The Artist's Hands
Awestruck, I sit here on the rock ledge,
The canyon stretched far out before me;
A living canvas.
The trees grow in their appointed place,
Their lives move according to the painter's will.
That azure sheet makes up the sky,
White brush strokes moving slowly across it.
And as night approaches,
His cover of black velvet shall encase this place,
Droplets of water sparkling defiantly against the oblivion;
Every droplet has a name.
And while this canvas brings much joy to look at,
Greater masterpieces lie in the midst.
Each person is a living, breathing canvas.
Each fingerprint is unique.
And in the canvas that is myself,
I see the colours in my being,
And realize something.
The artist gave me a sliver of his gift.
What better way to show my love for him with my own hands?
Author's Note: One day during my summer church camp, I was sitting on a rock ledge over looking a canyon on the end of camp, doing my devotions. And I looked up, and it was like my breath was taken away. I realized that God is the Ultimate Artist: The Painter of the Canvas that is my Soul. And I mean, you always know that God made you, but it hit me right in that moment, and gripped my heart.