Bright, bold, beloved, and messy

Jane Oosthuizen

I have tried making lists. I have tried neat and tidy. I have tried reward systems and accountability partners and a neutral wardrobes. I have not been able to keep up with one.

I have officially stopped trying.

He made me, so I like to think He quite likes (no, loves) His handiwork. He knit me together in my mothers’ womb. He decided that my eyes will disappear from my face when I laugh. He decided that I’ll sceam-shout my favourite songs in the car and that I’ll never remember a joke. Ever.

He made a heart that breaks for every single person without a roof over their heads. He made a face incapable of not showing exactly what it thinks. He made legs longer than I would’ve chosen and feet bigger than I would’ve wanted, but if He thinks they’re needed then who am I to say – they’ve carried me all over the world.

In accepting who He made me to be – I honour the most beautiful and creative Father. The one that decided the world needed one of me.

This honour, this holy acceptance, allows the Artist to take the paintbrush from my hand and make something beautiful from something I kind of started to mess up.

Like, I think I started fingerpainting on Starry Night by Van Gogh somehow.

I thought many times He must’ve given up on me by now. Who could love and use a fingerpainting anyway?

Well – ask your mom and dad. They still have some of your artwork in the back of a closet, if not still on the fridge.

I’ve discovered that all He wants to do is lead my hand, not replace, or remove it. That I’ll trust Him enough to not want to do it by myself. That I’ll love and honour Him enough to know that He is the one able to stand back and see the whole portrait.

He then gets to step back in, correct, reproof, and redeem where I went wrong. And I’ll let Him.

Something clicked the day I stopped trying to do and say things the way others do.

I realised there was no right way to go about life when I am in the will of God – if I make a list in excel or scribble it in my worst handwriting on post-It note, who cares?

Did I honour, love, and respect the people around me? Did I honour my responsibilities and remained kind in times of testing.
If I honoured Jesus, then I’m happy to say that my shopping list will remain written somewhere on the back of a receipt, in a handbag I probably forgot at home.

by Jane Oosthuizen

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Bright, bold, beloved, and messy

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