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There was nothing about that painting on the canvas that caught anyone's eye. It appeared to be so old that the once upon a picture had faded long  ago. It has been said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and on that afternoon, I was the beholder, but I saw no beauty.  Something strange  began to take place on that canvas that took my eye. There was nothing       of beauty, and I thought my eyes were deceiving me.                                                                    

I tell you, there was clearly no one of human form stroking the canvas.
However, there was a brush skillfully painting sketches, lines, and circles*.                                                               
A picture of a male human was being formed and drawn, coming into focus.
And step by step, inch by inch, a picture of Christ portrayed him being nailed                                                 
to a cross, hands first with arm extended.  And the blood flowed.  Never had                                                     
I seen nails so large and piercing.  From the crossbeam, the brush descended                                                         
to Christ's feet, depicting more blood accompanying such gruesomeness.                       

After completing the frame of his body, the brush ascended to the head of Christ where it proceeded, graphically with great detail, to the crown of thorns and the continued slow droppings of blood that had began to flow before the trek to Golgotha.  The next drawing was that of Christ being pierced in his side, and there could be seen a flowing of blood and water down his side.
The sight was heart-wrenching, and everything within me was crying as I stood appalled at the mystery of it all. The brush continued as if operating with a mind of its own, and I stared alone in astonishment. 

It was not possible for me to catch every aspect of this painting, but there
is one other scene that I must mention because it looks so much like myself. In a sense, I am in the portrait in the person of the thief who asked Christ
to remember him. No "i" to dot.  No "t" to cross. No "?" asked. Simply,
"Today, you will be with me in paradise"**.  What manner of love is this?                                                                                                                                                                

Of the utterances from the cross, the invisible painter chose to display only these nine words flowing out of The Savior's mouth: "My God, my God. Why hath thou forsaken me?"***There was so much blood that could be clearly depicted wherein there dwelled no beauty.                                                

The word 'love', unseen by human eyes but clearly painted by an invisible brush, was evident.  No greater love was ever demonstrated for you and me than this: He was forsaken for you and me.

111121PSCtest, Become A Painting, Chantelle Ann Cooke. 2P
*Fiction; **Luke 23:43; ***Matthew 27:46
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