This post is one that I’m republishing. It was originally published on April 11, 2014.
A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about my daughter painting and how I was simply exasperated when she got the set of brushes in the paint…it wasn’t because she was intentionally trying to make a mess, it was because she was just so excited at the brushes I had found.
Last week, I wrote about a sunrise – a true gift from God that day. I wrote about how the colors appeared as though the artist had carelessly just streaked his brush across the sky. When we know that THE artist is anything BUT careless.
I guess what I’m learning from these ‘paint’ scenarios is that not everything in life is going to be ‘perfect.’ And besides, who says that what I think is ‘perfect’ is actually perfect? If I’m not perfect – and I’m not – then how could I have even a remote sense of what perfect it?
When someone sits down to paint, or draw, or be creative and expressive in any way (by the way, I believe writing falls into this category), then there is no right or wrong. There is no perfect. There is no black and white. There are only shades of grey, and colors that blend and bleed, and words that may not fit ‘just so.’
So, from here on out, I’m going to take a step back and just be…be content for things as they are, without worrying that they’re not perfect. Because I’m not. So, how could I expect for things (and people) around me to be perfect?