mona lisas

character is painted by the brush strokes of rejection.

recently i've become a walking mural.

some weeks are layered in the negative. it takes hope-filled pupils (in both senses of the word) to recognize slants of sunshine in a stormy sky.

yet, despite the impending darkness there are moments no pupil can deny: moments when the sky cracks and Jesus pours down white light so clean and fresh it keeps our spirits from dying.

we are God's canvas. His world is our audience. His trials are the paintbrush. and, if we let him guide the strokes, in the end we'll all be mona lisas.