Art Studio Theology

“They were supposed to make a butterfly,” my friend said.  My friend — the party host celebrating her eight year-old’s birthday in an art studio.  “But they ran out of butterflies, so Grace chose the word PEACE instead.  Really, Grace?!”

Grace chose peace.

art1And they tenderly painted.

art2And blasted heat.

art3And awkwardly navigated through the sticky.

art4And they cluttered.  My goodness, they cluttered until they couldn’t fit anymore drama onto their peace.

art5No one’s looked the same.  No one’s treasure was predictable.  Each one was beauty out of a random mess.  Just like them.  Just like their parents.

I dream of peace — dream of my own definition of peace — but He surprises me every time.

Peace… through His tenderness.  Peace… amidst the heat of oppression and suffering.  Peace… despite awkward confusion.  Peace… reflected in the mosaic of messiness turned redemption.

No, it’s not random at all, I guess.

It’s indeed a masterpiece.  The Maker’s every-evolving Story — forever unpredictable — calm and still and full of rest.

Grace chose peace.  His grace chose peace for me.  I think I’ll choose it, too.

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