The Painting - A story

Once upon a time there was a Master Painter.  His artwork was beautiful, profound, every word an original, valuable and a masterpiece. His sense of color and detail was perfect, every work of art was special.

One day a family moved into a new home, one where the Master Painter had once lived and created his masterpieces.  Cleaning out the attic, the former art room, the new owner discovered a painting hidden back in a corner underneath a tarp.

The man lifted the painting out of the corner and set it out in the open against a wall.

"What do you have there?" asked his wife.

"It appears to be a painting of some sort," the man answered.

Now the man and his wife did not know that the home had been owned by the Master Painter so they were not aware of the great value that the painting held.  They noted it's beauty, and appreciated the colors and textures, but they just did not understand its value because they simply did not know much about paintings and masterpieces.

Busy in settling about their new home the new owners went back down into the main part of the house and simply forgot about the painting in the attic and just left it there in the attic, uncovered and collecting dust.

Over the next months they did much remodeling of their new home and dust and filth filled the air in their quaint little home. By the time they returned to the attic, the painting was covered in thick grim, the picture now obscured, the colors muted, the lighting had faded, and the masterpiece seemed like nothing special at all.

"What shall we do with this?" the husband asked his wife.

"I can't imagine anyone would want it. If you tried to clean it you would only likely damage it," she answered.  "We should probably just toss it away."

So the next time the trash man was to come the husband carried the masterpiece out to the curb and left it there for pick up.  When the trash man came along he saw it leaning there against the cans and thought he saw something in it that pleased him.  It was not particularly striking, it was covered in grime and filth after all, but he thought it at least deserved better than the dump where all the trash along the street was headed for.  So he picked up the painting and say it back in the back of his cab, and quickly forgot it was there.

It was for many months that the painting sat behind his seat in the cab of his trash truck.  It collected more filth and began to soak the scents of the trash he carried.

One day on his lunch break the trash man stopped by his home to have lunch with his wife and children.  As he was leaving to go back to work his wife and children walked him out to his truck.  His daughter climbed up into the cab to kiss him goodbye and as she grabbed hold of the headrest of his seat her hand brushed across the painting behind his seat.  With her little hands she tried to pull it up, tearing at the corners.

"What's this Daddy?" she asked.

"Oh my," her father laughed. "I completely forgot about that." And he pulled the picture up out from behind the seat.

"It's so dirty, Daddy," she cried. "And it doesn't smell good at all," she told him, wrinkling her little nose.

Her father nodded sadly, the time in the trash truck had done it's damage.  "Do you want it?" he asked.

"No, no," cried his wife from outside the cab. "You take it where it belongs and finally deliver it to that dump!" she told him.

"Don't you see a little beauty in it?" he asked his wife. "Come on, Mama, surely you can fix it up!" he told her handing it down out of his cab.

So Mama took the painting and carried it up into the garage and set it aside to be dealt with later.

Later came quite a long time after that day.  By the time mama had come back to consider the painting there was a little oil spill on it, and some water damage from when the washing machine had overflowed.  She took a damp rag and wiped at it, but it only seemed to make matters worse.

Then mama remembered the charity people were coming that day to pick up donations.  Rather than fuss with the painting Mama took it out by the curb and set it down between the backs of toys and clothes she was giving away. "Let them deal with it," she thought. "Clean it or toss it, someone else can decide."

So the painting sat all day in the hot sun until the man from the charity came with his truck and took it away.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," was this charity's motto, so nothing was ever thrown away.  Everything went to one of their consignment shops, because even if something only earned a dollar, it could benefit those in need.  So when the painting arrived at the shop one of the workers there did the best he could to make it look better, a little damp cloth and a little dry wiping, he did what he could to make the painting presentable and put a sticker price of $3.00 on it and stuck it on the floor against a wall near the back of the store where it sat for a very long time collecting again more dust and grime.

One day the Master Painter was on holiday in his old hometown. Now the Master Painter's wife had a fondness for treasure hunting.  She too believed that one man's trash was another man's treasure and she liked to frequent little shops that sold secondhand things. And because the Master Painter loved to spend time with his wife doing things that made her happy, he was always willing to follow along on her adventures.

On this particular day Mr. and Mrs. Master Painter came upon the shop where the painting had landed after Mama had decided the work was too hard after her husband the trash man had left the painting in his truck to long after he found the painting outside by the trash cans where the new homeowners had placed it after finding it in the attic that had once been the art room of the Master Painter himself.

Now the wife looked through every little knickknack and thing and every little shelf in the store, so the Master Painter wandered about while he waited for his love. While he walked toward the back his foot caught on the painting and it fell flat on its face before him.  The Master Painter bent low and picked up the painting and lifted it before his own eyes.

He ran his hand down across the face of the painting tenderly. And his heart ached to see what had somehow become of his masterpiece. Despite the dust and grime, and the tattered edges, he immediately recognized it for what it was, his own.  He fingered the $3.00 price tag and just shook his head.  Here he held a treasure, and it had been completely misunderstood.

Suddenly the Master Painter felt a hand upon his shoulder. "It's yours," his wife said from behind him.

"Yes, it is," he told her.  "How did you know?"

She pointed in the corner and said, "I can see your signature there.  What a shame," she told him. "All the hands this must have passed through, and not one of them knew they beheld a treasure."

That day the Master Painter and his wife paid the $3.00 to buy back the painting, and the Master Painter took it back to his art room.  It took time, patience and effort, but the Master Painter slowly and faithfully restored the masterpiece. He cleaned away the grime, wiped away the soot.  He mended the tattered edges. With his turpentine he wiped away what was damaged, and with his paint brush he brought back color and light.  With one last stroke the Master Painter stepped back to admire the work of restoration he had done.

"It's beautiful. Perfect," his wife said, walking up behind him.

"Not yet," said the Master Painter. "One more thing is required." And then he placed his signature on the painting, darker and clearer than before, so that no one would ever again mistake this treasure for trash.

by Diana DePriest
©August 29, 2013

I think this is a perfect parable for what happens to too many today.  Created as masterpieces, people become redefined by the "elements" of life - neglect, filth, insignificance, assault or sorts from the world.  And before we know it, our value is redefined by a "$3.00 price tag" placed on us by someone who just doesn't understand where we came from, for what or by Whom we were created.

And the "damage" of life can only be undone by returning to the One who created us.  He alone can rebuild, re-beautify and restore.  Until we and others see ourselves the way He sees us, our value is missed, mistaken and seemingly lost. But when we sit and allow the Creator to do what He wills to bring redemption and restoration in our lives, His signature on us becomes so much clearer, so much easier to see.

I feel sorry for the Miley Cyrus' of the Lord who are desperately trying to find their value in the "pricing" of those who have no idea what they are truly worth.  We are masterpieces because of Who created us, that alone brings immeasurable value to our lives.

Anger comes at a cost

I remember when I was little having to ask my mom about words my dad used.  I remember one time that he called her a word that made her so mad I thought her head might explode. I remember one time when he threw a lamp and it shattered when it hit the wall. And I remember the time when I was about 18 that he threw the remote directly at me.

I grew up with a dad who had a temper. And although I didn't ever see my mother throw anything, she had a temper too.  I cannot count the times the two of them would stand toe to toe. Hostility and anger can fill a room, and a family.

For the most part, I'm not raising my children in a home like that. I thank God for that. Neal and I almost never fight, but we have had a few blowouts in the twenty-two years we've been married.  Neal broke his hand once, and totaled a set of keys another time (the $125 clicker was busted) but for the most part, we don't have conflict, and what we do have is typically peaceable.  But not always.

I remember one time I was so frustrated I chucked a bottle of baby Motrin across the kitchen. The pink stains on the ceiling stayed there mocking me for another decade until we remodeled the house. No babies were involved in that incident to be clear, and neither was my husband. But the baby medicine ended up on the ceiling just the same.

Anger is an ugly emotion. And sometimes it's outburst just sneaks up on you. And you end up with a broken lamp, or a busted hand, or a shattered phone.

Saturday last was my shattered phone day.  I didn't actually mean to throw my phone. I had something else in my hand I was trying to chuck down to the floor in a dramatic outburst.  But the phone was in my hand, and it didn't stay in it case when the force of my hand went forward.  Then there was that moment where time seemed to slow to almost stillness and all I heard was the thud as my phone slammed to the floor.  I looked down and it was not on the floor, it was all over the floor. I picked up the battery, then the back, then I walked over and picked up the face and turned it over slowly in my hand.  I immediately thought of the cell phone commercial with the guy with all the band-aids, but I didn't find it funny anymore.

I was heartbroken. Not because of my phone (though I wasn't at all happy about that) but because I had made an ass of myself and completely lost my cool over something relatively benign and stupid, and I did it in front of my kids. I went looking for Neal who was napping in the bedroom (who, by the way, if he had been awake would have probably prevented my temper tantrum by his sheer presence. I just act better when he's around.) That gives me pause to thought - as much as I say "I lost my temper," the fact is, I had a choice.

I think that's why the bible tells us "Be angry, but do not sin."  Because the reality is, the emotion of anger rises up sometimes, and it's not easy to stop. But it's what we DO with our anger that becomes the problem.  My problem that day wasn't even "the straw that broke the camel's phone's back. My problem was all that led up to that moment.  And I just snapped.

I took the picture of my shattered phone because I don't want to forget that anger comes at a cost.  In the simple manner this phone cost me $150 to replace (thankful for insurance) but I don't know what it cost me in my witness to my kids.  And I can only hope that it doesn't pass along to them (suddenly thinking about Ethan throwing a bag of chips violently into the backseat of my car at his friend who smacked him playing around.) It's a root that has planted. It cannot be allowed to grow.

I am a yeller at times, but a thrower is not my norm.  Pressures I've been battling for a while, some for months, some for years festered beneath the surface, and Saturday it's like the pressure blew the top off, but still I had a choice.  That day, and that moment have replayed in my mind a thousand times in the last few days.  I see myself chucking the phone and I want to hit the pause button.  I cringe, because I cannot go back. But I can think about what I might do differently in the future.  Walk away for starters, take a walk... a long walk.  Pray. Ask for prayer.  There are a thousand better choices to make. Next time I hope I'll make one.

My new phone is defective. It randomly reboots 15 some times a day.  And every time I want to kick myself because of what I did.  i hang my head in shame because I feel like a failure. But my sin does not define me - and like the enemy, my phone seems to accuse me.

When I posted the above pic on my Facebook wall and confessed my sin, a dear friend simply commented, "I still love you."  I think she was uttering the very heart of God, because He still loves me too.  And I am thankful for life lessons, but even more thankful for His mercies that are new every day.

Staccato

Hopeless

Foolish

Useless

My thoughts they comprise.

The staccato

Verbiage

Of the

Enemy's lies.

Judgment

Begets

Judging

It pounds in my brain.

No peace

No quiet

I long

For refrain

As offended

I'm offended

Again

And again

Taking on

That offense

Is becoming

My sin.

I long to

Lash out

In frustration

And pain.

It pounds

And it grows

For my own thoughts

Disdain.

I long for the melody

Of Your priceless grace

To soften and slow

My rhythm and pace.

The song of Your heart

Is what I long to hear

Silence the cacophony

And just draw me near.

The battle is long

I can't run from myself

I need to hear Your song

I'm asking for Your help.

Silence this staccato assault

Of the enemy's lies toward me

Help me to rest in the freedom again

For which Christ set me free.

Can't care what "they" think

Or dwell on what's said

Just need peace in my heart

Your voice in my head.

My hope is in You

A fool for You I will be

Not defined by my "use"

Your love defines me.

Turn up the volume

Of Your song so true

My life has a purpose

Because I matter to You.

Louder I pray

Will You sing words of life

Calming my spirit

Subsiding my strife.

As the beating subsides

My spirit grows stronger

Help me now listen to You

And the enemy no longer.

Sing Father, sing

Your voice is so sweet

Into Your presence

I long to retreat.

Sing so that Your voice

Is all that I hear

Sing Father, sing

And just draw me near.

Peace You sing

And in harmony is love

The sweetest of songs

Comes down from above.

© Diana DePriest

August 25, 2013

The Lord your God in your midst,

The Mighty One, will save;

He will rejoice over you with gladness,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing.”

Zephaniah 3:17

Deserts, darkness and depression.

I remember the first time I found myself in a spiritual desert. I had a good friend at the time who was a faithful prayer partner and support. But as I was wandering through one of the most difficult seasons of my spiritual walk, she stood on the sidelines of my life, frustrated that I wouldn't snap out of it. Like a Survivor competition she stood yelling out directions, "Read!" "Pray!" "Worship!" And I kept slamming into walls blindfolded, unable to follow what seemed like such clear directions from her perspective.

Years later when she found herself in a spiritual desert of her own, I got an apology. You see, a desert is something you cannot have explained to you. It's something you can't grasp until you're the one struggling through, and you realize how muffled and distorted those "simple" directions sound from the "field." People who've never been in a desert cannot comprehend it and as much as they want to give you a simple solution, there just isn't one. One thing I learned from my desert experiences (because unfortunately, my first travel there was not my last) sometimes the best thing you can do is nod and agree, "I know, it sucks, and I'm sorry." Probably a lot like the course the friends of Job should have taken, but just like those guys, most of us outside the desert think we know better and with the best of failed intentions, we keep on shouting out onto the field, frustrating both ourselves and the poor sucker of a desert dweller all in one fell swoop.

Nobody wants to visit the desert, without a doubt once you're there you have no desire to set up a tent and stay, but still we land there, and sometimes we get stuck. I'm not saying you don't try to find your way out, and I'm not saying reading the word, praying and worshipping aren't part of that process, I'm just saying it's not a guaranteed recipe, sometimes it just takes time. And it sucks. (I'm sorry.)

Sometimes you look around and you can see the desert, you're aware of the lay of the land. The most typical evidence is the echo of the desert. You pray, you read, you worship, and instead of sensing the way it lands in the heart of God, it just seems to echo back at you as though no one is even listening. It's not true, God is there, He is Lord, even of the desert, but it just doesn't have the evidence of that truth, it feels like every word and effort we send forth toward God wanders off into nothingness, or worse, falls flat back on ourselves, seemingly meaningless.

Sometimes though the desert is dark. Black dark. The kind of dark where you can't even see your own hand right in front of your face. It's like wandering under a starless sky, the emptiness vast and consuming. Darkness is heavy, it feels like you might be consumed by it. The echo often disappears in the darkness, mostly because you can barely utter a prayer or a song loud enough to move out into the world around you.

Darkness isn't just heavy, it's lonely. In darkness you don't just feel alone from God, but you feel isolated from His people as well. When you walk in darkness you look straight down. You can't see but still you try, but you only try to see what's right in front of you, and you lose track of anything beyond that. Darkness can become a very selfish place, you lose the ability to focus on much of anything at all other than your own thoughts, experiences and feelings. It can be overwhelming.

As bad as the desert and darkness are, they don't compare with the depression that often follows both of these experiences. A desert is somewhere you go, a darkness is something you experience, but depression is something you carry with you wherever you are.

Even when "things" get better, depression can hang on you. Sometimes it subsides, you feel like you have it under control but the thing about depression is it can raise it's ugly head and bite you whenever it feels like it. Now I'm not going to get into a discussion about medications and treatments, because the fact is, everyone is different. Some people need it, some people are opposed to it, but the bottom line is, it's a very personal decision. If you saw a person drowning in a river you wouldn't stand back and criticize what they grabbed a hold of to try to pull themselves out. "Don't grab that reed, it's too weak, grab that rock!" No, you wouldn't say it (assuming you couldn't actually get in and pull them out.) You would just root them on to do whatever it takes to keep their heads above water, and likewise that needs to be the heart and attitude toward someone battling depression. They need your prayers, not your opinions. Don't walk away from the river, but if you're standing there do it in support, not judgment.

Having said all of this, I'm not giving a pass to anyone to take up residence in these things. None of them, not deserts, darkness or depression are meant to be the residence of a believer in Jesus Christ. He came to give us life, and life more abundant. Abundant life is not indigenous to any of these "climates." Abundant life is a "fruit" that needs living water and light to grow and you can't find in the dry or the dark. And even once you've found it, you have to lay down depression to pick it up. You cannot hold onto both of them at once.

But all of these things, deserts, darkness and depressions are sometimes the passageways we have to go through to find the fruit of an abundant life. The bible tells us in Isaiah 45:3:

I will give you the treasures of darkness
And hidden riches of secret places,
That you may know that I, the Lord,
Who call you by your name,
Am the God of Israel

Those difficult passageways are hard, and they suck - but I have to be honest and say they are training grounds. And as beat down and weary as you feel when you're walking them out, or muddling through them, there is a strength you gain in pressing on and rising up again. It's called perseverance - damn it's hard, but sometimes it's all we have. But here's the thing about perseverance, it doesn't look the same for everyone. Sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning is putting up one hell of a fight, and if that's all you have in you today, do it. Don't let anyone judge you, just do it. And if you can't summon up the strength today, do it tomorrow. Don't give up, don't decide to live where you're at. There's this gift out there that Jesus came to give you and it's yours for the having, if you put up the fight to find it. If you think you can't, I have to ask, how can you not?

Do you really want to stay where you are?

Then don't.

Take one step, or ten, whatever you can manage, to continue through your desert, darkness and depression. Keep calling out, even when all the prayers fall flat. Keep worshipping; keep reading; keep looking. The Lord has not left you, His silence is not indicative of His absence. He's there and He's for you, and He's rooting you on. He loves you, and whatever else you feel like you lack or you've lost, you have His love, and in that my friends, is the very seed of the fruit of the abundant life that is yours.

Standing at the ledge

I have been battling such a heavy sadness lately. It's like a dark cloud has just settled over me, I am walking around like a spiritual version of the Peanuts character Pigpen, choking on the dust. Monday I took a walk while my daughter was at the gym and despite the dry warm day, I felt like I was under a hailstorm.

So many negative thoughts were pounding on my brain. Thoughts of hopelessness, futility, worthlessness-- all of them convincing arguments about what a waste my life had become, how little I've ever done that mattered in the least, and a flood of discouragement overwhelmed me. By the time I got back to the gym an hour and a half later only two words remained in my mind, "I quit."

It's like I was standing at a ledge of sorts. I felt like there were two choices, continue wandering around here in the land of futility, this "walk of faith" I call my life, or just jumping off the edge and walking away from it all. I actually wondered, or was it prayed how I would ever figure out how to live as though God no longer existed in my world. Could I just ignore Him? Push him out of my mind? He's always there, I know He's always there, but I just don't feel like it's making much of a difference lately, at least not one for the good. So what would jumping look like? How would I quit? How would I pretend what I know is real just no longer mattered in my life?

All day yesterday the sadness just hung on me. My husband kept asking me what was wrong. I didn't know how to answer. Besides, lately sharing my struggles with him has felt like handing him a millstone. It just weighs him down, and he has no capacity to help me. My glass half full husband can't comprehend my battle over negative thoughts. He wants to "fix me", and he can't. So every time he asked, I just told him I was fine.

This morning I woke up uttering a prayer. "Daddy, help me." Daddy, not Father, not God, but Daddy. Why? Because I get it. Despite all my struggles and aches in my heart, I GET that God loves me. To the very depth of my being, I understand the Truth, and that is not where my battle lies. And it has been with great guilt lately that I have prayed honestly before Him, "It's not enough." I want more.

I know I matter to Him. I desperately want to know what I do matters - to the world, to His kingdom, to other people. I know what the Word says, about good plans and being created for a purpose and I want to walk in those things. I have been saying for a good long while, "I know my gifts," and have been begging to be used in them. And instead I have felt lost and purposeless. It's become all I think about anymore - all that I don't have, and all that I'm not doing.

I don't know when I became so completely self-centered. I suspect in the very nature of being human the seed has always been there, but I don't know how long I have been watering it to the point it has now grown. And stepping back now, I see the bloom for what it is, a weed that's poisoning my soul.

"Daddy, help me."

Help me stop being so negative.

Help me stop being so hopeless.

Help me stop sabotaging myself with the lies the enemy has whispered and I now repeat with a megaphone in my own mind.

Help me stop thinking about me. All the time. Every day. Without ceasing.

I read a tweet recently that said "I'm always UP." God bless that person, that's not me. "UP" is such a long hard battle. "You have to choose your joy" is another blip I saw on a screen. It's not that simple. There's more to it than that, at least for me.

I grabbed my Bible for the first time in a long time this morning. I turned to the Psalms. I love that book full of the words of men who struggled. David - the man after God's own heart, I am so thankful he's in there - the struggler, the adulterer, the failure - the one who knows betrayal, disappointment, the pain of waiting. David wasn't always "up." On the contrary he was a man of many emotions, highs and lows, and yet he loved the Lord all along the way.

Asaph too, he seemed to be a man of many emotions, a man who knew struggle. I love his words in Psalm 73, they resonate in my very soul.

Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure
and have washed my hands in innocence.
All day long I have been afflicted,
and every morning brings new punishments.

Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever
Psalm 73: 13-14, 23-26

I picture him standing at a ledge of his own. And his question rings so true. "Whom have I in heaven but You?" Despite the hurt, the hardship as tough as I find this "walk of faith" to be, what other option is there? Even in a moment of fantasizing about it, I cannot begin to imagine walking away. I love Him too much, and I know His jealous love would not let me go.

I honestly don't know when I became this person. I think it was subtle and slow, and it has become as much of the problem as a response to my struggles.

Today I am carrying a couple cards in my pocket with scriptures on them. I'm starting in Psalms and going to work my way through. Today I read the first three chapters, and these are my take aways.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
And in His law he meditates day and night.
He shall be like a tree
Planted by the rivers of water,
That brings forth its fruit in its season,
Whose leaf also shall not wither;

...And whatever he does shall prosper.
Psalm 1:2-3

On the bottom I wrote "Meditate, work on the roots, flee negativity." Three simple steps I can take today.

The second card has more scripture:

But You, O Lord, are a shield for me,
My glory and the One who lifts up my head.
I cried to the Lord with my voice,
And He heard me from His holy hill.
Psalm 3:3-4
Hear me, "Help me Daddy. Lift my head." That's my prayer as I try to step away from the ledge.

This darkness

This darkness that comes
And creeps into my soul
It highlights what's broken
Reveals all that's not whole

It doesn't mean I'm not Yours
That life's not as it should be
It just magnifies this truth
That You're still working on me

So much sadness and pain
As I look all around
Just because I feel lost
Doesn't mean I'm not found

My heart breaks a little 
When I sit quiet alone
As I am again aware
This world's not my home

There may never be
A "this" I'll achieve
No specified promise
Only I will receive

Maybe I need no more
Than just getting through
So long as I do it
Walking with You

It may be only in sleep
That I find my dreams
Maybe my mundane life
Matters more than it seems

Maybe when at its end
I'll see what mattered most
Or perhaps I'll never see
Any reason to boast

The human doer in me
Simply must find a way
To stay focused on You
As I live day to day

Father forgive me
For living unsatisfied
Teach me contentment
Let me in Your love abide

Oh to stay focused on You
Focused on Your light
If only this darkness
Didn't creep in at night

Diana DePriest
© August 19, 2013