It’s dusk - that perfect blend of night and day. The one half of the sky is lavender purple and cobalt blue, the other half a mix of fiery pinks and oranges. The sun is behind me and the moon is in front and for one sweet instant they stare at each other longingly before changing shifts. I linger at a stop sign for a moment, enjoying the spectacle being painted in the sky, and I notice an old pick up truck on the side of the road, garbage and junk surrounding it.
I slowly drive past and realize that it’s not trash around the vehicle, instead garden art, that the old man in the pick up truck must have created.
Long necked birds with strong beaks, small fish frozen in their jump across the water, delicate animals fastened by old weary hands.
Created from junk, produced into art.
I can’t take my eyes off the fascinating creatures. What once was trash - old tires, broken appliances, recycled pop cans, knotted wires, tarnished metal - all were used to create a masterpiece.
And that old man who made them... he loved them. He loved them because they were his. He created them because he saw them for what they could be, not for what everyone else labeled them as.
While everyone else assumed they were simply garbage and threw them away, he saw their potential to be something great.
It reminded me a lot of... me.
Sometimes my hurt inflicts bruises so deep that I’m left scarred. Sometimes my heart feels weary and my soul aches, and I’m tarnished, and broken, and old. And I wonder if I truly have purpose, or dreams, or aspirations.
But the One who made me... he loved me. Loves me. Loves me because I am His. Created me because he saw me for what I could be, not for what I label myself as.
Because I have the potential to be something great.
I am a recycled piece of garden art. A junkyard masterpiece.
Once was broken, now am beautiful.
And so are you.