Christianity · Cooking · Creativity · Faith · Family · motherhood · Parenting

Inside the Painter’s house

I stand in my kitchen preparing a berry crumble for that night’s dessert. I’ve settled the boys in their beds for nap time. Outside a painter is working on the front of our house. With a small paint brush he makes strokes up and down on the brown cedar shingles, turning them a lovely shade of grey. He begins on the right side of the house, slowly making his way to the other. Inside the house I chop the apples and mix them into the bowl of berries, adding a scoop of sugar, a tablespoon of cornstarch. I pour the fruit into the bottom of two pans and sprinkle on the topping of oats and almonds and cinnamon. The painter continues his work outside, I can hear his ladder shifting positions against the house while I pop crunchy, sweet bits of almonds into my mouth. I take a moment to enjoy the beauty of the dish, the rich purple layer below the golden brown crumble, before I place them into the oven.

The aroma of Fall fills the house. It’s the first day of this new season and we have guests coming over for a barbecue in the evening. It’s my small way of kissing the greatness of summer good bye, and embracing autumn in a hug, like I would a friend I haven’t seen in a while. A dear friend I’ve missed.

As the crisp bubbles away in the oven I think about how nice it is to have my house painted by someone else without me having to do anything. I’m slowly learning to trust God in the same way. Remembering that He makes everything beautiful in it’s time. Not my time, but His. Even though I believe He can work through me, I know He can, and does, accomplish things without me. I can be light because it is not all up to me. He can paint the house, He can make all things new. He is the One who fixes, mends, repairs.

Sometimes all He asks of me is a Yes. A song of Hallelujah always growing inside of me. An openness of heart, an invitation to let Him in. And while I go about doing whatever task is in front of me to do, however big, however small, He is doing the work He desires to do. The work of goodness. Whether I can see the results or not, I’m asked to trust His perfect plan. Trust the Painter. Stay faithful to my role inside the Painter’s house, even if all I know to do is to love my neighbour as myself.

This morning I sit on my living room carpet to find those few moments of stillness that my soul needs. I repeat the prayer of David in Psalm 139 “Search me O God, and know my heart.” Even though my mind wanders to the grumbling of my stomach, and what I will eat for breakfast, the errands that need to be done this week, what I will write tomorrow, I keep coming back to the words. Know. My. Heart. Trusting that this short prayer is opening the door to my heart just a little bit more. Allowing the Painter to do his work in my life a little more freely. My heart growing a little more confident in Him.

Because deep down I know the Painter is the One who makes things beautiful. Not me. The Painter is the One who makes me free. He is the only One who can make me fly.

xo Andrea


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