overwhelmed

I walked into my studio tonight and was completely overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the change it has experienced in the past year. A year ago, I dragged my own paintings in among my student pieces to keep the walls from that bare sense of longing. Tonight, I consider hauling the last two out to make room for the up and coming.
As I looked about the room, I saw familiar pieces waiting for their resolution. Some are babes, just starting, expectant and invigorating. Some are adolescents, troublesome, uncooperative, but slowly bending to the heart and hand of the artist. Some are maturing quietly, rapidly, almost ready to leave this group home where they have grown and improved and become.
Against the wall, sit the lifeless, yet expectant future works of art in various sizes, all primed and ready for that touch of color that starts them on their path to being. I know the destiny planned for some and I can't wait to see it happen.
Taking in each piece, I hear the laughter, the frustration, the pleading, the excitement, the moment of Eureka! when their creators 'got it.' I feel the good will, tension and interaction between class participants and the thick intense learning of the one on one in private lessons.
The acrylic students ask about the progress of the oil painter who's impending move will wrench her from our lives into a far off place. She hasn't sold yet. The news brings both joy and sadness. They comment on the earlier class works in acrylic, giving critical evaluations both positive and questioning.
Even when they don't see the faces, they have gotten to know the product of each other's love and struggle. The oil painters spoke their admiration and concern for the acrylic girls who are doubling time to try to finish before their vacation. One took a drawing class last week and brought her work. I complimented, then explained what needed fixed. She understood and looked with new eyes on her handiwork. Now why didn't the teacher say something about that? I gave as much grace as I could while thinking the same thing. But it was a one day class at a nature center with, I can only imagine, how many students. Yes, grace, grace.
I rethink the instruction and plan for my next opportunity as I hear the classes replay in my mind like a hidden recorder. I hear and spontaneously join an old song in my heart.
Boundless love, unending joy. This is my life, it's what I know. And I can't believe that He selected me, Jesus My Lord, it's you I owe.
The sound fades off. Quietly I walk away from my own holy ground.