I honestly have no idea how I made it through 3 years in a sorority with as few art/creative skills as I possess. (Actually, I do know how I made it through; I delegated my crafting off on my other sorority sisters. Thanks, ladies, for helping a sista’ out). I’m good at a lot of things; teaching, planning, packing, eating, making puns, etc. But I’m not, and never have been, good at art. My sheep look like clouds with legs, which I personally think is hilarious. If you ever want to see one, I’ll gladly draw one for you. Classic comic relief right there.
Today, we arrived at our ministry host’s house and, after worship, were told that we were going to spend our amad time doing “prophetic painting” (don’t worry, it sounded weird to me, too). We were told that we were going to spend our afternoon ministering to the women in the areas around the dance bars and dance cabins (basically the Asian version of strip clubs and brothels where girls are pimped out as sex slaves). To prepare for this, we were supposed to pray over the women we were going to talk to, ask God to speak to our hearts, and literally paint what we thought God was telling us for these women.
Nope. Big fat nope. I don’t paint. I don’t art. It’s not how I connect with God, it’s a point of personal contention in my heart, and it’s just not a thing that I do. It’s especially not a thing that I do to give away to other people.
And yet, painting and “art-ing” was the task, so I figured I had better do something. I put my worship playlist on shuffle, and the song “The Garden” by Kari Jobe started playing. It’s a beautiful song (some of the lyrics are below), and I decided to write the first few lines and draw something resembling (and I truly mean loosely resembling) a garden scene around the words.
I had all / But given up / Desperate for a sign from God / Something good / Something kind / Bringing peace to every corner of my mind
Then I saw the garden / Hope had come to me / To sweep away the ashes / Wake me from my sleep
I realized / You never left / Before this moment / You planned ahead / That I would see / Your faithfulness in all of the green
I can see the ivy / Reaching through the wall / ‘Cause you will stop at nothing / To heal my broken soul
Faith is rising up like ivy / Cringing for the light / Hope is stirring deep inside me / Making all things right / Love is lifting me from sorrow / Catching every tear / Dispelling every lie and torment / Crushing all my fears
You crush all my fears / You crush all my fears / With Your perfect love / Your perfect love
Now I see redemption / Growing in the trees / The death and resurrection / In every single seed
I didn’t feel good about what I had drawn; I didn’t feel “called” to it. I didn’t know who I was supposed to look for or give it to. I all but refused to show anyone my painting because it made me self-conscious and embarrassed. Soon, we broke up into groups and headed out to the streets. Instead of heading to areas lined with dance bars or girls on street corners who looked like they were trapped in guilt and shame, we found ourselves on a random street trying to follow the Holy Spirit to find the woman we were called to love. “How should we find her?” we asked our group leader. She responded that we could look for a color or a pattern that resembled our painting, or we could simply ask the Holy Spirit to show us a specific woman.
Um, yea ok. I eventually saw a scarf with flowers on it (that completely failed to resemble the flowers I had painted, but it’s fine) hanging in the window of a clothing shop, so I went and gave my painting to the woman sitting there. She spoke no English, and I told her that I was praying earlier and felt like I was supposed to paint a picture and give it to her, and that she is loved and treasured more than anything else, and… that’s about it. Truthfully, I don’t remember her name, and I left feeling super discouraged… Truthfully, I still want to feel discouraged when I think about the events that unfolded today. Today made me feel unskilled, confused, unqualified, and disheartened.
I know that all of that is kind of a downer, but I’m also aware that a lot of my posts are super happy and excited and can make it sound like Race life is this awesome time (which it is) of God blowing my mind every single day (which He does) and no sadness or frustration or confusion (which it definitely is not). Sometimes (a lot of times), life on the Race is hard. Sometimes (a lot of times), life on the Race is frustrating. And sometimes (a lot of times), life on the Race is amazing and incredible and mind-blowing. Thanks, readers, for letting me be vulnerable about the good days and the bad days, the beautiful times and the ugly times. Pray for the lady that I met today; while I don’t remember her name, she is loved and precious in the eyes of our Father. She is worth so much that Jesus offered His life up for her on the cross. While I don’t know what will become of my painting, I know that God sees the woman I met today and wants to spend forever and ever with her.
Today, I’m thankful that we serve a God whose strength is made perfect in our weakness. I’m thankful that we serve a God who doesn’t need my skills or my qualifications to do great things. I’m thankful that we serve a God who doesn’t roll His eyes at me when I have a bad day. And I’m thankful that we serve a God who sees and loved all the ladies we talked to today, and that He will continue that dialogue with them long after our paintings fade away.
