ali's Corner. [The Painting.]

The painting sat
just barely reflecting the sunlight,
shining in the bay window
on the wooden easel.

A sunset;
carefully painted in the background,
and trees dancing happily on the canvas.

A small gravel road shot down the middle
of the scene and ever so gently faded
at the perfect time,
just as your eyes focused on
the vastness of the hazy landscape.

A small town stood tall on the
outskirts of the gravel road.
And people flooded the sidewalks.

Everyone was busy;
running around.
Some bumping into others
and others jumping for joy with friends.

Some were happy.
Some were sad.
Some were thankful
Some were mad.

But each painted figure on the canvas
were all very very different.
They all were traveling to different places
at different times
and for different reasons.

But they all had one thing in common.
Where they were.

They looked around at their world.
Each brush stroke so carefully planned.
If that particular color had ended anywhere
other than as planned,
it couldn't connect the sunrise to the horizon.

And if that particular brush stroke had been any straighter,
that rainbow would not dance the way it did.
Nor would it bring as much joy to all the people.
Who were running crazy.
As if time was running out.

Who made all of this?
Who made all of them?
There had to be a creator.

They looked at themselves.
Such tiny creatures.
The smallest brush had to have been used.
Someone had to have taken time
and patience
To create each of them in a different manner
for a different purpose.

Who could love them so much as to
take the time to do that?

Maybe there was no creator.
Maybe a single paint ball
hit the canvas with a force so strong,
everything just fell into place.

But this world that surrounded them
was far too beautiful and complex
for a single splatter of paint to create.

They still wondered.
They still looked up,
down,
left
and right for answers.

They simply could not prove the existance of a creator,
but no one worried,
because no one could disprove the existance of a creator either.

They simply had faith.
In their little town.
With their little trees,
little friends
and big faith.
With the presence of everything beautiful they've ever known
surrounding them.
And the hope of the Son to rise every morning to greet them.
And the presence of the vast sky with stars at night.
As a reminder that they were never alone.

The painter sat back and smiled.
And He loved his creation
and called them His own.