On the heels of prayer I laid in bed anxious to sleep, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, God flooded my mind with an exquisite ceramic wall hanging, painted in different colors and shapes.
I had never seen it before, but I stared at it from different angles in my mind’s eye and appreciated all the detail and the careful eye of the one who created it.
I saw how the artist had lacquered the finished product, but what I remember most is an overwhelming feeling of pride on behalf of whoever had made it.
Somehow I saw this piece of art through the artist’s eye.
Each color was chosen with care, each brush stroke masterfully executed, and this molded piece of essentially clay and water was built into a masterpiece.
It lingered in my mind and I knew God wanted me to see how it beamed with the pride of workmanship.
This wasn’t made by some hack; it was purposed into existence by an Artist. Suddenly it dawned on me that this piece of art was me.
This work of art was the product of the Artist’s love. Its only job was to point to the artist’s creativity and imagination. That lovely, multi-colored masterpiece only ever needed to show forth the glory of its creator.
It need not compare itself to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, saying “Why don’t I look like that.” Or, “Oh, look at those brush strokes.”
As I laid in bed, I realized just how ludicrous it is to compare our Creator’s work with the rest of His creation. We are each a masterpiece because we were created by a perfect Master artist.
And if you create any type of art, this will be especially hard for you to understand. We artists are our own worst critics, aren’t we?
Every author I know can point out to me all the flaws of each novel.
But God doesn’t create the way we do. His process and outcome are perfect—every single time. His design for you is perfect, despite the fact you live in a sin-marred world.
Despite the fact that you are a work in progress.
As I write this, a symphony plays in the background. We are all symphonies to God, even when the music of our lives sounds commonplace and ordinary—like a TV jingle when we long for Beethoven.
This is where we go wrong, when we try to measure ourselves. Our perception is skewed. We fear the obscure and the small and prize grandeur, but that’s not how the Cosmic Artist of the sky sees it.
Not only are each of us fantastic displays of God’s creative genius, He’s creating a larger picture—weaving a tapestry—a multi-generational, diverse, and eternal picture. We are single threads, or just single instruments in His great orchestra.
As we love and connect with one another the whole picture emerges, one more brilliant than its individual components.
The Master Artist leaves no detail to chance, each brush stroke, each note of music exists by His design and purpose.
We are each His masterpieces—every single one of us.
What would happen if we saw ourselves and each other in this way? If we stared deep into the face of our neighbor and coworker and saw the face of God, the imago dei?
What if we strained our eyes to see God’s signature in all of His creation? What if we looked for the Artist’s fingerprints in everyone we met?
