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My Painting

Updated on August 20, 2010

I’ve always wanted to be able to paint a beautiful picture. I have always envied the artist. They can paint or draw such amazing things. They take up their pencil or brush and soon everyone can see what they see in their minds eye. I sometimes have a picture or a scene in my mind and wish I could put it on canvas or paper but unlike the artist I’m a poet. The pen is my brush and my canvas is often ruled paper.
I have a picture in my head of a scene from some age gone by. It is dark and stormy and dawn is being shrouded by thick storm clouds. A single soldier sits on his horse. A lone sentinel silhouetted against a stormy sunrise. He sits on his horse facing into the storm with his armor dripping wet in the new born morning light.
A single glance at this picture would give the impression that this is a strong warrior who has defeated many foes. His eyes are set on the road ahead of him and they appear to never waiver. He sits in the saddle with the confidence of an experienced rider who has ridden many rocky roads. His sword hangs at his side in a manner that would make you think that he is skilled in its use.
But a closer look at this scene shows a slightly different story. The eyes that are set so sternly on the road ahead show pain and regret. The drops at the corners of his eyes are not rain drops at all but tears. He isn’t sitting quite as tall in the saddle as it appeared at first glance. He is slumped forward a little and the rain soaked armor has blood running down it.
This valiant warrior is wounded. One of the enemies’ darts found a weak point in his armor and is now lodged very close to his heart. He clings to the saddle knowing that staying mounted is his only chance at life. His eyes anxiously scan the road ahead hoping that some one will soon come along that will help him with this critical wound.
This is the scene that I would paint if I had the talent. What will become of this warrior?  I like to think that he will find some one to help him with his wounds and will travel on down the road sitting tall in the saddle once again with his new friend by his side.
The more important observation about this scene to me is that most of us have this soldier inside of us. He pushes on even when he is mortally wounded. He sets his eyes firmly on the prize and presses into the face of the storm. He dauntlessly picks himself up time and time again and continues to fight onward no matter how much pain he suffers and no matter how many arrows strike him. We all need to thank God for our inner soldier and ask Him to give us the strength to wipe the blood out of our eyes, grip our swords more firmly and meet whatever opposition comes our way.


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