It's hard to see, sometimes, the attitudes that still emerge in me. It's difficult to love like You, Jesus, and not keep score, not be touchy. Yesterday I painting that painting of us (more or less), in flame, and when M came in and immediately said, "Is that Jesus and His daughter?" I was offended. OFFENDED.
I'm still trying to figure out why. I think it was in part because it was a vulnerable painting. An amateur one. A personal one, like a journal entry (we know how private I am with those...). I still have this stubborn obsession with being "deep". Save me.
Give me the simplicity of a child, and the honest humility of a beggar who needs to survive, and knows there's no other way.
I'm still trying to figure out why. I think it was in part because it was a vulnerable painting. An amateur one. A personal one, like a journal entry (we know how private I am with those...). I still have this stubborn obsession with being "deep". Save me.
Give me the simplicity of a child, and the honest humility of a beggar who needs to survive, and knows there's no other way.
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