Coloring Outside The Lines

My parents really did want to do right by me, though they weren’t always able to see past their own pain long enough to succeed. My early education was a case in point. They put me in a preschool that had a fine reputation for producing good little girls and boys, but they never looked inside the doors to know how that goal was accomplished. That little experiment resulted in the first of many therapy sessions in my life, mostly because I’m not very good with crayons.
We were given a picture to color one morning. I don’t remember what the picture was, probably trees or flowers or a cute bunny rabbit. In any case, when I tried to produce an acceptable work of art, I colored outside the lines. I don’t know if I just missed the lines a little bit, or actually got creative and colored all over the page, but it was a serious infraction of the rules.
The class had planned an outing that day to spend time in a nearby park. We all looked forward to walking in the fresh air and sunshine and escaping from the dreary classroom. I discovered that some rules are really important, and coloring inside the lines was one of them. I had forfeited the chance to go outside by my sloppiness. Consequences for our actions in life can be harsh, even when we don’t see them coming.
Since all the other students and teachers were leaving, my teacher needed to be sure I didn’t try to follow them. She chose what seemed to her a logical solution and locked me in a closet. I can still see the view from the tiny window set high in the wall. I climbed up on boxes to peer out and watch my classmates walk away over the hill. Once they were out of sight, I climbed down off the boxes and sat on the floor to wait out my sentence. By the time my mother arrived at the end of the day, everyone had returned and I had been released from my prison cell. I had paid my debt to society for being imperfect once again.
The weird part is that it never occurred to me that being locked in a closet might not have been an appropriate response to coloring outside the lines. Instead, I developed a deep seated fear of crayons and closets. Because I wasn’t very good at handling crayons, there was a great risk of making the same mistake again, and I didn’t think I could survive another day in that confined space. The only solution I could figure out was to never try. Fear prevented me from enjoying the simple pleasure of any form of art and was so debilitating that I failed every art class I ever took. Creative expression was too dangerous, the risk of error too high.
God has gently pointed out that pattern in other areas of my life. I tend to look for the rules or lines in every situation, and feel compelled to always do the “right” thing. I don’t dare trust my own instincts, but instead look for external standards of right and wrong. In situations where there are no clear guidelines, I’m a nervous wreck. This is no way to live. Jesus came to set me free from bondage, and He did. I only need to walk in faith through those prison doors. He wants me to feel the sweet fresh air and warmth of sun on my face, and doesn’t demand perfection from me to get there.
So often we live our lives in prisons of our own making, believing we cannot ever be free. Our hard and fast rules of acceptability keep us walking the same safe paths, judging anyone who walks in a different direction or at a different pace. We are so concerned with staying on the path we believe is our only choice that we never look up to see that the walls have been torn down. Others of us are so convinced of our own unworthiness that we never even test the door to find out that Jesus has already removed the locks that held us captive.

I’ve spent so long ashamed of my humanity
Guilty for my weakness when I thought I should be strong
Angry at those who hurt me and keeping the world away
Living by the rules, wearied by my pain
Like an unwelcome guest who tries not to impose
I worked so hard to learn the unwritten rules and code
Then set myself a futile goal to live within the lines

Sometimes our lives are sloppy, with marks all over the page where they don’t belong, but God’s love is not bound by our actions. He forgives us instead of condemning, He even accepts our pitiful crayon scribbles, knowing that someday when we join Him in heaven we will actually become His masterpiece. Our creator is not a harsh teacher who locks us in a closet every time we make a mistake. He is a loving Father who erases the sins of our past through the forgiveness given by grace at the cross. The most beautiful human art pales beside the incredible glory in one part of God’s creation. We can never produce anything to compare on our own. So Jesus fills us with His beauty through the Holy Spirit and invites us to enjoy the show.