Painted By His Hand

Vastness surrounds me.

Not silent, yet still—

so quiet a pin could fall and never be heard.

A tender breeze teases the leaves,

and they dance, carefree and wild.

I breathe in the lingering sweetness of my King,

a fragrance from days long past that still clings to my soul.

A gentle calm calls my name.

My heart yearns—there is always more of Him to know.

A holy fire burns within, consuming my pride.

I stand unafraid, bare before His gaze.

His breath becomes my voice,

filling my lungs until they overflow with living praise.

Time itself stands still.

I feel every cell alive,

eelectric with His presence.

Creation stirs within me, never resting.

Every molecule is held, sustained,

and moved by His perfect will.

I am a fiery arrow in His quiver,

poised and trembling with purpose.

He moves through me like many waters—

rushing, deep, unstoppable living rivers.

I am His chosen brush,

painting Heaven’s mandate across the canvas of this earth.

My colors splash bold and brilliant—

preordained, prepared, purposed.

He paints our love story with majestic ferocity.

His love clears away deception’s choking mist.

The veils of shame He tears apart with nail-scarred hands.

Girded in truth, I stand firm.

Faith, my shield. Grace, my field.

Living free, my heart undone. I

breathe in the atmosphere of His love—

thick, sweet, and heavy with glory—

and I know I will never be the same.

Taking in all that lies before me, I

am no longer lame.

Moving forward, I laugh with holy glee.

At last…

I truly understand His love for me.