Ah Lord, you are the Artist.
It's never more obvious than in winter
when your attention to the most intricate of details is plain for all to see.
If, indeed, we will see.
Or can see.
But why must you test our resolve so with your sensory deprivation?
Where is your light, your warmth, your aroma?
You test not only our resolve, but our character and good sense as well.
And so often find us lacking.
Woe to us.
And also, you test our wakefulness
We are working so hard to keep our eyes open, Lord.
But it's not that easy.
There are things we would rather not see.
We are weary.
Even so, you reward our feeblest efforts to stay present
with glimpses of life
Reminding us that this is but one season.
We will put our best face on as we are able.
Sometimes we will convince ourselves and forget that we were faking it.
Then, Lord, let the joy spill over onto others.
And sometimes we won't even bother to fake it.
But our hearts will find abiding hope in knowing that underneath it all,
you are at work in us.
You are, after all, The Artist.
And we are your art.