God’s blue finger


Jude, in his stealthy fashion, floated like a shadow to the boxes in the crammed closet. I had forgotten about one box, the one with the supplies I bought that day I woke up wanting to be a painter. He unscrewed the lids and played like acrylics were toothpaste. The old magazine I had tossed in with the paints, the one with the nude lady and her baby, was ruined. The hardwoods were streaked in yellows and a nice blend of blues and grays. 
I pulled my hair. Dog-prints. Baby hands and pajama foot-prints. Wasted paint. 
I hate a waste and was maddest about that. After wiping down all my little ones, I took what looked like a painting spatula, and I scraped as much of the paint as I could onto a palette and then took it, along with some deep breaths, to the kitchen table.
I loved the colors. He really picked the ones I would like to think I would have picked, and though I hadn’t had the thought in a while, I was overwhelmed with the desire. Though I didn’t know how the stuff worked, I smeared it all over a small canvas. I may have stuck out my tongue. My boys stood there quietly, and I dabbled and dabbled.
It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. And I know it’s not the greatest. I know it. But it was so so fun.
——
Sometimes, we’re handed a mess, and then we get to watch God make it beautiful. I can’t stop thinking about Robbie (read about him here) and his suffering under his family’s helpless watch, and over and over again, I think I can’t wait until I get to see him. I hope I know him when he’s a man. He will be one of the most beautiful pieces God has ever made. 
Yesterday Robbie told his family that God’s blue finger had touched him, and the word of that testimony has set me on fire. 
I have never seen God’s blue finger, but I have felt it run the length of my spine. I have never seen His lips, but I’ve heard them whisper Courage into my weak mind. 
Revelation 12:11

They overcame him [the one who accuses you of unrighteousness before God]
      by the blood of the Lamb 
      and by the word of their testimony
   they did not love their lives so much 
      as to shrink from death.

So I’m thinking of my mess now and what God has made it. And I want to tell you about it one day. My mess, His poem, His coming for me like for canvas with his finger dipped in blue.

Photobucket

amberhaines
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8 Comments

Kari Kounkel
Reply January 13, 2009

Hi Amber... Thank you for your post at my new blog. I didn't even realize comments were possible.

The way you craft paragraphs delights me. Reading your posts, discovered during THE MOTHER LETTER PROJECT filled me with a compelling desire for my own blogspot.

Keep inspiring, keep loving, keep praying. You are an inspiration!

Laura
Reply January 13, 2009

Oh, friend. I have stumbled over here from the Mother Letter Project and have not been able to stop these tears when I think of this poor child and his parents. It will always be this way, since I am one of these things: a parent. I cannot imagine the agony of the suffering involved in watching your child hurt so. I give my prayers. You bless me with this post. We are all a mess, after all.

:)Laura

Daisy
Reply January 13, 2009

Wow. Absolutely amazing post.

How grateful I am that God simply scrapes up the mess I am and turns me into a beautiful portrait of his grace.

copper2gold
Reply January 13, 2009

There are no words that can adequately say what's in my heart after reading your post. Thank you for blessing us with them.

Anonymous
Reply January 13, 2009

wow bamber! i mean holy smokes. what a season of life you (we) are in and yet in the midst of it all, God Himself reveals to you His finger tips.
i LOVE you and adore your life.
b.robinson

Kara
Reply January 13, 2009

and we get to hear your heart. truly precious.

Ashley
Reply January 14, 2009

gulp. tears.

Blue Castle
Reply January 14, 2009

It's hard to know what to say after reading such a beautiful post like this. Thank you.

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