I almost painted over it…the brush strokes too wide and thick. “Psalm 23”, I called this one and decided to leave the words in its corner.
On the 26th day, I read Psalm 23, following the guide in the back of my Bible. Before that, I’d read from Genesis. Fine pencil lines marking the words of Joseph’s father, a very old man, realizing his son had not died. A beautiful story, son clinging to father, tears soaking shoulder.
I read from the Book of Mark, an account of Jesus in the early days of healing. A man, paralyzed, delivered to Jesus to be healed, forgiven, walking. Believing first, then with healed legs, moving forward.
Then, Psalm 23, I lingered there. I thought of green pastures.
Shady, wide-branched trees and blue, blue sky.
And on this day, I thought all day long of resting.
This painting was purchased weeks ago, I wondered by whom for awhile. It’s size large and painted on antique door.
Then, this week a call, a note for me had been mailed to the shop.
The young newlywed wife from Oregon wrote to thank me.
“The painting hangs over our bed” , she wrote. “It’s calming.
I’m not religious, but Psalm 23 speaks to me.”
I read the note, tears in my eyes because I’d lingered there that morning, 23rd Chapter, Book of Psalms.
I cherish this now, a thank you note from a couple, my painting hangs in their home evoking rest.
And just last week, walking, a longing in my heart.
I’d prayed, “Lord, help me see my worth, help me know I matter.”
23rd Psalm, resting, restoring…walking in valleys and shadows.
Little sketches or big paintings on old wood….comforting like cool grass under shade of tree.
I shall lie down…my soul restored.