Works of Art

 I received a surprise this Christmas when I flew to Colorado to be with family: my brother Andi has become an artist. Admittedly, he has only completed paint-by-number masterpieces so far, but they are stunning. The vibrant colors of the sunset or the lonely boat moored on a remote lake both make me wish I could climb into the canvas. My favorite one, however, is this one:

It could be any number of places I wish I could be at right now. The scene looks serene and peaceful, a far cry from the last couple of years we have had. I've been a part of multiple conversations of late in which someone has expressed the wish for such a calm moment away from the mayhem of fires, depression, cancer, and COVID. But I think sometimes we fall into the trap of thinking a remote mountain scene like the one in the picture comes about without cost.

Andi says it took him somewhere in the range of 60 hours to complete the first painting, and even this one is probably upwards of 40 hours. That is a lot of time to be bent over a piece of fabric, trying to distinguish greens and spot the right numbers. And then there's the setting itself - really, if you think about it, you're looking at cold waterfalls over jagged rocks, which are probably a result of snowstorms in harsh mountain conditions. To have been present when this scene was being formed could have meant hypothermia or worse.

Yet, isn't that precisely when hope comes in? As I reflect on 2021 and how it did not see the end of a global pandemic nor the end of my neighbor's cancer while it did hold the death of a beloved grandmother, it could be easy to see only the harshness. Hope rests in the knowledge that beautiful things are never rushed. Psalm 103 says, "The Lord knows how we are formed; he remembers that we are dust. But from everlasting to everlasting, the Lord's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children" (v. 13, 17). 2021 may have been awful. Or it may have been wonderful. Either way, we are being shaped by a patient God who uses time (even more than 60 hours) and all kinds of conditions, both violent and serene, to shape us into beautiful works of art. I dare to call it love.