The Canvas of My Life

 The Incredulity of St. Thomas by Caravaggio

 The Prodigal Son by Rembrandt

Michelangelo

If your life was a painting what would it look like?

I had a gut check the other day.  I realized that I was checking off my days like a to-do list.

 Monday- endured

Tuesday- survived

Wednesday- finished

Thursday- completed

Friday- accomplished

Saturday-prepared

Sunday- rehabilitated

Here was my epiphany: 

My life is not simply to be endured; rather, enjoyed.  

Today, and every day is a gift God has given me to unwrap.  Am I NIT-PICKING at paper and strings or opening up this present, rejoicing in it and the Giver from whom it comes?  As these thoughts stewed in my head an abbreviated version of the contribution acknowledgement at the close of PBS shows formed:

‘THIS DAY is brought to you by a loving Heavenly Father, made possible through the generous contributions of your Savior, Jesus Christ.  Additional support has been provided by prophets, apostles, pastors, teachers, evangelists and so forth and through contributions from local viewers like you.'

The term nit-picking is actually rather fitting for my approach to existence as of late. Its modern designation means, “To be overly concerned with picayune details; to look for inconsequential errors, often to the point of obsessiveness. A nit is the egg or larva of a louse or other parasitic insect. The task of removing all the nits from an infected person or animal can be almost overwhelming as it requires a millimeter-by-millimeter examination with a magnifying glass and tweezers. By extension, a pedantic person immersed in minutiae is often called a nit-picker.” (http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Nit-picking)

I think I am not alone in the mistake of trying so very hard to do everything right that I end up doing it all wrong.  We hem and haw over the fine brush strokes, failing to step back and discover the broader marks that define the overall composition. In concentrating so much on the execution of the little we miss the big.  And in striving for the most, we fail to appreciate the least.  My family was reminded through very painful ways this past week that our time in this life is short, and precious. Someday, the sand in my sieve will run out, as it will for you. What are we doing with the time we have?  Better question—what are we becoming during the time we have?  

 I don’t want to miss the something because I’m chasing the everything.  I don’t want to scale the height of humanity, yet miss the breadth of a believer.  

The canvas of my life has been fraught with mistakes.  So many misplaced strokes.  If I have splashed paint on you in any way, I ask for your forgiveness and continued patience as I create the picture that is my life.  It assuredly will not be a Rembrandt or Caravaggio, but it will be an original and it will be my best work.  May we all paint with greater passion the days that are this life.  May we find joy in the journey, and peace in the process recognizing that none of us are complete, but a work of art in progress. 

Happy painting my friends.