I've always preferred a blank canvas sort of home. Simple. Clean lines.
White on which to paint the life we lead. Minimal amidst all that we are.
. . . . . .
Over time and as the Lord peels back the many layers of my life, exposing more and more raw with each passing year and with every pruning experience, what I see He leaves behind is an increasingly blank-canvas-me on which to stroke the brush. A prism of multicolor choices, rightfully His to apply, rebuild with new and varied layers stacked upon the blank and in the same way I view my home life...I can see how He forges my heart life His. I am His to create.
Blank.
"Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed
into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature."
Genesis 2:7
I remember once after watching the narrated movie, Earth, as a family...Brodie, just a boy, said,
"It was like listening to someone go on and on about an amazing painting without giving any credit to the artist."
I love that.
He got it.
I see myself the same.
Who am I to think I have the right to tell the Creator how to create?
"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God?
Will what is molded say to its molder, 'Why have you made me like this?'"
Romans 9:20
"Know that the Lord, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his."
Psalm 100:3
Why would I think, based on what I read in Scripture,
that I should choose the layers, colors, overall composition for the Artist?"
"But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay,
and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand."
Isaiah 64:8
"Woe to him who strives with him who formed him,
a pot among earthen pots!
Does the clay say to him who forms it, ‘What are you making?’
or ‘Your work has no handles’?"
Isaiah 45:9
He is the Potter. I am the clay. He is the Painter. I am the canvas.
Blank.
"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them."
Psalm 139:13-16