Words of kindness, of affirmation, are fleeting. But words of hatred, of spite and anger, cling to your skin like paint holds fast to a canvas. They dry up and create an image upon your heart. An image of insecurity, of low self worth, of depression and little faith. They drip into your veins and leave streaks of color on your fingertips. And no amount of soap or scrubbing will ever take away the stain. Nothing can remove that pain that is felt when words of fury are flung upon you. Carelessly applied with an overused brush.
The artist is pleased. He knows what he's done to you and he is proud of his work. He brags of his masterpiece that is your broken bleeding heart. He cares not for your sadness, he laughs at your tears, and the spectators only applaud at his jeers.
But you know that there's something inside of you, something even he can't take away. You know there's a part that, come what may, will always stay strong.
Because you're not an empty canvas, waiting to be painted by people's hurtful words.
You're but one page in a book, one piece of a story with an author that knows you better than you know yourself. He knows your wealth and he won't let any artist tell you otherwise. You may have been illustrated one way but it's what you're written as that matters. This author doesn't make mistakes. He doesn't create unnecessary characters. He knows each one of them by name and he is writing out their story, day by day. He is writing out your story, he knows the way that it ends.
He knows the way, and no illustrator, no careless artist, no devil who wishes to see you fail, will stop him from completing your story.
God will complete your story.
He'll chip away the pealing paint and apply his love to your heart. He'll patch what is broken and falling apart. He will take all those words that tore you down, and in their place he'll write out his undying love for you.
He'll remind you of the preface that he wrote years ago when he sent down his son for the whole world to know, that even the perfect, he who never sinned, was treated as a criminal. Worthy of nothing less than death in the most shameful way possible.
And that even he, the very son of God, was painted on by people's words. Slander and curses were splattered upon his skin, but he was not about to let the artist win. Because he knew that the author had a plan. A plan that is more powerful than any spoken word, more permanent than any stain that any paint may produce. A plan that raises up warriors, that brings about writers, who aid in the completion of this wonderful story that is all life.
God is writing our story. He knows how it ends. And all he wants us to do is to choose the right plot. The one that leads to salvation, the one that does not judge a person by the amount of paint on their page, but accepts them for every color they wear. Every scar that they bare is a reminder of what has been done for their story.
This is my story and I am not about to let an artist determine the end.
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