His words friday.

painting light.

"The beauty of the light is

 how it changes the things it touches." 

The above was texted to me a few weeks back. Tangible words to questions my heart was asking.  I tried. Oh how I tried to paint light. After several attempts, I put the thought out of my brain, and moved on. Painting light was just too hard. Too illusive. Way beyond my grasp. A skill I needed years not moments to attain. So I moved on. 

A new box of canvas, and an invitation to invest some more funds from a particular painting back into supplies.. and I have new tools to work with. I have put the thought of light out of my being, and instead what comes out of my hands and prayers is a picture that immediately I know who needs to own it. 

It only has two words, but those words I believe are the most important words this person needs to hear. The ones God himself chose for him. Oh that people would know that it is Him who does this stuff and not me. I realized this was a holy moment between him and his Creator.. so I did a drive by giving. 

Later, he sent me a message in the world of facebook.

"thank you for the beautiful landscape print

 and the inspirational saying on it , see you can paint light."

In tears, I realize again that when you give out of your heart. You get back ten times more than you ever could imagine. Simple words that illuminate my spirit and convince me to paint light again and again for if the beauty of light is how it changes the things it touches... there's a whole lot of people that need the light Jesus and I can paint together. 

the world inside.

I was just filling in. I wasn't really supposed to be there. The prayer room is normally manned by more experienced prayers, more wisdom. It was me. Alone. I was the token prayer for the morning, and I just figured people would just see me and figure that I was just too young to be in there.. so they wouldn't come. 

He pops in.. obviously in a hurry.  I know his position, but I don't know him personally yet.

"Are you praying today?"

"Yup"

"Can you pray for me?"

"Of course." 

I mumble a fast prayer and this man is on his way as quickly as he came. 

I spent the rest of the hour  beating myself up.  

Lies flooded through my brain in rapid succession, and I am afraid I chose to believe them. A battle any warrior should have fought. I chose to sit in self pity and my own not good enoughs.

Stepping out of the prayer room, physically ready to attend worship, I run into my brother and I confess to him the events of the last hour. 

He smiles and simply says, "That would have never happened before. Look at how far you have come." 

Grace. My brother gives me grace over and over. He knows my journey to the core, and he speaks truth into the lies that coat my soul.  I tear up and slap him on the arm, irritated he's always right. 

God is good to show me what I need, yesterday in that prayer room. He showed me that I am worthy to pray for a fellow journeyer, a sinner just like me. No, he wasn't on a pedestal, never was. He was in fact, the perfect person to remind me that being a warrior means you need to always be ready to fight. Even if that fight is against the world inside myself. 

" Do not love the world or the things in the world.  

If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him." 

1 John 2:15

painting barefoot.

It is a simple post. Please share your prayer requests with me. I'll pray for you today. Today also happened to be the day I chose to begin a 22x28 canvas painting. Both turned out to be bigger than I wanted, but exactly the same size I needed.

The post is still up. The inbox messages are still coming in. I'm still praying. Walking around and claiming ground for Jesus, and I realize that everywhere I am becomes holy ground.  Not a new and original thought, but if I am to ask the Creator and Author of life to keep back evil... I need to be barefoot, because this ground I stand on is His, and it's holy like Him.

I paint black and white. I feel black and white. I can't help it. There is God who is white, and Satan who is black and they mix, but the white.. it wins. Always wins, even when the black seems to be evident everywhere.  I come out with a canvas that is mostly white. I step away away... it needs color.

Red. Blue. Green.  They are my prayers and they cover the canvas easily. Changing the view I see. Changing the outcome. I stand on holy ground with my colors.. and although my painting changes.. I change with each sentence uttered. Each stroke. Each tear. My heart beats faster and faster and I become calm in His hands. He forms my thoughts and I pray and color, color and pray.

"O you who hears prayer, to you shall all flesh come." 

Psalm 65:2  

It seems so simple. So controversial. Can I with my palette really ask God to intervene on matters that I know He allowed to happen in the first place? What difference can my prayers really make? I feel so small in the midst of this theology and yet, I'm still barefoot. Holy Ground. 

In my limited knowledge of prayer.  I know it works, but I can't tell you how. It's a journey I'm still on. I know that God is a God who loves me. And if you love someone, the first thing you want to do it spend time with them. Prayer is that vehicle for me.. God changes me when I cry out to Him. God paints a different picture in my mind when I'm close to Him. I choose to stand on holy ground barefoot because I'm not content with a black and white life. I need a little color, and I know that pleases my God. 

"the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, the valleys deck themselves with grian. they shout  and sing together for joy." 

Psalm 65:13