As God paints the canvas of the universe I focus on single bristles of the brush. Here is my bad day as a bristle, or here is the very essence of God's light as another bristle. Just bristle after bristle floating over a canvas that is forgotten with each breath.
However, as followers of Christ we are called to firmly plant our lives and worship in the brush of God, not the bristles. The bristles should only point us to the brush, and an understanding of the brush should be rooted in a trust of brushstrokes. These brushstrokes over a grand canvas become portraits of God's creative heart.
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Ushered forward by the Holy Spirit, the divine masterpiece that you have been a part of hangs on the wall in front of you: your jaw drops to the floor and the electric pulse of creation jolts up your spine.
The canvas before you is so whole, so large, so complicated that you begin to understand the need for eternity. This is no afternoon visit to the art museum. Look up. The masterpiece covers the ceiling. Walking the streets, oily rain water on sidewalk becomes the canvas. Among the change at the bottom of a beggar's cup, you see the canvas.
This masterpiece, shining with brilliant color and composure, is showing up everywhere now. On your knees you reach out and touch the surface of the canvas. Only by the lightest running of your fingers over the paint can you feel the remnants of smoothly blended brushstrokes. There are no traces of the brush bristles now, just brushstrokes, masterpiece, and eternity to take it all in.