desperate need of.

In the middle of what could have been some of the most soul-crushing seasons for me, peace reined instead. It stood softly in stark contrast to the darkness.

Not only peace but joy.

I learned what joy truly meant because I was somehow living it. It was nothing of my own doing - I could not have manufactured that type of joy. It was the amazing and awesome gift, free and clear, as a result of my new relationship with Him.

Nearly 10 years ago, I read the Bible for the first time, ever. In 90 days.

Yes, it was a time commitment to be sure, but instead of feeling like time was being taken away or I was in the middle of something I had to complete, I looked forward to that time each day.

Each day, regardless of the chaos around me, I knew the hope, truth, and peace of His word would protect and guide me. Not just from reading His word, but from trusting His word.

It was enough.

Even now, as those years move further into the past, I know it was so much more than enough.

While words are our dominant mode of communicating, they often fall short in expressing the awesome power of His presence, His sovereignty. Painting became the most immediate way for me to share all that was opened up to me.

It is a way to express the nuances of a beautiful life in grace.

Hands open.

“...the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”  — Isaiah 53:5