I get frustrated with myself and my inability to ever create things that are as good as I want them to be. It’s embarrassing.
I think about God, the first content provider, and wonder what He must make of it all. He dreamt up the whole world, and all the ideas and images and words we build are merely rented. The greatest masterpiece ever produced, something that draws a sharp intake of breath from the whole world, is only a shadow of what He can do just by speaking it outloud. The Mona Lisa, War and Peace, Adagio for Strings, whatever work of art you can think of must seem to Him like nothing more than the scrawlings of earnest children.
For years now Ruth and I have plastered our fridge with whatever achievements our children have presented to us. Certificates celebrating attendance, words read and numbers learnt adorn our coolbox, as do those scrawlings of earnest children. Not one of those pieces of fridge art is ever going to trouble the judges of the Turner Prize, but nonetheless we display them willingly. For years and years now, Ruth and I have been cooing and nodding proudly at every monster where the colouring has stayed inside the lines, and admiring how much this one actually looks like what it’s supposed to be a picture of. Proud parents, proud of our children and their handiwork. Proud of our fridge.
Does my frustration help? My goal isn’t to create masterpieces, is it, but rather to create something that God would want to stick to the front of his fridge.
Yes, for God’s fridge – or as Aussies would say, ‘This one’s going into God’s pool room!’😎