Today the kids started making a mural. They unrolled their long piece of white paper on the kitchen floor and began strategizing and planning the perfect masterpiece to fill up the page. I did the lettering for them (thank goodness I spent so many hours in fourth grade perfecting my block letters) and they started drawing and covering their paper. Before long it was time to color.
If you know Adelade at all you know that she is an artist at heart. She’s particular about her drawings. Doing what was probably the biggest piece of art she’d ever tackled, and doing that piece of art with a five year old, was a challenge for her. But, if she didn’t have help, she would never be able to get this gigantic thing finished. So, she let Sawyer color. She needed him. He loves coloring and does a fair job for a five year old.
But, the further they got into the process, the more she started trying to control the way he was doing his coloring. She decided she would help him do his outlining. Then she tried giving him advice about which direction his coloring lines should go. Before long, he was sitting there with a big frown on while she took over and colored his part. He was there to help her, but she couldn’t give up her need to control the project, so she ended up doing things the hard way. I sat there watching this whole scene unfold, and after I made Adelade give Sawyer his crayon back, I laughed at how she is so obviously my daughter.
Because there are times when God needs to help me (and by “times” I mean every minute of every day). But, often in those moments I can find myself wanting to be in charge. I have some wild and irrational notion that I can handle things in my life better than the Creator of the Universe. I want to worry. I want to talk an issue to death. I want to rationalize and try to figure things out, when what I really need to do is JUST LET GOD COLOR.
My experience here on Earth will probably always have that annoying black blob right where I don’t want it. And it will always seem messy and way too abstract for my taste. But, one day, when I go to be with God and He allows me to look on the picture of my life from a Heavenly perspective, I’ll be able to see why He used the colors He chose. And, I’ll understand how all of my feeble scribblings were made beautiful thanks to His masterful artistry. I’ll see that my part of the masterpiece was so small, yet He made it important.
Someday I’ll laugh at the way I tried to tell Him how to color. And He will smile knowingly. And He will love me forever.