Your Blank Canvas

 

A Blank Canvas

from You I was born,

but by the sinner’s hand

the canvas was torn.

 

Exposed, drowning, it is land I seek,

but barren, desolate, it provides not a drink.

To quench a thirst of unthinkable kind,

I beseech evil to provide a bind.

 

For my canvas is saturated in colors of shame

For which I am left with only You to blame.

For how could a thing happen as such

to leave for me a wound too much.

 

But – wait-

 

As from the tattered fabric weeps what is red,

is that You I now find at the foot of my bed?

Why are You here after all that I’ve done;

to push and pull at You without any concern?

 

To my last fighting words,

a sweet whisper He sang…

“Oh, my dearest child, let Me explain,

Bask on that weathered cross where I hang,

for it is there that you

recognize Me in your pain.”

 

In that very moment, it became clear

that I was a palette that He held dear.

So, a promise to You I forever give.

I return to You so that I might live.

 

A portrait that You might color at will

for others to ponder The Way up that hill;

and, although I have to offer not much –

Just a simple gift with a personal touch.

 

It is a gift of not gold

or anything high-class;

it is what you gave me

A Blank Canvas

 

My Blank Canvas

This poem was the one written immediately following my prayer within that chapel. The first marks in my journal - My Blank Canvas. That journal is now filled with forty more poems. Poems you will read in the days to come. Listen every day, for these words were given to me; words I thought I no longer needed. They are for you, allow God to find you amidst them. 

 

Your Blank Canvas

Let whatever journal you hold become Your Blank Canvas today. Journey through these next days writing, painting, laughing, screaming, and crying. As that little red journal became a canvas for me, may yours provide the same. Open it up, let the words flow. What is that you need this day? Is it a missing word, a longing voice, a listening ear, a reminder that He is always with you? Let the first strokes upon your paper be the:

 

"How did this happen?"

"I'm sorry." 

"I hate you."

"I love you."

"I miss you."

"I need you."

"Answer me."

"I'm ready!"

 

 

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