A baby comes, hours new, a cause to meditate on purpose, meaning and mortality. What is this space between entrance on this mist-like, ephemeral stage (stage right) and our inevitable exit, also mist-like (stage left)? What is Time’s blank canvas given by God’s Grace, and what should we paint upon it? What is our part to play, our words to speak, our actions to take and how?
By Grace, a palette of colours given, to the new birth too – abilities, gifts, talents, our ‘stuff’. What picture to paint, what drama to act on this trembling stage, what Kingdom work for Jesus sake, as Damocles’ blade suspends above our heads, extinction hanging by Grace’s narrowest thread?
As children enter this graced tapestry of life, so also the thread breaks for more old friends, their painting done, last lines spoken, the final curtain down. What did their palettes create, what colours used, what scene pleases God’s eyes to examine? Is it His or theirs? And what about mine?
A morning prayer might better guide our brushes, our choice of colours on life’s fading tapestry, might make our actions and words we tongue closer to God’s script on this fleeting stage.
Lord, what shall I paint today?