I carried my finished masterpiece from the Laguna Beach art gallery to my car, pretty pleased with how it turned out and delighted with the time shared with my friend Sheryl, who invited and treated me to the class. I transported the finished piece home and displayed it on my bedroom wall.
The seascape is not all I brought home with me that October afternoon. Slogging through traffic with much time to think, my mind landed not on the painting in the back of my car but more on the words of the artist -- words to be mounted on the wall of my heart, pondered, and absorbed -- "Don't be afraid." She'd said it a few different ways during our two hours together.
"Don't be afraid to keep dipping into the paint."
"Keep putting paint on your brush."
"Don't be hesitant to dip into the paint."
Once she said, "If you're stroking without paint on the brush, you're not painting, rather you're lifting paint from the canvas."
Her words helped me to paint without fear the paint would run out, without fear I hadn't used all the paint on the brush with perfect efficiency before again refilling the brush tip. I started believing I wouldn't run out of paint, thus painted freely. I dipped and painted, painted and dipped, dipped and painted. One color on the palette did get close to extinction, when the teacher grabbed a big bottle of paint and squeezed a fresh blob onto the diminishing supply.
Keep dipping in.
Don't be afraid.
Unveiled through this experience is a part of my heart that believes there is not enough -- not enough good in the world for me to receive God's goodness without subtracting goodness from someone else, not enough good in my life to believe that, if today held good gifts, tomorrow will also, not enough grace to cover my shortcomings, not enough time or tools to become all God has in mind for me to be and do.
That day, learning to paint while overlooking the vast Pacific Ocean, I gained a view of God's generosity. Yes, I have explored the goodness of my provider through the truth of Scripture, prayer, through the counsel of others. But in these hours, God painted on the canvas of my heart a picture of his provision, allowing me to see and believe it more fully, letting truth permeate deeper into me. He painted a picture of himself as the filler (and refiller) of my palette, my guide and instructor, the one who reminds me, "Keep coming to me. Keep dipping into my mercies! Each day I delight to refill your palette. My goodness never, ever runs dry."
"Fear not," the Instructor says. "It's my delight to give you the kingdom." With less fear and more joy than before, I dip my brush into the paint, again, and yet again, my hand on the brush, my ear leaned toward the voice of the Teacher, and my eyes on what is being painted -- on the canvas of today.
Diane Mann, 2017
