The strokes were like poetry. The paint gliding down the wall with the bristles of the brush. The hand unwaveringly still, careful not to make any mistake that may ruin it's intent. It's purpose was a picture of death. And it was ugly. So ugly it was beautiful.
I didn't remember painting them. They were horrible. I can only imagine it being as I wrote above. The opposite of what they probably were. But I don't remember them. I don't remember any of them. I don't remember painting the eyes. I don't remember painting the tomb. I don't remember painting the clown. I only remember waking to them wondering how they had gotten there again. The paint on my hands and spilled on my floor.
If I described myself, hopefully you wouldn't believe me. I was a picture of myself with the face scratched off. I was me, but I wasn't anything like me. I was not who I was supposed to be. I get that feeling a lot sometimes still. I don't feel like I am who I am supposed to be.
My walk to the bathroom in the mornings were chaos. The sound of the beer cans as I tried to wade through the labyrinth on my floor. The sound of my bones cracking and muscles stretching as I got up from the floor or under the table or around the toilet. The light that smashed me before I had time to adjust. My head screaming for the mercy of the Lord. Most mornings I woke up still drunk.
I had no idea of a life on the other side of hatred. No idea you were all here. No idea there really were anyone left who cared. That's what sin does. That's the work of the evil one. I don't write this for any other reason than to remember my exodus. My journey from the cold to the sun. I love to remember the power of God specifically in my life. The Bible is full of stories of it, but when it happens to you, you would do anything to feel it's intensity again. I've been in the fire. I've been burned, but there is nothing like having the pain lifted by your Savior. There is nothing like waking up to you Father wiping your hair from your eyes. It reminds me that life is brilliant. If sin must be in the world and people have to suffer...it is still so great that God gives you something different inside that fuels you to continue on.
Tell me your story of God.
Photo credit to: http://papiercouper.deviantart.com
Sing.
Migrate.
Thanks for reading...Z
