Yielded Hands

 At the heart that beats slightly off-center of my body, I am an artist. God made me that way, I didn't train for it. I inherently see the world in its magnificent coat of many colors. I am tortured by the minutiae of things "not put right" that I see along my paths -- pictures of old barns without proper perspective, cheesy Bob Ross renditions (even if they're under the guise of Thomas Kinkade), icky modern paintings that are simply ugly at the least but more often simply ridiculous in their pomposity, and yes, Christmas trees who've been sorely neglected. In an unfallen world, before Eve ate that doomed fruit, these things would not exist. 

The tyranny of the urgent and the need for groceries makes it necessary that I work outside of my art studio. The last 6 years of frantic real estate markets have overtaken the remnants of my right brain, so that I have had to operate out of that often hard, cold land: my left brain. I've had to contort myself into positions difficult and unnatural for me at times, dealing with numbers and loans and shark-like people. The thankful part involves the many folks that I can find a way to help and minister to along the way. God has a sense of humor, and He wedges us into places where we have to rely on Him rather than our own strength. I surrender myself daily to the things that make me squirm, yet know that it's still all for my good.

I asked God to send me art jobs, things that come naturally to me as a duck to water. So He sent one, an impossible project where I have to restore an antique light fixture. I resisted it, quoted a large price for the job, then took a long time to gather information and materials. Today I pushed all the tchotchkes and flowers to the side of my massive dining table, making room for the unachievable. That's always the way it is. I've found myself sandwiched in peculiar places, painting things I'm not capable of painting. God insists on doing it this way. I think maybe He wants to prove that He's God and I am not. When it's all done, I can look and see that I did not do that. I'm not capable of. But I know He is, and I've seen Him do really cool things through my hands and through the hands of others. 

I've also seen miracles in other areas of my life, where I am not strong-willed or gifted enough to muster up enough of what it might take. I've gone 15 months without flour, sugar or wheat -- losing 90+ pounds. The only superpower I've had is this: a surrender, a kneeling of my pride to say, "God I can't do this. But you can. Please do this through me." As I whip out my paintbrushes to attempt this new, unknown feat, I say the same prayer. He's sending another Bethlehem star on December 21, and He made that crazy amazing sky. He formed me in my mother's womb, despite myriad obstacles. I guess I can trust Him to use these gnarly hands one more time.