For two days I’ve been immersed in the world of paint. And in the process, God is healing my pain. Maybe there’s more to the connection between paint and pain than nearly close spellings. Yesterday, I had my Ipod on speaker and listened to worship music. I nearly broke down and wept, but kept my composure, at David Crowder’s “Thank You for Loving Me.”
I led that song in worship when we first moved to France two and a half years ago. It reminded me of my friends in France, of the work we’ve done there, of God’s faithfulness amid difficulties.
Then I heard several songs we used to sing at CAI’s staff conference. I could nearly see the room where we worshipped. Low lights, loud bass, people dancing for Jesus. I could nearly see His face on the faces of my fellow missionaries. In hearing those songs, I missed it all.
Grief is a funny thing. It ebbs and flows on ups and downs and often takes you by surprise. It strangles one minute, and yet in another, enlarges your heart to hold more joy.
While paint covers over the walls, God is covering my heart. With grace. And space to grieve. He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
And today, with paint speckled hands, that’s enough.