Life started out on a canvas,
With Christ making a painting of me;
But I took the paint brush from Jesus,
And painted what I wished to see.
…The colors I painted kept running,
And the objects grew all out of size
Till the mess I made on the canvas
Seemed now so completely unwise.
Then I brought back the canvas to Jesus
With the colors and figures so wrong,
In the market it simply was worthless,
Yet His blood made my painting belong.
He stood there with no condemnation,
Never mentioned the mess I had made;
He just started the painting all over,
For the price had already been paid.
As He dipped His brush in the rainbow,
The colors grew brighter in hue;
And in the Glory of Heaven’s Salvation
Brought the forms in perspective anew.
Since I took the brush back to Jesus,
And let Him do the picture for me;
I’ve found that the painting by Jesus,
Is the one that I first hoped to see.