The wet fog thickened, covering everything in a deep shroud. A boy stood, staring out into the fog on a plywood deck of a large home clinging to the hill. He glanced down, the thick whiteness veiled the cold mud, making it seem like he was floating in the clouds, aloft of the troubles of the world; free from cares, hid from worries, safe from life. The universe was spread before him, a white easel, like God had swept away all of creation so he could show this boy on the deck how it was done. What an honor! What a privilege!
The boy stood, gaze locked as God’s paintbrush filled in the whiteness with a beautiful landscape like no other. The white shroud darkened, and the dim form of a mountain outline slowly appeared, then another formed on the left. The proud two stood erect, their gracious barring already crowned the picture with a noble quality that made it seem to shine.
The boy watched with awe at the proud mountains, it seemed so solid, so permanent, and yet it drifted in and out of existence as though waiting for its Creator to firmly set it down. The mountains stayed, their sturdy base steadfastly anchored to nothing. The mountains floated like leaves in a slight breeze, glowing in the dawn light.
“Oh, it is so beautiful,” the boy said, “it is so full of grace, so full of permanence and yet freely adrift. What a work of art this Master Artist has created!” The young poet’s words tried to state his admiration of the newly started portrait of creation, but his words were too weak and his mind too small to fully appreciate it, yet was praise enough.
God could inspire poets and men of words with only faint outlines of existence, and leave them baffled by the beauty, the balance, the perfection of a half filled easel. Still all attempts of praise fell far short of the Creator, yet for Him it was praise enough.
Then another mountain formed in the shadow of the other two. The trees that grew on the mountain stretched up their branches reaching for the sky. Their leaves opened to bask in the warm rays of the yellow sun. Dew collected in the open leaves to form a small well of sweet pure water. Tiny animals came to drink and all murmured their thanks.
The ground formed, bringing the observer back to earth, and anchoring him into the solid ground. Grass grew, giving color to the new creation, and thin flowers came out of the ground splashing the meadow in front of the home with beautiful colors, reds, yellows, and blues covered the picture and intermixed forming a peaceful, perfect work of art.
“Wow,” said the amazed boy, “Wow.” For God this was enough, He stunned the boy speechless, He had unveiled to this privileged child the process of creation. And still the boy’s attention was directed to creation. The boy was awed by what was made but he ignored the maker. Oh! How frustrating this must be! For an artist to toil so faithfully for His audience and then have the ones who see it marvel at it then look around and say, “Where is the Artist, where is the Creator? It must have magically appeared.” Oh! What frustration to listen to this when the Creator’s name is on the work of art, beautifully intertwined among every inch! And still the credit was withheld. But a few were wise enough to read the name and come to praise the artist, but how can this ease the bitter anger toward the crowd of fools marveling at the creation and ignoring the Creator? Yet the praise of the few was praise enough, they and only they will see any other future masterpieces.
Yet, God was not done with his brush. Out of the woods emerged a deer, the smooth muscles relaxed but still it was on the look out for danger. The gentle creature hesitated then looked behind, as though waiting. Slowly a fawn ventured out, taking careful steps. The mother came over and tenderly urged the young one along. The doe was so gentle and so loving. The boy marveled. “Here was true love,” he thought. The love the doe showed for her offspring was absolute. That doe would protect her baby through thick and thin, and if need be, lay down her life for her fawn. The deer’s love was true love, completely different from the counterfeit of the world. The world seeks love and thinks it is found, when a Romeo falls in love with a Juliet. But this love is shallow. Romeo loves and stays with his Juliet only so long as her breasts are sweet and he finds pleasure in her body. When the pleasure slows and the tastes of her breasts are familiar and no longer sweet like honey, he leaves Juliet cold in her bed and sets off for another innocent virgin to fall head over heels in love. This shallow love only lasts, though, as long as his pleasure does. But still the world settles for this cheap counterfeit. Oh! What fools!
The boy watched the doe for many long minutes; the image of this animal’s love would forever be engraved in the boy’s mind. The love of this deer, this kind gentle, and completely selfless love, was true love. The boy learned the lesson God came down to teach and for his toil and hard work, the boy will avoid the pit falls of the cheap fakes the world hands out and only seek the love of the deer, the love of God.
And this was praise enough.
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