Of Painting the World

Last fall I began a project. We had been given (ok, I'd begged for) fence panels that had been destined for the fire with the hope of bringing them new life. I had a vision of using one of these for a wall-sized mural of the earth. The vision of where this mural would be located and for what purpose it was to be created continued to morph, but the vision remained. I would paint a map of the world and write across it some version of John 3:16, "For God so loved the world . . ."

So last fall, I laid my hands on one of those panels and hauled it across the yard in which our children ran rampant while Mommy was distracted and leaned it haphazardly in front of one of the windows to our den. It didn't matter that it would block some light because this project would be finished soon and quickly be moved to its proper place (which I had now decided would be the barren brick wall along the front porch). And I determinedly started painting.

But then the paint didn't apply as easily as I'd hoped on those rough boards. 

Sweat started dripping; it was hot in that afternoon sun.

And then the countries started seeming disproportionate and, altogether, kind of wrong.

I decided to take a break and come back to it another day.

Days later, I was out in the yard and saw my project, leaning in front of the window, from a distance and realized, "I can tell it's the earth!" - it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. Maybe I would finish it.

Someday.

Someday soon.

But not today. It's too hot. I have other things to do during nap time (that precious time in which Mommy can do things Mommy needs/wants to do). 

I'm just not ready.

And so it went. For nearly a year.

It's too hot.

It's too cold.

I'd have to change into painting clothes.

I have other things to do.

I just don't want to.

I'm just not ready.

Until today. When I sat down, still in my church clothes, ready to sink into the Sunday paper and unwind while everyone else rested. I settled into the den and for the umpteenth time since I started that danged project I mourned the darkness of the den and thought to myself (as I do nearly every other day), "I need to finish that so we can get some light in this room again."

But today was different. Today I finally thought, "This is the day."

I didn't bother changing out of my "nice" clothes, but just marched myself to the craft cabinet, grabbed some paint and a paintbrush and stepped up to the fence. 

Long white skirt flowing, I slapped green paint in all the faded white borders painted months ago. Recklessly and without abandon, I painted broad strokes over the whole earth.

And in that moment, God spoke to me.

Go paint the world with His love, and don't be afraid of getting your church clothes dirty.

Sometimes it's uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to change. Sometimes we have to give up the plans we had for ourselves. And sometimes we have to GO. Even when we don't feel "ready."

Because the world is dark and it's waiting. He didn't send His Son to save us from the fire so we could rest in comfort, adjusting ourselves to the dark, rather than moving the world to allow in His light. 

It might get messy.

It might not be as easy as we thought it might be in the rough-ness of the world, the one that sometimes just seems so wrong. 

But it's His. And it's loved. And we need to tell them.

Because that is what we have been called to do.

Until it is finished.