(I wrote this a couple of years ago on the first anniversary of a life-altering day. This piece is inspired the title of my blog, Clean White Canvas.)
One year. Four seasons. 365 days. You only collect a handful in a lifetime. The speed of changing seasons creates an Impressionist piece of art. From a distance you can’t see the harsh lines where one year starts and another ends. But up close each moment is a brushstroke.
For 35 years I’d taken the brush out of God’s hands to paint my own masterpiece. But in His sovereignty, God had had enough of the mess I’d splattered on His canvas. It stung as He carefully began chiseling away layers of dull, bromidic years.
I had envisioned this beautiful life in my mind, planned every brushstroke, and arranged every detail of my collected years. I knew how they were supposed to look from a distance. The people I loved had encouraged my work, and the years moved so quickly I wasn’t cognizant of outside voices that had made themselves my muses.
It has been 356 days since God began restoring me. Throughout the year, I’ve wrestled with letting go of the brush and giving up control. A few times I’ve tried to stop God from stripping away all the layers, begging him to leave just a few. But they weren’t part of God’s magnum opus.
And while I’d love for God to let me peek at the final piece that will hang in His gallery, I’m peacefully content with the clean white canvas of my life.