This life turned out nothing like I had planned,
Why not? By now I should've had some land,
Some money in my hand, round about fifty grand,
But I got nothing, I write rhymes on the bus,
I keep suffering; like the lines in the dust.
Imagine if you will that your life is like a great big art gallery. Contained in it a works on display, some rooms that have been set aside for future works and still other areas that have doors firmly locked.
I think it was Freud who said that dreams are like paintings not yet on display. In some cases it's because they're still to be finished and enacted and in other cases they're secret things to be hidden away never to be seen.
Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.
I have heard it said before that allowing Christ into one's life is like letting in a janitor to clean up the mess. Well this may be true to some extent but what about the rest of everything? Since our lives are on display to a lot of people they get to walk around and look at a lot more than just the hallways.
Christ does more than just do clean up. As author and perfector of our faith he acts more like a curator and artist in the gallery. Looking at some paintings and making modifications, looking at others and setting fire to them wholesale and still others in parts of the gallery not yet seen, replacing the hopes and dreams yet to come with others.
Certainly in my life there's been sections shut off, others where the lights have been switched on to reveal horrid paintings that have been later set fire to, and other sections that I didn't even know existed in the first place where the most utterly fantastic works have been shown.
What He opens no one can shut, and what He shuts no one can open.
The gallery still remains open for business.
No comments:
Post a Comment