This season in my life is new.
The experiences that shaped my past now reveal patterns I wish I’d noticed at the time, but that’s how time is… it can only be lived in moments forged between the dried paint and the blank canvas.
Maybe that’s part of the awakening that comes at my age: realizing all that I know, aspire to know, and, equally, don’t.
The space left to paint has diminished.
This thought alone makes the brush in my hand tremble a little.
Whether to my liking or not, what I see and feel is influenced by the culmination of all that I have experienced.
I find myself now more intentional about how I spend my time, what thoughts I entertain, and whom I entertain.
The colors I select to paint with are like the words I choose: deliberate.
This doesn’t make me less generous. I have found the opposite to be true. Now I am more present with each person in front of me. I am less rushed, even when I have a million things to do.
Things matter less. People matter more. And still, I realize friendships are fewer than ever.
I no longer decorate, dress, or discuss for compliments. Opinions have lost their pull, even if they still tug at me from time to time.
I have always known my flaws, but now I am more accepting of them. Some, I cannot change. Others, I will. A few, I could if I dedicated myself to the effort, but that thought alone tires me.
Stability is now more than paying bills and saving a little, despite appreciating the importance of both.
In this season, I am swayed by the quality of life rather than by the dangling of more money in a job that can replace me within a week.
This alone is a noticeable shift, as I have a competitive nature that wants to succeed. And yet, my definition of success has taken on a softer hue… one that now allows me the time to see a sunset.
My balance, at times, gets wonky in both thought and physical strength. I can become consumed with anxiety and to-dos; distracted by circumstances and what-ifs, affording me little rest.
In this, I am a struggling banker trying to make better investments of limited energy. I am still working this out.
I no longer care about being in certain circles. You can have them, as they usually end up as nooses, strangling our awareness of the value found in each of us, whether perceived as “in” or “out” of status.
I have served on many boards and in many groups, holding offices of varying importance. I believed in some of them deeply; others I joined simply because it felt like the right thing at the time.
We each have term limits, and sometimes that means we come to terms with knowing how best to use our time.
In this effort, I defer to my Creator.
My standing and time left are determined by God, and He tells me daily that I am His child. This inheritance is worth living for and into. For whatever love I have to share is only because of the love God has shown me.
Many of my friends are people the world once overlooked; yet they are true gems that only appear dusty because someone had the arrogance to label them or their beliefs as less than, misfits, or wrong. Ironically, many of those who hurt them were self-professed Christians.
Ah, the plight of the self-righteous Christian: wanting to follow God but constantly in their own way, passing more judgments than grace.
In this understanding, I have embraced the art of patience. I do not try to change anyone, as that responsibility lies with each individual. However, as it depends upon me, I do my best to share the love and light of Christ that flows from my own brokenness.
And so, I paint on.
With a steadier hand than yesterday, though not yet without tremble.
I choose fewer strokes, but I pray they are more meaningful.
In this season, I am learning that finishing well is not about filling every minute of the day and every space, but about entrusting the final work to God.
Here, I rest.
Here, I trust.
Here, I create… somewhere between the dried paint and the blank canvas.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. For more inspirational articles, follow ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
