A Broken Canvas

As often happens, I was contemplating life this morning while in the shower. Many times I come up with nothing more earth shattering than an idea for what to make for dinner. Sometimes, though, my brain gets to the nitty gritty thinking tasks that are easy to avoid.

Why am I sick? Why do I have this life? What if I was dunked in the waters of the Jordan? Why wouldn't that cure me?

For good and numerous reasons, theodicy and the concept that faith is not a shield remains a troubling issue for many people. But for me, it's not about the failure of God to create miracles in my life. It's the triumph of God's love over this imperfect mortal coil.

It's as though God has decided to paint my life across a broken canvas. It has holes, it's not ideal, but, thanks to the other blessings in my life, it's beautiful. Each of our canvases has imperfections. Even the most beautiful and wonderful lives are marred by pain of their own kind. Just because it isn't visible or obvious doesn't mean it's not there.

My dysfunctional body has shaped me into a person that I have begun to love. It's not easy to live here, in this time/place/situation, but I am thankful that I'm here. A hundred years ago, or even more recently, I would have died far before this point. God put me in this time, this place, and in this body. There is a lot to be grateful for, even if my canvas is full of gouges, holes, and blemishes. It's my own beautiful painting.