I held the piece of parchment in my hands as I walked down the cobbled street. The parchment had directions to a certain location, an invite from an unknown host. I turned left, then right, and right again. I came to a white door. I knocked twice, and the door creaked open.
“Hello?” I said as I pushed open the door, the faint sound of violin music filling the air. I walked towards the source of the symphony, and the scent of oil paint lingered here and there.
The man was dressed in a white suit, a blue apron strapped to his torso as he held the paintbrush with deft movements as if he was a conductor leading an orchestra.
The canvas was spattered with paint, and I could not help but notice the splitting but incomplete image of me.
“Hello Kristian,” said the painter without turning away from his masterpiece, “Thank you for responding to my invite.”
“You welcome. Sorry, you are?”
He smiled even though I did not see it. He continued painting, “You know who I am; we have even met before today, but recognition is not what your eyes see but what the heart believes.”
I nodded, “Why are there so many white spots on my portrait?”
“How do you know it’s your portrait?”
“Because I can see my face on your canvas.”
“Do you see your face by what is painted or by what is not?”
“By what is painted, obviously.”
“Then why do you care for the white spots? It gives you nothing; rather, focus on that which is painted.”
“Why can’t it just be complete?”
“Life is never complete until you’re with me forever. Don’t worry about the blank spots of life; concentrate on what I’ve done. People expect me to do many things in the future, which is good, but mostly, they want me to do what they want to happen. And that is never going to take place. I make only what I want to happen, which is good.”
“But how can we go through life with the unknown variables?”
“It’s called trust, and that would not be difficult if you truly believed in me more than in own your efforts. Believe me; your own ways won’t get any answers either.”
“I trust in you.” And the relief gushed at me with enough peace to defy gravity.
The man in the white suit smiled as he faded away, leaving me alone with the incomplete canvas…
What is identity? According to the Oxford dictionary: identity/ʌɪˈdɛntɪti/noun 1.the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. We are human beings, not human doings, human wannabes or human should-have-beens. Who am I? That’s the question most people struggle […]
A virtue beyond the limits of sight… What can I say about Faith? Suppose I had to prepare a sermon; what scriptures would I choose? Pastors quickly flock to Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things […]
