Baby feet on paintings.

For some reason I don't know, I remembered a story read a long time ago. Maybe my mom read it to me when I was really young or maybe I found it in the school library back when going to the school library was cool. But it was about an artist who worked a long long time on perfecting his paintings- he was painting a collection for an art show. Then, his child learned how to walk, and one day he had left his paintings on the floor (I don't remember why), and his kid walked right over his canvas and left baby-foot prints in the wet paint.
Everyone gasped.
There was quiet.
And then the artist spoke, and he said, "this is beautiful."

But sometimes this sort of thing happens. We get our whole life together, our painting planned, our scenery just the way we want it, and then something sent from God walks over it. Smudges the paint. Makes the details on the trees look more like squashed broccoli.
And the artist spoke, he said, "this is beautiful". 
And I bet, (the author left this out), that the people standing around maybe cried. They maybe said, in their heads, it's not perfect. It's not ready for a gallery.
And life ISN'T.
But it's hard to see that those things, surprises, mess-ups, those people that walk in uninvited,
make life beautiful, make it big. Make it happy and whole and everything.
And it's also hard to see how beautiful it is when everyone says life is bad. Troubled times. Abandoned.
And the artist spoke, he said, "this is beautiful". 
We protect our lives too much. We act as if there's nothing greater. We don't let the people in that need to come in, and we let the wrong people in that shouldn't and the outcome may look nice, may be precise, but is a painting really all about order? About the fact that the tree looks real and the sun is bright, and look at the bird and the person's face, and everything's all right. My dad's an artist and he said one of the hardest things about painting is showing LIGHT.
"I am the way, the truth, and the LIGHT"
I'm waiting for someone to walk in, maybe an old lady, a young one, a boy or a girl, friend, an enemy or a stranger to walk into my life and introduce themselves and leave footprints in my painting. But the thing is, they're here. And with patience, and God's timing, all we have to do is introduce ourselves, too, and let them in.
And the artist spoke, he said, "this is beautiful".
My brother's wife just had a baby. I'm an aunt to six. I'm excited and happy and thrilled, and ready to be another aunt and not ready at all, and giddy. Radiant. His name is Daniel.
And the artist spoke, he said, "this is beautiful".
Tonight I was at the Curiel's for Caleb's 16th birthday and Andrew found a cross on the ground, outside that said, engraved, "God loves you".
And the artist spoke, he said, "this is beautiful".