Chiseling is messy.
The beauty of the sculpture
is vaguely in the artist’s head
Who ought to trust their own Creator
For how a sculpture will turn out.

Painting is messy.
Stains and splashes
Cloudy murky water
Fingerprints around
the apron of life.

The final painting
Has a life of its own
The shapes and shadows
The light and the voice in it
It speaks, it sings.
It moves.

Childrearing is messy.
We call out and plead for open ears
We cry and pray over sweaty foreheads
When they finally rest on the pillow
quietly asleep.

Chiseling away
One correction at a time
One encouragement at a time
One sliver of prayer at a time.

We paint splashes of love
Colors of happy.
Our hands stained
Our fingers bruised.

The art of parenting
The heart of parenting
The heartache of parenting.
A journey of love.