Patience

 One of the things that has tragically been forgotten and gone by the wayside in our disposable, here today, gone tomorrow, Ikea generation is the notion of craftsmanship. That someone would take half a lifetime to carve an intricate piece of teak furniture by hand is something most people under fifty would neither appreciate nor acknowledge as a remarkable feat.

I’ve always admired labors of love. Whether a piece of intricate jewelry, furniture, sconces, or art, the value of the things isn’t in the materials used but rather in the time it took to complete it and, more importantly, the hands used to do so. Is there a maker’s mark? Is there a signature? Can you tell who made it and for what purpose?

When you take away the name, a Picasso, a Rembrandt, a Monet, or a Vermeer are nothing more than an amalgam of stretched canvas and different colored oil-based paints. If you wait for the right sale, you can get a dozen canvases, a handful of brushes, and enough paint to redo the Sistine Chapel at Hobby Lobby for a few bucks. I know because I’ve done it. No, I’m not about to become the next Hunter Biden sans the crack addiction; I don’t know anyone influential enough to peddle influence and mask the bribe by selling something loosely defined as art. It’s for my girls. Rather than have them get brain rot watching television or playing video games, I turned them loose on the canvases, with the added incentive that if they tried their best, I’d buy some of their art for cash.

It worked even better than I expected, and now, everywhere you look, art abounds. So what makes my daughter's art worth the five bucks I give them, and a Vermeer a few million, and that’s if you can find it? Short answer: the name of the individual who took the time to paint it and the reputation attached to said name.

Unknown artists are just that: unknown. They may be good, perhaps even better than some listed artists, but because they haven’t proven themselves over the long term, they have yet to garner a reputation that would increase the perceived value of their art.

As an aside, art is the only niche technology hasn’t been able to ruin because taste is subjective. Although you can google what an Apple watch sells for, or a toaster oven for that matter, you can’t put a price on a piece of art you fall in love with. It may be worthless to the person trying to sell it, but priceless to you because you see something in it the other person does not. Whether the color combinations, the theme, the brush strokes, or the overall esthetics, something speaks to you when it remains silent for everyone else. There’s a sermon or at least a teachable analogy in there somewhere, but you can figure it out without me getting pedantic about it.

We know that patience has value because God is willing to allow us to undergo testing to produce it in us. Not every test or trial is painless; few rarely are, but none are pointless. As the canvas upon which the Master Artist is painting, we may not see the purpose of a brushstroke here or a color choice there until it all comes together in the end, and you see it for what it was always meant to be.

If today you do not see the purpose or the good that can come out of a trial you’re going through, give it some time, and you will. Time allows us to see more clearly and understand what the individual moments were leading up to.

When I was young, I used to sneak over to the neighbor’s house and watch Bob Ross. I know, edgy even back then. I didn’t have a canvas, or paints, or brushes, but I was fascinated by the idea that in thirty or so minutes, a man could go from making a few marks with a brush here and there to having a fully fleshed-out landscape.

If he didn’t tell you what he was planning to paint, you never could have guessed based on the first few minutes of seemingly pointless brushstrokes. You had to take it on faith that Bob was telling you the truth when he said he would paint towering peaks, even though they looked nothing like any sort of peaks you’d ever seen.

If you believed Bob, why can’t you believe God? If God says He wants to perfect you through trials and that they produce patience, why kick against the goads until you’re forced to putz around in a mobility scooter?

Bob knew what he was doing even though it didn’t seem like it to me at the time. God knows what He is doing even though it may not seem like it to you at the time.

Isaiah 45:9, “Woe to him who strives with his Maker! Let the potsherd strive with the potsherds of the earth! Shall the clay say to him who forms it, “What are you making?” Or shall your handiwork say, ‘He has no hands’?”

Sometimes, the road is hard. Sometimes, there seems to be no end to the climb. Sometimes, we’re exhausted and tired and feel like giving up, but every journey with a beginning has an end. Every race has a finish line, and if you start, then finish and finish well.

In most cases, you have no choice but to go through. You can’t push pause on a trial; you can’t skip to the next episode or the next chapter; you have to go through it because this is life, and there’s no fast-forward button. Knowing that God is with you every step of the way and that the trial you’re going through will produce something of value in you is no small thing. You’re not done yet; He’s still painting, even if it’s just the finishing touches.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.