After the Sunrise Service, our spiritual family breaks bread together, then those who nurse a closet (or overt) passion to paint go to work in our church yard.
This is a tradition we started four years ago. And it seems to be gaining ground.
This year, more kids join the session. Especially because the objective is to gather 40 paintings for exhibit on our church’s 40th anniversary in September. All amateurs, we are guided by our Youth Pastor who has done more artworks than all of us put together.
“I didn’t go to art school,” he apologizes. “I just love painting.” Those exact words would have come from my mouth, but the difference between him and me is that, judging from his body of wonderful works, he definitely has the talent!
The last time I put my paint brushes to use was at the same time and place last year. Busyness in writing and some teaching relegated those brushes in a corner where they gathered dust for 365 days.
I’ve always said that although I love painting, painting doesn’t love me. What my mind sees is not what my hands deliver. My gifts lie elsewhere, but the wonderful feelings painting brings becloud the inability.
I am not complaining; I am thanking the resurrected Savior for giving us areas of interest that rain untold joy, untold grace.
“This one’s excellent!" he singles out the work of Jillian, aged 9. "And this. And this. Confident strokes,” he adds. The works of the kids impress him! Sigh, he ignores mine.
That challenges me to slave over my painting some more, to come close to the kids’. I spend the rest of the day urging my hands to do what I want to see.
At day’s end, “Nah.” The hands simply can’t deliver, but the heart brims with gladness. And I lift up my brushes in praise of my resurrected Lord!
Photos:grabbed from the FB pages of Karen and Ching
1 comment:
Looks good! Mine na lang if you don't like it, hehe.
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