professing hope
November 8, 2014

It’s here. November. Cold, dreary, days. Hope blown away with the leaves.

I used to paint quite a bit. I was even originally signed up to graduate with a degree in Fine Arts. I loved those painting classes. Blasting music that my business-major-fiance thought was really strange. Getting lost in the merging colors and pouring emotion into thick brushstrokes. Paint under my nails and almost always, somehow, in my hair. Then, finally, a piece of the painting would turn out exactly how I wanted it and I would treat that corner of my painting as off limits. As soon as I would get it how I wanted I wouldn’t touch it again. I guarded it.

My professor would comment in his passing bys, “kill your darlings”.  But I didn’t want to. Get rid of the part of the painting I thought was done? That was the part that I actually liked. So I painted around it, trying to finish the rest of the painting. To mesh my darling with the world around it. But it never worked. EVER. I would always come to the end of my painting hating the outcome and completely painting over everything. A clean slate. Nick would always ask what in the world I was doing?! Why would I just paint over everything? All that work and time? For nothing? But painting to me was never the final piece. It was the journey, the experience, the feelings I had while painting. I think that’s why it’s called a work of art.


I had a “random” memory of this the other night while trying to quiet my thoughts. Turn off the lights in my head. I have been upset, counting the days until Oliver’s due date. Watching other mothers who were due around the same time take maternity photos and finalizing little touches to their nursery. It’s been harder than I thought. And then God spoke.

“Kill your darlings”

Instantly I knew what God was saying. I have been holding onto Oliver and the life I had seen for him. The places I wanted to take him. The stories I had wanted to tell him. Stories about his heritage, about how his dad and I met, about how we had prayed for him for years and God finally brought him to us. I haven’t fully given Oliver over to God. I want to keep this piece for myself. I am guarding the thing that is most precious to me. And it’s not just Oliver but the whole idea of having a family of our own. I saw a glimpse of what it could have been and I’m struggling with the surrender. I’m holding on to this picture of Nick and I and our baby.

“Kill your darlings, give me the broken pieces and I will make them whole”

There is a hole in my life that He wants to make whole. I know that it’s a process and until I give God the piece that I like the most, that I guard with my life, He will not be able to complete His work in me. Until I surrender it all over to Him, how will I ever feel whole. A clean slate. He can take this part of me and although I don’t see how it fits into my life, He has already used it. For He is the Creator. And who am I to question? He has already seen the big picture. The whole work.

I am but canvas.