Many a days
I sit back and look at my life here in Zambia and think, how did I end up here?
I am left with nothing but marvel at the hand of God, the master artist who has
painted each stroke with purpose, precision and patience. I am but a canvas,
chosen to become what the artist deems fit, chosen for a specific purpose and
as the artist picks up his paint brush he does not wonder what I will become,
he has decided what I will become. No stroke from his brush is a mistake and
with time the masterpiece, what the painting is destined to become begins to
make sense. Who am I to question the artist? What may make no sense to me makes
perfect sense to him. Vivid colors full of life and passion are stroked across
the canvas and are seemingly overshadowed by the deep, the desolate,
the dismal colors of darkness. With time the
canvas, when looking up only saw the darkness that covered and seemed to suffocate
it. No longer could canvas see the artist at work, its gaze was focused only on
the despairing suffocation of the darkness. The canvas could no longer feel the
gentle strokes of the skilled artist ‘s brush. Had the
painter abandoned his work? Had he given up on his visions of a
masterpiece? Days turned in to
weeks, which turned to months and then years. The once eager heart of the
canvas grew dull. Doubt replaced hope and sorrow superseded joy. Then the day came where the
canvas in a state of desperation called out for the painter. Have you forgotten
me? Have you given up on me? Are you still working to make me into a beautiful
masterpiece as you had promised? Then the still small voice of the artist spoke gently
saying,” I have never stopped working to make you into that masterpiece and I
will never stop until you have become what you are destined to become. I am
ever working. Your focus has been on the paint not the painter. The paint is
merely a tool in my hand to make you into what I desire. You must trust me. Let
me show you what I see” At that moment the artist lifted the canvas to a mirror
and for that moment the canvas saw through the eyes of the artist. It was given
a new perspective. The colors, even the dark despairing hues began to make
sense. The canvas was not complete but was beginning to see the beauty unfold.
It was becoming a masterpiece. In anticipation, the once dull heart of the
canvas grew eager. Hope replaced doubt and joy superseded sorrow. As time went
on there were times when the canvas was tempted to believe the artist was no
longer at work. But was quickly reminded of the words of the artist and the glimpse
it was given of what it was to become. Looking back on that moment now
liberates the canvas from the chains of deception and false perspective that
once enslaved it. Remembering to look through the eyes of the master artist and to trust each stroke of his hand, even when he chooses to use the darker shades to enhance the forthcoming masterpiece.
