He [alone] resurrects.

Last night, in an attempt to spend some intentional time with Jesus, I coerced my friend into painting her prayers with me.  I needed to create space, to listen and be still and rest.  After eight nights of continuous sleepovers (and let me add that half of those nights there was a crowd of women sleeping over due to a wedding and a New Year's party) and little alone time to hear from God, my soul was thirsty, panting, my arms reaching out franticly to touch Him.

And so I gave my friend a quick demo of how to paint, handed her the supplies, and turned on the worship music.  I barely spoke, other than my exchanges with Jesus and for me, this space was exactly what I needed.  I began throwing colors on the white sheet, pinks and greens and yellows, celebrating the new life that I've seen in my walk with Him over the past few months.  Something broke open within me this semester, and I was creating a painting to represent that.

After awhile, I felt like the piece was done and I sat back to look at it.  Though I was sure it was finished, it didn't look quite right.  I added more yellow, but that wasn't it, something was off.  I crossed my arms, frustrated, my eyebrows furrowed in thought.

[how I intended it to go]

It just didn't feel right.

I flipped the painting upside down and stopped.  It's supposed to go this way.

But God, I insisted, that isn't how I created it to go.  I was painting a picture of the Life that broke open within me this semester, remember?  If the piece is turned upside down it looks like… well… it looks like You shining down into some sort of messiness, not me bursting open, growing closer to You.

Ah but My child, He replied softly, you are mistaken.  The intimacy you have with Me didn't increase because you figured out how to listen or because you discovered new tools.  You burst open because I resurrected dead areas in your life.  I am the initiator.  New Life always starts with Me.

[how He intended it to go]

With the painting turned upside down (or I suppose it was right side up to God) it felt brighter.  I've never taken an art class, and so I can't explain to you scientifically what it does to the eye to have the brighter colors on top and the darker colors on the bottom.  I don't know how (neurologically) this makes the art appear lighter.

But I do know that there is something brighter about knowing that my God is the initiator, about knowing that I don't grow to Him but that He reaches down to me, about knowing that there is a resurrection hope amid any lifeless mess.

There was, it appeared, a theology lesson present for me in the midst of my play.  That, I think, is what art has become for me: a space to learn and re-learn the Truths about our great God, a space to create with our Creator, a space to breathe and rest and interact with Him, a space to know and be known.

[a space for Father, Son, Spirit, and me.]