Written on February 3, 2016. By Shari Norvell
We are a divine work of Art, something that God is making. Something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character. CS Lewis
This quote waxed and waned over the landscape of my heart some days ago. If its sheen and shine produced a visual, one would find my heart house surrounded by overturned pots, mounds of dirt, seedlings, shovels and spades. All purposed to move what was inside, out. The external manifestation of this was my topography, paper strewn alongside toppled methods and mediums for this thing called art. The attempt to bring what rumbled inside out onto more than rumpled paper.
Nothing about textures and tones know I. Technique and mastery have not darkened my door. All I have are wayward loose ends inside. Things He has said. Piercing, prodding things that have poured forth in different forms and fashions over the years and now seem desperately determined to take on some touchable, tangible form.
And so, with a portion of my project that should lay flat, curling mercilessly and the script that should be perfect and poised a bit smeared, the words of a man who knew what it was like to have more inside than you could ever possibly bring earth side tempted me to be encouraged. Greatly. For they made sweet, splendid sense in the midst of my creative chaos.
For how often had I wanted the portrait of myself to be laden with thickened layer upon layer of paint and prose so the mistakes and messes were complacently covered. But Pappa, He seems to enjoy curled edges and colors smashed and smeared until they make new ones. Each stroke of His hand seems to reveal more than it hides. Strokes that open far more than they close. Marks and lines that invite access instead of outlining restrictions.
Oh this elysian Elyon. He seems utterly unconcerned that I might ruin His reputation. He appears at ease that I may tarnish His testimonies in some tantamount way. And He seems unenslaved to the idea that I may very well scandalize His good name. Why, in reality, He seems to revel in the risk that I could, will actually enhance those very things. Simply by the stroke after stroke. By moving His brush in ways that I would not, if given the chance. Because. Of His cause. To reveal Himself through me, in spite of me. To resonate into a world that is wildly imperfect and terribly torn. And desperately deep in the requirement to see who He really is, to know the unknown, even as they don’t know they are unknowing.
Because. Sometimes in the middle of mayhem and in the bedlam of broken, calm comes by way of an imperfect, irregular canvas that most artists would have discarded or destroyed. Perched upon the easeled hand of God. Propped to proclaim that He was there, knocking and kneading upon the foundation of a masterpiece, until it, until I would come out of hiding and be displayed. Platformed, elevated as a reigning attribute of His very character. Evidence of it. Reflection from it. Not fully revealed without it.
I look again at me project. And I realize, I love it. Just exactly the way it is. Because each smudge reveals a moment I was undone by Him. Each smear, a time he covered me so completely the blemish was washed away. It is a tangible testimony of who He has been to me. Who He is in me. Who He want the world to know He is through the ardent artist I am becoming. Expressing, exploring and exalting. HIM.
Todays journal is a bit different. We are going to tie up loose ends! You have journal for 19 weeks now!! Thank you! Go back through each of your entries and circle, highlight, underline the two words that stand out to you right off in each one. The take the words and put them together for this weeks entry. Let Him show you how much you have revealed of Him through the strokes of your pen or keyboard. And watch as stroke by stroke, stitch by stitch the words you wrote to Him become his letter to you.
If you haven’t been journaling, or haven’t done every entry but have been reading each one, simply take the word (Title) of each entry and let him arrange them in order for the message He has for you.