The Canvas

LIFE IS WATERCOLOR, every canvas different because of where Your brush moves and how much liquid You use.

I like things black and white. I get, instead, a milky gray or an indistinct blue. The grays of life have consumed me, blended from a palette of darkness’ pen. Blend me in, dip your brush, paint on me what you will, and whatever you intended to get from me, comes out the same.

Your love colors everything. What I see, what I speak, the words I write are all cleansed in Your scarlet. Who I am, who I will be, this name I’ve gained because of who You are, come from Your vermillion hues. Where I’m broken, where I’m healing, fall the blues torn from Your back. Where I’ve slept, where I’m resting, is the green which You have placed around me. Where I dine, where I drink are drawn up from Your turquoise depths.

What I hunger for, You long to give me. Where You breathe, I will take my next breath. What You grasp, what You hold, I will clasp tightly to me. Where You stand, where You lead, I place each footstep. It was Your stroke that colored in the lines. Your canvas I’ve been stretched out on, bleeding one shade into the next, until it reaches the edge and there it hangs, one drop suspended. Your fingers in the way, Your nails stained.

Like Father. Like Son. And the Breath of the Father pushes the drop over the edge.

Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

Suzanne D. Williams, Author