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Work In Progress

“You seem to have matured since I saw you last…”

This comment was made to me recently and I had to agree, however, my maturation has not come slowly like water carving stone, but rather from the hard blow of the hammer combined with the sharp edge of the chisel.

Thwack!

A piece of my heart was chipped away. A gaping hole gushed. In time the wound healed, but my heart has never beat the same and I don’t think it ever will.

Ping!

The hammer fell again, this time a lesson learned the hard way. The deformity it left was so crippling that I wondered if I ever would recover.

Crack!

A humbling blow fell upon me. An exposing of sorts that left me feeling ashamed.

Smash.

A removing of something that wasn’t necessary despite my dependence upon it.

When I look inside myself, what I see are flaws, but to the artist they are “designs”. Each indentation, each gaping hole, each ugly recess has purpose and meaning. What I see often times is so ugly, but to the artist, I am a work in progress and I am right where he wants me to be.

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