See the art in me...

Images on the sidewalk speak of dream’s decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I’m trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, see the art in me

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity’s been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I’m trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, see the art in me

-jars of clay



I gave my mum an unfinished picture for her birthday today. It received a number of positive comments which I thought was unusual. You see for me, when I look at the picture, I see the work still to be done; the imperfections and mistake... when others look at it the see art.

When I look at myself I see the mistakes, the growing still to be done; all my imperfections on a living canvas. God looks at me and sees the finished work of art he is creating...