His Masterpiece...recreated in Christ Jesus

Ephesians 2:4-10 NLT

I felt it again—

that old pull…

fear trying to name me,

shame trying to clothe me,

regret whispering,

“this is who you’ve always been.”

But something in me

doesn’t agree anymore.

Because I’ve seen Him—

not from a distance,

not as an idea—

but as the Artist

with His hand on the brush.

And I am the canvas.

Not blank—

no…

never blank—

but covered in layers

of places I tried to fix,

hide,

rewrite on my own.

And still…

He didn’t step back.

He stepped closer.

Mercy in His hands.

Grace in every stroke.

I can feel it—

the way He moves

through the paint,

through the mess,

through what looked like ruin—

and suddenly…

life.

Not improved.

Not managed.

Raised.

He didn’t ask me

to climb out of the grave—

He painted resurrection

into me.

Color where there was none.

Breath where there was silence.

Purpose where I only saw endings.

And now…

I see it—

I am not fear.

I am not shame.

I am not what tried to bury me.

I am His.

His daughter.

His living work.

His expression in motion.

And He is not finished—

oh no…

the brush is still moving.

Not to make me something

the world will applaud—

but to reveal Himself

through every layer

He restores.

This is what He does.

He takes what was hidden in the grave

and lifts it—

not just to live—

but to shine with His life.

And I…

I am learning

to stop grabbing the brush—

and let Him paint.