Rare Art

A few weeks ago I spent the morning at my mom's house helping her paint a shelf. When I was done, I packed up the car, loaded the kids and headed home. After I laid the kids down for a nap, I contemplated a nap myself, then decided to go and unload my car instead. I opened the back of the car and the first thing that I saw was the gallon of paint tipped on it's side, white paint everywhere.

Panic. 

I grabbed the paint can and threw it out of the car, splashing my leg and new running shoes in the process and then did the only other thing I knew to do. I ran for Tony. And a for a rag to wipe off my shoes. 

In my head I heard all the things that I thought Tony would say, "How could you let this happen?" or "Why didn't you double check the lid?" or "What were you thinking?" Condemnation is hard to take, even when you know they are right. 

Tony, who was reading a book on the couch, bolted up and came right away to assess the damage. I was in tears by this time, a mess, I didn't know what to do or where to start. 

Without a word of rebuke, he got right to work. A water hose, a roll of paper towels, a scrub brush, a shop vac and the mess was cleaned up. We worked together, scrubbing, scraping, wiping and sniffling. I was sniffling, not Tony. 

After the mess was cleaned up, I went to the kitchen and began cutting up fruit to take to a friends house for dinner. As I worked, I thought about the paint. What could have been a huge mess, became instead an exquisitely crafted painting. A painting on canvas with lovely splashes of color, pure tones and imagery that touches every human heart in every walk of life.

Grace. 

 A Cross splashed with thick, crimson blood. A dark, dank Grave, empty. In desperation a battered and broken heart turns to the Savior. A person who has really messed up, made such a mess it can not be cleaned up by a single person. Afraid of the harsh words they know they deserve. Seeking help from the only One they know who can clean up the mess. 

Running in panic, clothes splashed with the filth of their sins, tears of shame rolling down their face, the heart longs for cleansing. Ears throbbing with the unspoken words of condemnation that have gone round and round their head, they ache for peace.

And finally, there is no more running. Spent, the hurting heart cries out. The urgent voice of the broken heart brings the Savior to His feet, running to help. He assesses the situation and without a word, rolls up His sleeves, and, side by side the two begin the work of cleaning up. 

Sin, like gloopy spilled paint, can be really hard to clean up. Even harder is asking for the help needed to bring restoration, swallowing pride, accepting the penalty. Grace, is the fresh water washing away the grime, restoring the shine, no condemnation included.