Painting Over the Lies!

The Canvas of Love!

Perfectly Imperfect Strokes. Masterpiece in the Making!

As I stepped into the cozy, sunlit art studio, I was greeted by the smell of paint and hints of French lavender oil—a detail I believed Jesus added just for me, knowing how much I loved French lavender and its calming scent. It smelled like creativity.

Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting soft shadows on the floor splattered with colorful, accidental masterpieces.

Jars of brushes stood like soldiers on the wooden table.

It was a place of vibrant chaos that I was not just in but a part of, a place where I felt a deep sense of belonging and connection, and I loved it. It was as if the very walls of the studio whispered, 'You are not alone on this journey.'

My heart danced with the thrill of the creative process, caught between the excitement of possibility and the doubt of uncertainty as I stood before the blank canvas, brush in hand, ready to bring it to life. It was a feeling that I wished everyone could experience, a rush of adrenaline and inspiration that could fuel my every stroke.

At the same time, I was trembling over a palette of colors that seemed too bold, too vibrant, too much. There were shades of red that could set the canvas on fire, blues that could drown it, and yellows that could blind it. The choices were overwhelming.

Slowly, the excitement I initially felt started to tug at me. "What if I don't know what I'm doing?"

The blank canvas seemed to mock me, challenging me to make the first move. It took immense courage to face this daunting challenge.

"I can't do this," I muttered, stepping back. My heart felt heavy with years of anxiety, fear, and self-doubt. I longed to create something beautiful, but my hands wouldn't move. It was a moment of deep self-doubt.

Jesus was already in the studio, His presence lighting up the room in a way the sun never could. He stood at the easel, His hands steady as He worked. It was surreal and oddly familiar to see Him with sleeves rolled up and streaks of vibrant color on His arms—the master artist Himself, not just painting but guiding my story in bold strokes and delicate embellishments.

Jesus glanced at me. His eyes were kind, and His voice was warm. "Why aren't you painting?" His voice was warm, familiar, and laced with joy.

"I don't know where to start," I admitted, trembling. "What if I mess it up? What if I ruin everything?

"You've said that before," He said with a playful grin.

I grumbled. "That's because it's true. I'll mess it up. The colors will clash, the lines will go wrong, and it'll be another reminder that I'm just… not good at this."

He smiled gently and set His brush down. Coming over to sit beside me, He tilted His head, amusement dancing in His eyes.

"Not good at this, or not perfect at this?"  

"You're not here to create perfection, beloved, " He said. You're here to express the truth. You start by trusting Me."

"But my truth is so… messy," I whispered, staring at the blank canvas. "I feel anxious, I feel stressed. I'm walking on a tightrope, waiting for something bad to happen. I feel like I'm never good enough and not safe. And deep down, I'm afraid it's all my fault."

Jesus leaned closer, His voice steady and reassuring. "Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a masterpiece. Not because of what you've done, but because of who you are." His words brought a profound sense of comfort and reassurance, wrapping me in a blanket of peace.

I blinked, tears welling in my eyes. "A masterpiece? Me? With all my flaws and fears?"

He nodded. "For you are God's poetry, created in Jesus, fully fit to do good works, which God prepared for you to do."  

"You are not defined by your fears or failures, beloved. You are defined by My love for you. And that love is unconditional and unshakable."

I hesitated, my thoughts swirling. "But I've believed for so long that I'm not enough. That I have to be perfect to be loved. And when things go wrong, I blame myself. I carry this constant weight of guilt and shame."

Jesus gently lifted my chin so I could meet His gaze. "Beloved, let me carry that weight for you,"

He said softly, "Throw all your anxiety and stress on Me and leave them there because I tenderly care for you. I have your best interest at heart. I got your back."

"But how?" I asked, my voice breaking.

"Start by giving Me your brush," He said, holding His hand.

"You've let fear and old beliefs paint over the truth about who you are," He said. "That inner monologue? It's like cheap paint. It covers the surface but cracks under pressure. You've been using it for too long. Let's try something new today."

"I have an idea—let's paint together. A new picture. Something that expresses your truth."

His suggestion made me feel deeply supported and understood, as if He had held my hand through this journey and knew exactly what I needed to hear.

I hesitated, then handed my brush over. He dipped it into a vibrant blue and made the first stroke on my canvas—a sweeping line that felt bold and freeing. He knew how much I love blue; it is my favorite color. Then He handed the brush back to me.

"Your turn," He said.

I swallowed hard, then dipped the brush into the yellow paint.

My hand trembled, but I stroked beside His, the colors blending beautifully.

"See?" He said, smiling. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm with you every step of the way. And even if you make a mistake, I can turn it into something beautiful."

Jesus tilted His head and began to paint smooth strokes across the canvas. "Do you know why I love art?" He asked. "It mirrors the artist's heart, even the imperfections. Sometimes, those are what make it most beautiful."

"Why does this feel so hard?" I asked. "It's just paint, but it feels like… me. Like everything I do has to prove I'm good enough."

Jesus leaned closer, dipping His brush into the red. "That sounds like perfection whispering lies again. When did you start listening to it?"

I thought back, swirling my brush in the paint without lifting it to the canvas. "Probably when I heard others saying things like, 'If you're not the best, why bother?' Or, 'If it's not perfect, it's a failure.'

He nodded knowingly, adding a burst of yellow that blended unexpectedly with my blue to create green. "Perfection is a sneaky one. It promises you'll feel worthy but only holds you hostage."

"But if I let go of perfection, what's left?" I asked.

"Freedom," He said simply.

I frowned. "Freedom to mess up?"

"Freedom to create," He corrected. "Freedom to explore, to make mistakes, and to find beauty in the unexpected."

He dipped His brush into a rich purple. "Self-confidence isn't about getting it right every time. It's about trusting that you'll figure it out as you go. When you trust Me, you learn to trust the Me in you."

"That's a tall order," I said, adding a streak of orange. "What if I make a mistake?"

"Then we work with it," He said simply. "Mistakes aren't endings; they're layers. Sometimes, the most beautiful parts of a painting come from covering what didn't work with something new."

He winked, "Self-trust starts with trusting the One Who created you. If I've given you dreams, talents, and a heart full of purpose, why wouldn't I also give you the ability to navigate it all?"

I paused mid-brushstroke. "But what if I make the wrong choice? What if I mess up the whole painting?"

He smiled, dipping His brush into white paint to soften a bold streak I'd made. "Then we'll work with it. Mistakes aren't the end—they're invitations to create something new. Trust Me, and trust the creativity I've placed in you. You're more resilient than you think."

As the canvas filled with bold colors and whimsical shapes, I laughed, splattering paint with abandon.

"You know," I said, "this is actually fun."

Jesus grinned. "Exactly. Life wasn't meant to be lived in fear of the mess. It's meant to be a joyful exploration of who you are and who you're becoming."

As we painted together, I began to feel the tightness in my chest ease.

I shared my fears with Him—the fear of people's opinions, failure, fear of rejection, and the unknown. And with each confession, He spoke truth over me:

"Do not yield to fear, for I am always near and with you; do not turn your gaze away, for I am your faithful God. I infuse you with strength, help you, and uphold you firmly with My righteous right hand."

"And self-confidence?" I ventured, wiping paint from my hands.

"Self-confidence grows when you stop waiting to feel ready and start trusting that I'm with you, no matter what." He picked up a sponge and dabbed a soft, textured pattern over one corner of the painting.

"Confidence isn't the absence of doubt—it's stepping forward despite it."

"Even when I'm terrified of messing up?" I asked.

"Especially then."

I smiled despite myself, splattering a playful dot of pink into the mix.

I paused, then I asked, "And self-love?" 

He set His brush down, turning to face me fully. "Self-love is seeing yourself through My eyes. It's believing you're worthy, even when you don't feel it. It's forgiving yourself when you fall short and celebrating yourself when you rise."

As we continued painting together, the canvas began to fill with colors, shapes, and patterns that didn't follow any particular rules but somehow worked together. It was playful, messy, and oddly satisfying—like life.

Slowly, the canvas began to take shape. It wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, alive, and uniquely mine—a reflection of our walking journey together.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, filling the studio with a warm, golden light, I picked up my brush and made another bold stroke. For the first time in a long time, I felt free.

He walked back to His canvas and started to paint on it.

I looked at Jesus as he added a final touch of gold to His painting.

"What are you making?" I asked curiously.

He turned the canvas toward me, revealing an image that took my breath away.

It was a portrait of me—not as I saw myself, but as He saw me: confident, radiant, and free.

"This," He said, "is who you are becoming."

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I whispered, "Thank You."

He smiled. "You're not just a work in progress—you are a masterpiece. Trust Me, and we'll keep painting together."

I nodded, feeling a new sense of hope stirring within me. The weight of guilt and shame began to lift, replaced by the assurance that I didn't have to strive for perfection. I only had to trust the One who was painting my story.

As I packed the brushes and cleaned the workspace, I realized something important: life isn't about painting a perfect picture. It's about showing up, trusting the process, and daring to make bold, messy strokes. And with Jesus as my guide, I could trust that even my mistakes would become part of the masterpiece.

"Jesus, Thank You," I said as we left the studio, the painting drying behind us.

"For the painting lesson?" He asked, winking.

I shook my head. "For reminding me that I'm more than my mistakes. That I don't have to be perfect to be loved."

He smiled, His eyes warm and full of joy. "You're welcome. And for the record? You've always been my favorite masterpiece."

Masterpiece in progress!