The canvas stood ready. The moment was here. Who would he choose?
Artist steadily approached the jar of brushes and scanned them in search of the one. Today, the brush he called Resistant was the Artist’s choice. Resistant was an excitable brush who had painted many wonderful things but none at the level he was capable of.
“Ok, Resi,” the Artist spoke his affectionate nickname to the brush. “Today we are going to paint a beautiful picture – just you and I.”
“What is it?” Resi asked breathlessly as he left the jar. “No. Let me guess.” Twirling around in the Artist’s hand, he ran through the options he found most desirable. “Oh! I know!” Resi suddenly stopped. “The picture I most want to paint is the one Resilient painted two days ago. Yes! That was the perfect picture. Oh, can’t I…I mean…we paint that one, Artist?” Resi split his bristles and twisted them together as if crossing his fingers.
Artist chuckled. “No…my little Resi. That picture is not for you. It is not what I have planned. Just trust me, ok?”
Resi unwound his bristles in defeat.
“Resi,” Artist spoke in a slow, low voice, “really now, why so rigid? You need to relax and let me use you. Your work will not carry with it the luster you are capable of until you do. Relax and trust me.”
Artist hummed as colors graced the canvas. The bright yellow caught Resi’s eye and he deemed it to be rather spectacular indeed.
“Oh, this is not so bad, Artist!” he cried. “I think I can see what you have planned. It’s going to be a sunset like none before created. Yes, oh, but you are good my Artist. I should have trusted you all along! Now…I think what we need is a little orange glow, don’t you?”
Artist pointed Resi toward the dark brown paint.
“No!” Resi cried. “You have it all wrong.” He stretched his bristles toward the orange---practically clawing his way across the palette.
But Artist kept to his work. It hurt Resi to be dunked in the brown. He knew the picture was ruined. How could anything good come from brown when there were orange hues to develop?
With dread down deep in his handle, he felt himself slashing brown paint on the canvas from bottom to top shattering his brilliant yellow sunset.
“It’s ruined!” Resi shook his bristles. “Artist, how could you do this? Surely you don’t know what you are doing. I can’t see where you could possibly be going with this!”
Artist patiently smiled. “No, you can’t. Remember, only I can see the finished picture. You just have to trust me, Resi.” He reached toward the palette once again. “Just trust me.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Resi sputtered while sinking once again into the horrid brown paint.
Resi didn’t want to talk to Artist anymore. He didn’t care what he had to say. It was all over. The other brushes painted beautiful pictures. Every one of them. Every single one had a painting on their easel that was magnificent. Why didn’t he?
“Don’t focus on the other canvases, Resi. Focus on your work only,” the Artist said seemingly reading Resi’s mind.
Time passed by and the picture began to take shape. Resi roused himself from his reverie and focused on the canvas. “Why, this isn’t so bad. Yes, it has potential,” Resi mused as a flicker of hope began to soften his bristles.
Again, Artist simply smiled. The work was almost done. Resi held on nervously praying Artist wouldn’t now force him for some unknown reason into the black paint.
With a sigh, Artist sat back and took in the sight before him. He held Resi up. “Well done, little Resi. You allowed me to use you and look what good came of it.”
Resi parted his bristles and gasped. The picture before him glowed. The yellow backdrop now illuminated a striking cross as hands reached up toward it in worship.
Before Resi could speak and ruin the moment, Artist explained, “You see, Redi. All you had to do was trust me.”
“Redi?” Resi questioned.
“Yes…Redi is your new nickname as I know you are now ready and willing to be used.”
Proverbs 3:5 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
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