We used to have those little long boxes at home, that were usually made of metal and when you opened the hinged lid, inside were about twelve or more different little, solid rectangular blocks of paint in a variety of colours and shades. Lying alongside this was a paint brush or maybe two and when the hinged lid lay flat and open it contained several larger grooves for mixing colours and getting just the right shade to complete your masterpiece. And that's where most of my creations started and finished. I've no doubt that it is one of God's gifts to many individuals, not only to be able to visualise a picture and its associated colours but how to just get the correct shading that brings a two dimensional piece of art so stunningly to life. I've also no doubt that this particular gift was not one He chose to bestow on me, though my distant past, now obscured partly by many foggy memories, does recall a time when I really enjoyed messing about with paints, though I guess I was more interested in just adding colour to a page rather than adding realism. And we've all had a go ourselves, dipping the brush into the little cup or jar of water, swishing it around in the rectangular paint block and then brushing it on to the drawing in question. Then going back to the water, rinsing the brush and choosing another colour to add to the scene. Unfortunately, probably like many others, I was always not the thorough rinser of brushes that I should have been so often strange colours and shades began to congregate on top of the many little blocks of paint, probably most noticeable on the yellow rectangles that began to exhibit lines of blue and green. And of course when everything had hardened, few of the blocks were left untarnished by streaks of other colours. However, the more I used the paint box, the more obvious it became that certain colours were either preferred or required more than others and it wasn't long before a deep valley began to appear in certain rectangles, eventually leading to a hole, but I don't think I ever exhausted any palette so completely that it had disappeared altogether. Long before I had settled into secondary school, I had already decided that Art wasn't for me and I certainly wasn't for it and the paint box was closed and put away for ever, though my sister did continue to dabble in water colours and at one stage had acquired a few little tubes of oil based paints but, sadly, it wouldn't become her forte either. Several years ago, though, I thought I'd give it another try when I discovered an old 'painting by numbers' kit that the boys had never used, but I soon found out that those extra years of knowledge and experience had done little to develop my artistic ability with the brush and in terms of painting, I can't even count up to ten! That's why I get frustrated when I see wife and youngest son, both able to draw and paint, yet seldom using a gift that I would love to possess.
And so these days and for many years, I have restricted myself to using a much broader brush and painting walls, window ledges, ceilings and doors, where the shade and colour is predetermined and where mistakes and lack of ability are less likely to be noticed. Yet again, it's only when you watch a real professional that you understand that this sort of painting is ever bit as much an art and a skill in its own right, as that done with a finer brush on a canvas. From the preparation of the surface to the amount of paint on the brush, to choosing the right brush and knowing how to apply it correctly to the surface so as not to leave any obvious streaking and of course the ability to paint into corners, around ledges and window panes and to develop straight lines, all takes time and no little skill to get right.
When we first built our house, took on the unenviable task of painting it inside and out and many summer mornings I was to be found in a room or with a ladder up against a wall, before the clock had struck five, happily swishing away with a brush and listening to the offerings on the local radio station. And for some reason, I always associate that time with one song by Bruce Hornsby and the Range called 'The Way it is' released that summer and one which. for me, started a love affair with the band, that has never died through the years and culminated in seeing them in concert in Belfast quite a few years ago. Of course my other main memory was painting the outside walls while eldest son, at the time, only son, sat chirping away in his buggy. I think that's the closest he ever got to painting the walls since! But I still love to paint and there is a great satisfaction to be found in the finished piece of work as well as the opportunity that painting gives to devote time to our thoughts.
When I put the picture of my life in the hands of the Master painter, He always gets it right, each colour and shade chosen with care, each brush stroke delicately applied and each mistake that i have made carefully erased and replaced with something far better. So often, I tarnish the pure colours with imperfections and yet He comes along and makes them right again, making me presentable to His Father. And without His intervention, the picture of my life would never be good enough for the God of heaven. But like my attempts at art, I had to come to that realisation in my life that what I did could never be good enough and stop trying to please God by my own imperfect ways. It is only through yielding to Jesus that I can please God and only through Him that I can communicate with my Creator. And no matter how many times I let Him down, I can never exhaust His forgiveness nor His love for me. Jesus work was finished through His death on a cross but in some lives the picture He wants to create hasn't even been started yet.
