Paint By Numbers

Even as a little girl, I loved to create.
Paper, crayons, paint.
Anything that could be transformed.
Anything that could be made into something else.
Some of my favorite things to do were paint by numbers.

There was something magical about that white paper canvas.
Segmented into tiny shapes.
Individual boxes.
Each waiting to be filled. Waiting to be changed.
Waiting to be turned into something beautiful.

As an adult, my life mirrors that paper canvas.

Unrefined.
Blank.
Unfinished.
Numbered.
Segmented.

[63] [12] [73] [262]
[3] The age Isaak was diagnosed with Autism [6] [14]
[180] The number of pills he takes each month [9] [122]
[80] Estimated divorce rate among parents with Autistic child [2] [17]
[7] [18] The age kids go off to college...most kids...probably not ours [262] [4]

Numbers. Boxes

Segmented.
Individual.
Stand alone.
Isolated.
Sterile.

Until you begin to add color.

Each box begins to fill.
Each color merges into the one next to it.
Shapes turn into objects.
It begins to be something else.
It begins to be something different.

Cohesive.
Connected.
Interdependent.
Consecutive.
Coherent.

Transformed by the hand on someone.
One with a plan.
One who knew the color scheme.
One who took the time to color within the lines.
One that changes things.

Meticulous.
Aesthetic.
Imaginative.
Intact.
Whole.

A painting.
Not just a painting. A masterpiece.
Brush strokes that on their own are not beautiful.
In fact, some are ugly.
A piece of art created for the purpose of being shown.

Not created by someone. Created by the Creator.