Paint Therapy

What's a girl to do when she gets totally stir-crazy?  Pray.  Sing.  Google.  Pin.  Face the book.  Study Guarani.  Take another continuing ed class.  Devote.  (Not always in that order)

And when she absolutely can't take being in the house with this leg up in the air any longer?  PAINT THERAPY!

Oh, wait a minute. I don't know how to paint.  I don't have any supplies.  Thankfully, there are these nice folks who DO know what they're doing, and who want to share the joy with those art-challenged among us. Gina over at CampClem is one such artist.

Armed with her online tutorial and borrowed supplies from Caroline, I made my way out to the porch and figured out how to situate myself and all the stuff.  Let me say, this is not the ideal way to paint a canvas, but where there's a will....



I have loved the implications of Isaiah 37:31 for many years.  It's a scripture I've mulled over many a long night.

And you who are left in Judah,who have escaped the ravages of the siege, will put roots down in your own soil and grow up and flourish.    (NLT)

Some translations say, "...will bear fruit above ground."  We all have times of putting down roots and times of bearing fruit, something the Bible speaks about quite often.  To be honest, I used to think that one first put down his roots--hopefully deep ones--and then he bore fruit for the rest of his life based on those roots.  I have since revised that thought and determined that it's a never-ending cycle.

Once upon a time, I thought my roots were plenty deep enough, and I was fairly happy with the fruit I was bearing.  But my loving Father wouldn't let me stop at good enough, thankfully.  He provided me with time to let my roots go deeper, and I can only hope it's because I need stronger roots to support all the fruit that will be flowering the next time my "season" rolls around.

Since I'm quite reflective this time of year--even more so in light of the recent surgery--I felt like I needed to illustrate that scripture and hang it on the wall.

So I mixed and swished and blended and tried my best to follow the instructions (I'm a copier more than a creator). The anal retentive in me took over and I tried to get every last drop of the extra paint I'd squirted out back into the bottle before it dried.  And those little swirlies just about did me in--how can I make mine look exactly like the teacher's?  SIGH.  I know, I know.



In the end, I decided that the most basic definition of artist is one who creates art, and so an artist I am.  And a bit less stir-crazy, to boot.

**SIDENOTE:  Happy anniversary to me!  No, not of my birth or even my wedding, but of the day two years ago that God chose to wake me up on the side of the road rather than let me sleep right on into eternity.  I don't know all He has planned for this second chance at life, but I celebrate that He gave it to me.