Today I did one of my least favorite things; I painted with my children. We made pottery as part of our study of the Indians of the Southwest. I have been putting off painting these pottery pieces, but since the Lord gave us a beautiful summer-like day, I figured we could do it outside. So I brought out the acrylic (no, not the washable) paints, brushes, water, and pottery pieces and we got to work.
I thought maybe this time the process wouldn't make me crazy, but I was wrong. Painting, no matter how you do it, is messy. I had made a little piece of pottery myself and of course that was the piece the three-year-old insisted on painting. Before long, no matter what I said or did, he had a pool of black paint in the bottom of his bowl. And he had it on himself and the table and the deck. And when I told him to be sure not to wipe his shirt that was the first thing he did.
In the midst of my extreme discomfort, though, I was reminded how thankful I am that we have a God Who lets us paint. We make an absolute mess of what He's created, but He still lets us paint. We disobey the simplest of commands, but He lets us keep the brush in our hands. We never seem to "do it right," but He lets us keep practicing. And He's willing to get a little messy Himself just so we have the opportunity.
