God’s Canvas, Conclusion

Believing that the darkness held the DNA of the Author, in the form of his son, was darkness indeed. Those who had followed the son were devastated as the Lucifer ink now seemed to hold the advantage. Using that moment of advantage, the darkness swept across the canvas. Attempting to completely cover God’s canvas, the Lucifer ink stained with darkness every place save for one – the path of the son. Where the son had walked and touched, the Lucifer ink could not stick. The Author’s plan remained in tact for his son was the Word – he was LOVE.
It was true. It is true. Everywhere that the son had walked and touched left an outline of LOVE. The reason the writers had not recognized this was because the son had reversed it. All this time the writers had been writing LOVE so that they could read it. The son’s path wrote LOVE facing the other way – so that the Author could read it. After all, it was HIS canvas.
Everyone could hear the voice in the darkness working furiously, attempting to undo the work of the son. But it could not be undone. Screaming again, this time with rage, the voice in the darkness echoed from the place where the son’s body had been laid. Where the body had been laid there was no body, only an empty ring of blood. A gnarled, deformed pen reached out of the darkness to fill in the ring with Lucifer ink. As it did, the ink was swallowed up and covered in the blood of the son. Trying again, the pen reached out. Again the ink was immediately and completely covered by the blood of the son.
Realizing that this place was also a lost cause, the voice and the ink retreated. As it turned, the voice in the darkness howled. A howl of fierce loss. For there, walking with the writers, was the son! How was this possible? He had died, the blood had spilled, and the body dragged into darkness. And now..now the son was walking with the writers, even brighter than before!
Again, the son showed the writers where to write, and how to write. “Walk as I walk,” the son said. “Talk as I talk. I am the Word that you need to live.” At last the writers understood – in order to write LOVE, they needed to live LOVE. So the writers began to write again. Using the ink that God had given, the writers began to fill in LOVE. This time they huddled together to help each other, and to teach other writers. When they started to realize just how big LOVE is, the writers asked the son, “Won’t we need the ink…the ink that was lost to darkness? Lost to the Lucifer ink? We cannot fill this in without it, can we?”
The son smiled and said, “Yes, we certainly will. Here walk with me.” The son would then take each writer to the edge of LOVE and tell them, “Place your pen right here.” Each writer would look in horror as they saw where the son had pointed. He pointed to his veins, exposed now by the holes in his hands and his feet.
“We cannot draw from you!” the writers objected. “You are the Author’s son, we know that now. It would not be right for us to pierce you!”
“I have already been pierced,” the son answered, “by you and for you. It is for that reason that you must draw from me. The only way that we can restore God’s ink to you and complete my father’s portrait is if you first draw from my veins. The DNA of my father is in me, and it must also be in you. That is what will separate your ink from the Lucifer ink. It is the only way. LOVE will not be complete without it.” Then, sounding very much like his father, the son said, “This is not a problem for me.”
Every writer that believed the son would first place their pen into his veins. Then, reaching down together, the writer and the son would draw up the ink from the darkness. “The Lucifer ink is still attached!” nearly every writer screamed. “Get it off!”
“Do not worry,” the son said. We have a place for that, too. Lucifer’s ink cannot stay in LOVE, for I have sealed the perimeter completely.” So, hand in hand and step by step, the son and the writer went to a place that only the son had seen.
“What is this place?” every writer would ask.
The son always smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
The writer would watch in amazement as they placed the pen inside an empty ring on the canvas. Inside of the ring, the Lucifer ink is always pulled in and always covered in blood. It was in that ring where the Author’s DNA was poured out, so that darkness can never exist within it. The son’s blood had been shed completely for this very purpose. Once the ink was restored to its original state (yet better, it seemed), the writer would walk back to finish the Author’s project. Back to complete LOVE.
This is where you enter the scene. You are a writer. More accurately, you are a vessel – a pen with a purpose. God has given you the ink you need to write, and to complete this LOVE, which is so much bigger than you ever imagined. Maybe one of the writers has told you about the son. Have you met him? And have you gone with the son to reclaim all of your ink? He knows that your ink is tainted – that happens to everyone. But to complete your picture, his picture, the Author’s picture, you must let him reclaim your ink.
The final picture is still in process, but it is coming together. There is less darkness on the canvas now. The Author’s son is reclaiming it for his father. And every time a writer first draws from the son’s veins, more of God’s ink is reclaimed. Soon there will be no more darkness, and the voice from the darkness will vanish. It will vanish, howling as it is swallowed in that empty ring left by the son.
You see, there are many colors in ink. There are many colors in LOVE. But inside that ring there is only red. The Author calls that a period. As in, it is His canvas – period. All darkness will vanish – period.
LOVE. Period.
That is the final project. That is the Author’s plan from the beginning. That is His plan always. The project is a self-portrait – a self-portrait of the son. The Author sent him to be the Word – to LOVE, period.
He did.
We should too. When called upon to be a vessel, to complete LOVE, simply say what you have learned by now to say: “This is not a problem for me.”
And LOVE, period.

There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

– William Cowper

Questions to consider
*What does it mean to you that the son was pierced “by you and for you”?

*Do you live LOVE?

God’s Canvas, Part 4

“You’ll see.”
Such a clever way for the son to remind the writers of what they already knew: everything has a time, a time to be seen. But “see” they would. And see they did as they followed the son on his journey. A journey that established a new perimeter for LOVE. The Author had said that it would be bigger, but the writers had clearly underestimated the scope of the project. The son established just how far they must go, stopping and placing his hands and feet in his father’s ink all along the way. As he walked out the L, the O, the V, and the E, many began to follow. Some left their pens behind. Some carried their pens along. Some tried to write as they walked but quickly gave it up. Others followed with swords to guard against the other writers.
And quietly, stealthy as it is, the darkness crept closer. It whispered to those who would listen. It questioned the motives of the son. The voice of darkness made many believe that the son would take all of the credit. To others, the darkness whispered that the son was deceiving them. Some writers believed that they should sharpen their pens. They believed that the sword was mightier than the pen. And though God had said to write, they chose the fight.
With the whispering of darkness, many chose to stay back and not follow the son. They were convinced that this man could not be the Author’s son. Many did not like that he was writing without a pen. Many did not like that the son wanted to change the rules, to nearly eliminate the rules! “Live LOVE,” he said, “for my father and each other.” It could not be that simple! So, with pens sharpened, the writers corralled the son. As they did, many who had followed the son fled the scene.
The writers struck the son with all of their disbelief. “This man is a liar! He claims to be from the Author, yet he has no pen! Moreover, he writes with his hands! None of us can do that, why should he?” What they were saying was true. The son had no pen. He did write with his hands. But was that cause for death? The writers continued to accuse, “You know the rules! Anyone who claims the Author as the father must die!” This was true, also. Almost. The rule stated that anyone who falsely claimed the Author as their father must die. The writers decided that the son must die because they did not believe he was the Author’s son. He was not to be allowed to work on the project any longer. He would die for their disbelief.
The Author watched all of this. Though it made him sad, he knew it must happen. And it did. Pierced by transgressions – not his, but theirs – the son’s blood began to flow. Run through by the writers, the son bled. With shouts of, “The sword is mightier than the pen!” writers struck him. Those who had followed the son had no swords, save for one. But the son told that writer to put his sword away. Many of the son’s followers dropped their pens and fled. They huddled in the corners, trapped between the swords of the writers and the darkness of Lucifer’s ink. Many watched in horror as the writers dragged the son’s body toward the darkness, to be deposited out of LOVE.
As the body was dragged away, a curious thing happened. What was true of the son in life was also true in death: every place or person he touched was changed. There was separation, and restoration, as God’s ink was set free from the Lucifer ink. The writers questions were being answered, whether they realized it or not.
It was in his DNA.
Before the son had come to the canvas, he had placed his hands and his feet in his father’s tears. The Author, as Light, always repelled darkness. The Author’s DNA was on the son and in the son. Lucifer’s ink, existing only in darkness, could not remain where the son had touched. And now, within the plan of the Author, his son’s blood spilled so that his DNA could free the writers to use his ink once again.
As the son’s body was dragged beyond LOVE and into darkness, the writers heard a voice. It was the same voice that had whispered to them. It was the same voice that whispered from the darkness to the first writers. But this was not a whisper. This was a blood-curdling scream from the darkness. A scream of victory. The darkness now held the very thing that could defeat darkness – the DNA of the Author.

Questions to consider
*where do you see yourself in this part of the story? Who do you identify with?

*What does this line mean to you, Many watched in horror as the writers dragged the son’s body toward the darkness, to be deposited out of LOVE. ?

God’s Canvas, Part 3

With his father’s tears still upon his hands and feet, the Author’s son stepped onto the canvas. Immediately he was questioned by the writers, “Who are you?”
“I am the Word,” the son replied.
“What do you mean, ‘I am the Word’?” the writers asked.
“I am the Word you have been writing,” the son answered.
Very few writers could understand what the son meant, so many ignored him. “He doesn’t even have a pen,” they declared. “How can he possibly help?” One by one, the writers went back to writing, but mostly arguing, and watching God’s ink being drawn away to darkness. Yet a few stayed. They hoped the son could show them something different. They asked him, “When you say that you are the ‘Word,’ do you mean that you are ‘LOVE‘?”
“I am,” the son replied.
“So teach us how to write it!” they demanded.
“You have been shown how to write by my father, the Author. You must learn how to live LOVE,” the son responded. “Then my father’s portrait will be complete.
“Your father is the Author?!” the writers asked in disbelief.
“I tell you the truth, he is,” the son responded. “He sent me with a solution to Lucifer’s ink. If you draw from me, you will be able to write as the Author desires. You will be able to live LOVE as my father instructed.”
The son’s declaration that the Author is his father caused even more writers to walk away. If the Author had a son, surely this could not be him. He was plain. Ordinary. And hadn’t he come from the corner of the L? No one of importance came from there. Some writers even believed that this writer had only come to deceive them. He had no pen. He claimed to be the Author’s son, yet no one had seen the Author in a very long time. And this man, this son – as he claimed – walked around taking the ink of writers in his hands and placing it on the canvas. Then he would step in it and leave his footprints all over. Clearly this man was from the darkness, sent to ruin the picture completely.
Once told to write LOVE, the writers did not live it. Trying to live LOVE, the writers did not give it. They conspired against the son. Several sharpened their pens into swords. These writers believed that the only way to save the picture now would be to get this man out of it. The writers believed that, if they worked together, they could send this man, the Author’s son, to his death. As with all the others before, they would then drag his body into the darkness.
What a chaotic scene. Remember the history. God, as Light, drove the darkness to the edges of the canvas. God, as Author, stored the darkness as ink. God, as Creator, began to write. Intending to create a portrait of LOVE, a portrait that was immediately marred by the Lucifer ink. The Lucifer ink then pulled God’s ink away from writer after writer. Streak after streak created not LOVE, but darkness.
And now, with the canvas full of maimed and wounded writers, there was a glorious mess. Some were writing. Some were arguing about how to write. Some were taking the ink given by God and using it to fill in the darkness. (After all, that seemed easier than all the rules created for writing LOVE.) And still more gave their pens over to swords, to no longer write but to self-preserve.
The Author’s decision to send his son seemed to only add to this confusion. A few followed the son, to listen for how they should write. To hear how to live LOVE, and to observe this man without a pen who left ink on the canvas with every step and every touch. Finally one of the writers had to ask the son, “How is it that you can take this ink and have it stay where you want? When we do what you are doing, the ink stains our hands. And why doesn’t the Lucifer ink pull your work away?”
The son simply smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

Questions to consider
*Why would it be so difficult to accept that the son was of the Author? Why is (or was) it for you?

*How are you doing at living LOVE?

God’s Canvas, Part 2

To the writers, God’s original plan appeared ruined. A giant streak of ink across the canvas and increasing darkness at the edges – how could this work? There is no eraser for ink. But God insisted that they should still write.
God did invite more and more writers to the canvas, just as he said. Each one was given the same instruction, “Write LOVE.” Some wrote well. Some did not. Some could see that the word was taking shape. Others could not understand the big picture at all. Yet, with all of their differences, every writer had one thing in common – every one left a streak on the canvas. Inevitably the shiny Lucifer ink looked more appealing. At some point each man, woman, girl, and boy dipped their pen in the Lucifer ink. Inevitably their ink was pulled away. The errant marks increased, as did the darkness.
There were many times when the confusion – the out-of-bounds marks – created conflict. Some writers began to declare that there must be rules about how to hold the pen. Rules about how much to write. Rules determining which writers worked on which letters. Although meant to be helpful, the rules only added to the confusion. What should happen to the people who broke the rules? Should they have to stop writing? For how long? Maybe they could write, but only on their knees? And what should be done about those who used all of their ink to fill in the darkness?
Some of the punishments created by the writers were very cruel indeed. With their mouths they said the punishments were needed to please the Author – certainly he would not want writers to continuously leave errant marks. The writers had discovered that the tips of their fountain pens could be made extremely sharp, sharp enough to pierce skin. And pierce they did. However, they noticed that piercing another writer would leave blood stains on the canvas. When the writers tried to cover the stains with ink, they could not. Eventually they determined that they could use their pens, now swords, to draw the blood out of another writer’s veins. They would then take that blood to the perimeter in order to leave it in the darkness. Every time, as they attempted to do this, Lucifer ink claimed the blood and the blood of the writer. Some writers became completely unable to write again. With their mouth they had professed a desire to please the Author, but their heart confessed a desire to please themselves. If a writer was lost to darkness, it would mean more credit could be given to those who wrote well. This desire for credit, for glory, spread like Lucifer ink among the writers. Many worked furiously, eyes facing the canvas except to occasionally look up and fend off another writer. Tainted by the Lucifer ink, the writers took on that quality of self-preservation.
Maimed and wounded writers all over the canvas, some had now come together for the sake of protection. Writers of LOVE stood in opposition to writers of darkness. “The sword is mightier than the pen!” they would shout, and stand armed with their sharpened pens poised. However, with a sword you cannot write, and God’s canvas remained unfinished. Even the writers of the word LOVE opposed each other. Writers of the L opposed the writers of the O who opposed the writers of the V opposing the writers of the E. Every day, more blood was spilled. Every day, writers killed. Every day, the darkness grew. “What was the plan again?” No one knew.
God looked at them and loved them. Loved them in spite of their mess. “This is not a problem for me.” God called his only son over and they watched together. God asked, “Will you show them how to write?” “Yes, Father,” the son replied. The son saw the tears of his father and reached up to place his hands on his father’s cheeks in a loving embrace. “I’ll be back, Father.”
“Yes, I know,” the Father said as he smiled. The son then stepped out of the pool of tears and on to the canvas.

Questions to consider
*What rules do you have or follow for how you should write that seem different from other writers?

*Have you ever punished another writer for their mistake? How have you been punished?

*Which is in your hand more often – a pen or a sword? Is self-preservation in some ways necessary?