Curled up on top of my red comforter with the cream colored blanket that never quite covers my feet, I’ve spent hours drawing. A bit of an obsession, it is. At times I feel cocooned in here, holed up drinking bottomless espressos, hoping a drawing materializes through all my errors and flubs. Sometimes it takes days. With five felt tip pens and an extra spoonful of patience, I scribble, fighting to make that perfect mark. Pen is wonderfully difficult because there’s no going back, ever. Perhaps I have a penchant for misery or maybe it’s just male bravado, but I quite like pushing through all the mistakes, hoping I can somehow salvage something beautiful out of all the errors.
I make a lot of mistakes and I guess that’s true in life too. As much as I aim for perfection, nothing goes as planned. Every line in my life is wobbly and crooked, but there’s beauty in being refined and corrected, finally seeing some of those lines God intended. I’m thankful He’s still drawing me.
