Streams of water bounce off my palette and spray everywhere as I hold it under the faucet to rinse the excess paint. As I watch the splotches and watered-down mixtures of magenta, manganese, and naples spin down the drain, my heart clenches – I hate wasting. I had tried to force the gooey blobs back into their containers, but watercolor tubes are not to be persuaded. Once you commit to using 1/2 teaspoon of naples, you don’t get a chance to salvage an ounce. There’s no going back. Use it on the painting or throw it away.

I feel shaky and unsteady. I glance around the now emptied room. Where is this anxiety arising from? I know it’s not about wasting paint. (Okay maybe I have a poverty mentality to deal with, but that’s for another day.)

No, something deeper is stirring within me, and it far surpasses my recent dilemma of figuring out the correct water-to-paint ratio when using naples (which is a shade of yellow if you weren’t aware).

I stack my belongings together in an attempt to hide my painting during my walk back to my room. Nobody can see what final picture emerged from the first watercolor painting class I just completed. Can I even say I completed the class?

I bite my lip and pretend everything is okay. Smiling at strangers and ignoring the turmoil within me is easier than dealing with the rage within my heart. At least, it is for now.

I finally arrive to the safety of my room. Nobody is around. I don’t have to fear my painting being seen by anybody anymore. I take a deep breath and tuck away the colored paper, and all I can think when I see it is, “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

Fear. I’m afraid. I’m afraid somebody will see me holding paint supplies. And ask to see my painting. And cringe or laugh or squint in a disapproving way once their eyes land on my project.

Logically, none of my friends would react those ways.

No, actually, they would rather smile and make a positive comment about it. They might even claim that it looks good. Or okay. But before the words would leave their mouths, that voice in my head would be shouting, “They’re lying! You failed! They’re just being nice, but you did an awful job! Who could love a failure like you?”

So, when I sit on my bed, I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t meet anybody on the walk over. I don’t have to have that conversation. I can hide in my shame and not talk about it.

Unfortunately, my heart is still clenched. Fear is still there.

It’s ironic because I was just talking with a friend a few hours ago about how I chased down literally every fear and they all led to nowhere. Fears are illogical, especially for a believer.

Fear of starving to death if God doesn’t provide financially? You’ll be with Jesus. Fear of going to jail for not being able to pay your taxes? You can witness to your fellow inmates. Fear of becoming homeless if God doesn’t provide a place for you to live after this season? You can witness to your fellow homeless people! When Jesus is the goal, all fears can be traced to a victory.

Yet here I sit, crippled by the same dang fears, driven by the same dang mindset: fear of rejection and abandonment, steered by unworthiness and a performance mentality.

Dang it.

I hate the devil. Jesus hates him, too. He’s such a liar, such a thief.

I finally let go and let my thoughts freely flow, giving silent voice to the anguish I’ve been holding onto.

Nobody can see what I’ve done. Whoever sees this painting will see that I’ve failed. They will see an ugly mess. And that’s what they will think when they look at my life. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m trying to make something beautiful, but my efforts are futile. Directions seem simple, but I just can’t get the right consistency of naples. Why try?

Beauty is something I long for so badly. I want to create beauty. I want to be beauty. And I think everyone else wants that, too. People are always trying to capture beauty in photographs or paintings or music or dance. But why? What can we do with it?

Logically, it makes no sense. But there is something in our souls that is magnetically drawn to it.

It’s probably because God is beauty, and beauty is how He left His fingerprint on the world He made, both in nature and in humans. Our craving for beauty is one of the ways our souls are retracing our connection to our Creator. We are looking for YHWH, the original beauty. We want to see Him in ourselves and all around us. And when we look for Him, that’s what we find.

But the devil. That stupid devil. He lies. All he does is tell us that we are ugly, unworthy of love, and destined to be abandoned and rejected by everyone we try to share our hearts with. And we believe him! I believe him.

Papa, help me come out of agreement with that filthy liar whose goal is to separate me from You.

His lies run deep inside me because he has been whispering them repeatedly for almost a quarter of a century now.

I’m so grateful that my Papa is patient and committed to bringing me into His truth. I love that His love is unwavering, unyielding. That He is for me. That He knows me.

Jesus knows me.

He looks into my eyes, sees the things I hide, and says that He will never leave. (Lauren Daigle lyrics)

Still these lies penetrate my thoughts, words, and behavior. Out of fear I push away people who get too close. I have to convince them to agree with these lies. I need to show them that I’m unworthy of love, so they better reject and abandon me, and quick. I make a metaphorical step-by-step How To, and I tell myself that only the ones who stick around by choice are the ones I can love. For everybody else, my heart stays in the box.

Corrie ten Boom’s father says that when a person is hurt by love, he has the choice to either kill that love and let a part of himself die or ask God to provide another way for love to go.

The devil for sure wants us to choose to kill that love. Kill it all. Because he knows that Jesus gave us two simple commands: love God and love your neighbor.

All of these thoughts seem jumbled.

I don’t want to kill love anymore.

I want to pick up my art supplies, march into next week’s class, and laugh and laugh and laugh about this messy journey. Who cares about naples?! I’ll use raw sienna for the whole dang picture if I want to. It’s my painting! Who am I doing it for? What am I trying to prove?

I want to stop pushing people away. I want to believe my friend when she says I’m beautiful. I want to take a guy’s word for it when he says he’s in this relationship for the long haul. I want to shout from the rooftops at the top of my lungs that I’m worth waiting for!!!

I want to come out of agreement with that stupid, ugly, lying devil.

Change me with Your beauty, God. Mold me with Your truth.

Change my heart, oh, God. Make it ever true. Change my heart, oh, God. May I be like You.