As a young teenager I used to love to sketch. I think maybe it was my refuge. I would find something that I found interesting and would copy it. I used to love to draw Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters. I even once entered a drawing contest where you copied the "Leprechaun" and sent in your drawing for a chance to win a scholarship to an art school. Several weeks later I received a phone call that I had won the contest but that they needed to speak to one of my parents. My dad declined the offer and told me afterward that it was just a scam and that they were just trying to get us to pay them money. I was devastated. I had just received the news that I was good at drawing. Good enough to win a contest and maybe receive a scholarship, only to have my bubble burst because it was a scam. So there went my dream of becoming a famous artist one day. I did however, take art in my first year of senior high school. In the beginning the lessons focused primarily on sketching and drawing, and gradually led into painting. I had lots of fun with the sketching but when it came to painting I just couldn't quite get the technique down. Maybe it's because we spent more time on sketching and less time on painting. I don't know or maybe just don't remember. But I do know that it was a dream of mine at one time. One Christmas (probably not long after my devastation moment when I was told this was a scam) I got a "paint by number" water color set from my mom and dad. I was so excited! I couldn't wait to open it up and create my masterpiece. So I began painting following the simple instructions of painting the colors associated with the numbers on the drawings. Now with watercolors the paint can come out a little lighter than what an acrylic or oil paint does on a canvas. Nonetheless I was painting. After I was finished, I left the painting to dry. Oh the joy I had when I finally gazed on my work of art and only saw a few lines peaking through the water colors.

So here I am in present day; sitting around a table with 6 other women with easels and pallets in front of us waiting for our art lesson. I was astonished to see that there were no sketches on the canvas that set all alone on the easel that I was staring at in front of me. The news was that we were going to be painting snow men. But I also thought that the instructor would have given us an outline at least to which to start from (an maybe some numbers). I could feel panic rising up in me as the sweat beads formed on my brow. What was I thinking? Then, my inner self spoke to me, "Oh come on. How difficult can this be?" Four long hours later I had my masterpiece in front of me! One which could be proudly displayed in the classroom, had I been in second grade! I had to laugh at myself because I was comparing my painting to those around me when I should have just been satisfied with the moment and what I had just accomplished.

Some of us are masters when it comes to painting while some of us are better at other things. My snowmen came alive and became my masterpiece because of the work of my hand pushing that paint brush around the canvas and mixing the colors at various times. But there is one that brought ME to life through the work of his hands. My father, the master potter . . .

Isaiah 64:8 - But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.

Be thankful for who you are and all of the masterpieces that you create every day!!!