Eraser marks

"For we are God’s masterpiece." - Ephesians 2:10 

"I watched as you reached into your drawer of supplies. You pushed and pulled, scrambling up the contents. I could tell by the way you tossed things around exactly what you were looking for. Crayons, pens, pencils, paintbrushes, every last thing you could possibly create art with, but you pulled out an eraser.

This time, you weren't trying to create something, you were trying to change something: yourself.

You did your best to change every last thing about you. You changed your friends to your enemies, your compliments to your insults, your "definitely-nots" to your "definitelys"... You tried to change it all.

You left me heartbroken, crying over my own artwork.

With everything you had, you tried to change who you were. I don't know why, but you did. You tried and tried and tried, but it was left at that, you merely tried.

I loved you, adored you just the way I made you. I created you-- you were and still are my masterpiece, the one that I boast about, the one that will never be topped.

You called yourself horrid, unlovable, and worthless. You aren't the Creator, but you are the created, so be careful about how you talk about someone else's artwork, someone else's masterpiece.

You thought you saw through it all, that you saw what others didn't. You were wrong.

What you didn't see is that I didn't draw you in pencil, erasable, I drew you in pen, or even permanent marker. There was no way I could ever make a mistake, not on someone as important as you.

And I didn't."

Nature's breeze

"He remembered that they were but flesh, a passing breeze that does not return." - Psalm 78:39 

Among the blades of grass I stood, or rather, lay. Face pointed resolute to the heavens, I lay relaxed and at ease, listening to the sounds of all things around me. Chirping birds, swaying trees, my own heartbeat. The sun and its rays did not relent, but neither did I.

Nature is a wonder in which wondering is natural; wondering is key. Sometimes I think that the world around me has shifted me, changed me into someone I'm not. I have become a master lock-pick, making nature's key pointless. I wonder why I wonder, if nature's key is pointless. I wonder, I wonder.

The sun sits high above all else, taking its throne as king of the open skies. Kites and airplanes compete for the crown, but they stand no chance, they probably never will. Nature has always been king because nature will always remain.

It felt like minutes, but hours had gone by before I realized that all was silent around me. This feeling of silence, of knowing that I was in control of an extremely breakable possession, I felt empowered. But I didn't move, not a single muscle in my entire body. The breeze was in control, in control of my worries and my fears.

Each breeze whispered comfort into my ears, telling me all of its secrets from all the years it has been.

They continued coming, passing over me and whispering secret after secret into my ears as I listened intently.

The first breeze introduced itself to me. Oddly enough, I recognized its voice-- it was me. Its name was Failure and it told me of all the ways I had failed, all the ways that I had come up short, every single time I should have completed something and hadn't. I lay listening closely for the whispers, but they were gone.

The second breeze came along, with an accent much like my own. Again, it sounded just like me, but its name was Regret. It told me everything that I had done, that would make me cringe at the mere thought of those memories, and it whispered it in detail. Just as I thought it would never stop, the breeze was gone, the whispers ceased.

Again, for a third time, a breeze came along that sounded identical to how I sounded. With much respect and adoration for my bliss in that moment, it introduced itself to me, its name was Shame. Every sentence that Shame whispered, every memory we recollected together made my heart heavy with ache, weighing me down to the ground. I couldn't get up, even if I wanted. Shame grew tired and just like the other two, its whispers stopped.

All grew silent as I was in that field. The breezes didn't whisper a single whisper. Failure, Regret, and Shame had gone, gone to torment someone else. Not me though, not me.

More than nature

"Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy." - Psalm 126:5  

"There you walked, I was only a few steps behind. You didn't know I was there, but I was, for every single second, of every single minute, of every single hour, of every single day. I was there, with you, only a few steps behind.

I watched as you wept, tears of sadness, tears of grief. My gaze was fixated on the small story in the corner of your eye. It started to travel, leaving behind a legacy from the corner of your eye to the tip of your nose.

It fell. The instant it hit the grassy ground, it shattered like glass, never to be whole again. You didn't skip a beat, you didn't even look back.

But where that tear hit the grass, I sprouted forth a beautiful flower, exploding not with sadness, but magnificent reds and blues and yellows. You kept walking, you didn't even look back.

Another story formed in the corner of your eye. This one was much saltier and much denser. I could tell by the rhythm in your step, the sway in your arms, this one was breaking you apart. You didn't know what to do, how to deal with it, how to stop it from forming, so you did nothing. And just like that, it made the journey from the corner of your eye to the tip of your nose.

And it fell. Just like the last, it split to millions of pieces, fragments of your story once it made its assault on the grassy ground. Again I sprouted forth a flower and again you kept walking. You didn't even look back.

One after another, stories continued forming. Just like the last, they were salty, they were dense, and they made the journey from the corner of your eye to the tip of your nose. One at a time, like ants marching, like cars driving, like customers waiting in line, they fell. Shattered, destroyed, and broken to millions of words and sentences, they hit the grassy ground.

I didn't lose count of a single one. Each one, I sprouted forth a flower more beautiful than the last. My garden of stories was growing, alive, more than it had ever been before! But you kept walking, you didn't even look back at what your tears had created. No more of this.

Another tear, another story began to form in the corner of your eye. It was saltier than the last, more dense than ever before. When it journeyed from the corner of your eye to the tip of your nose, it left a trail of bitterness.

I was there, only a few steps behind you, watching. Just as it reached the tip of your nose, it fell.

And I caught it. Between my thumb and my pointer finger, I held the saltiest, most dense and bitter story that has come from you. I showed it to you. I turned you around and showed your our garden too.

Just like every other story, every other tear, I let it shatter, I let it break into a million words and sentences on the grassy ground. A flower sprung forth.

You smiled. You became a musician that day, singing songs of joy, all because of those tears you wept."