It was done. The light. The trees. The sky. The stump. Done. (Insert chef’s kiss here)

First piece of a four-piece commission completed. 

Swelled with pride, I moved on to piece two.

As I mapped out the second piece, I realized that a large part of the first piece did not work.

Suddenly, in the context of the growth and change in the upcoming paintings, what I had viewed as done and perfect did not fit…did not work.

I set both pieces on the shelf for nearly two weeks. The thought of reworking the first painting was overwhelming. I wanted to avoid facing the shifting of something I had created and felt comfortable in.

Growth is uncomfortable. Reworking what we have grown comfortable in feels difficult. I wasn’t ready…and it took me several days of giving those paintings the side-eye before I felt brave enough to change them.

I spent this afternoon erasing a tree, reworking clouds, and repairing existing limbs to fill the space. With every stroke of the paintbrush, I became keenly aware that this was more than a painting lesson… it's a life lesson.

Over the last few years, I have been comfortable and enjoyed the life we have carved out, but then the winds of change blow, and I find myself unable to settle in what was comfy and safe yesterday.

As our teens teeter on the edge of the nest, as I heal and find my voice, as we enter a new stage of life, as the world struggles to adapt to rapid changes in a post-pandemic world what worked yesterday does not work today.

I love to garden and am slowly turning our backyard into a cutting garden and summer paradise filled with flowers, produce, and beauty. I spend time trimming, pruning, and moving plants each year as their growth impacts the backyard's layout.

Today, I erased a tree (in a painting). Next week, I will move a couple of bushes in the backyard (in real life). Last night, I spent more than an hour culling the accounts I follow on social media. New seasons, new growth, new landscape.

I am the person who asks why. I used to get in trouble all the time as a kid for asking why. Why did I need to do my chores? Why did I need to do busy work in the classroom? Why did I need to conform to someone else’s ideas? Why?

Honestly, I never grew out of the habit. I have been labeled a troublemaker in more than one adult arena for asking why when no one else did. So, is it any surprise that as God asks me to change, I ask why?

If someone had told me that I needed to change that painting on the day, I deemed it finished (the first time). I would have been defensive and irritated and would have asked why.

However, I saw the need to make room for growth on this side, so I made the changes. I understood the why. I also understand that I don’t always see the whole picture (or even the whole series of pictures).

I often want whys from God, and I am learning that many times, the why is only visible in the rearview mirror. I am learning that changing my comfort zone precedes growth, and changing my comfort zone makes room for the blessings and opportunities on the way.

I am typing this with paint-covered fingertips, a pile of brushes, and paint dishes to wash stacked next to me. I didn’t want to fuss with washing before I shared with you that sometimes you have to erase a tree and make room for sky because you need to make room for the growth in the new season.