Devotional Time

I read a daily devotional from d365 and in the reading and contemplation, find myself . . . invited.

It is a way of knowing God that I love, this sense of invitedness. . . for every time not picked . . . not chosen . . . not valued . . . not loved . . . there is . . . God – inviting, welcoming, God.

Thus in contemplation am I invited to free myself to be formed (reformed?) by Creator, Creating, God.

And the blessings flow . . . as the waters bring forth . . . hosanna shouting birds of the air . . . slap-happy children plunging their faces into the joy-filled wetness . . . the greening of everything . . . and it is good and very good indeed.

What would Artist God draw forth from me this day?  Loving others?  An appreciative eye and ear?  The gift of simply being?  An openness to that which has not happened yet?  Any and all, I think.  Lord, let me be ready.

Then comes the invitation:  Go/come and join in – it sounds like a party to my ears – I’m having a party, won’t you come?

O Lord, how I do love Your parties.

Thank You for inviting me.

God the Master Artist

For some reason last night, giggling over images of me painting by numbers as a child, I began to think about God as artist, which led to thinking about differing artistic expressions, from paint-by-numbers to Impressionism to the line art of Picasso (doodlism?).

Which, I wondered, is God?  Is the Divine the master of the literal genre represented in its most basic form by paint-by-numbers kits?  Does God pre-ordain everything, inviting us only to fill in the lines with a bit of color?

Or is God more an Impressionist, with the brush strokes of light and movement dancing across the page of a life leaving a sense impression far more true to reality than a photograph, for who exists in but a moment in time?

Perhaps God too evolves, departing from the paint-by-numbers exactitude of early art forms and leaving behind the joy of light and movement and the light touch of brush strokes barely perceived back to the line at its most fundamental – a hint, a mere suggestion of form, yet somehow ready to stride off the page of creation into creating, reminiscent of Picasso’s camel, which I expect to bend down for a nibble of grass any second.

I tend to the latter in my own understanding of God in relation to humanity – providing the barest outline, yet in that outline is everything necessary for existence.  In this way does the painting move from still life to life still. . . and yet . . . and again.