It’s easy to paint pictures in my mind, to envy picture-perfect, to compare myself with other people’s pictures painted perfect

It’s easy to let pain paint pictures in my mind, to tell a story dark and cold, to take comfort in the hurt, accept the ache as an antidote to anxiety deep

It’s easy to paint pictures in my mind, to live a story dark, to live a story painted from broken pieces of sadness scatter far

But as I paint these pictures in my mind, a new picture painted perfect emerges from the pieces

This painted picture doesn’t demand pain to diminish or disappear. It doesn’t require that pain be rejected or be resisted

It’s a picture painted simple, in glory all its own. A picture painted delicate, beauty painted from the pain

I catch a glimpse, grasp the glory emerging from the dust. It’s a wildflower blooming quiet, gently bending in the breeze

I paint pictures in my mind. Paint pictures perfect of wildflowers in the wind. Because if I could be anything at all, I know I’d be a wildflower growing on rugged peaks—a picture painted perfect from the pain, a picture painted glorious from deep heartache

I paint pictures in my mind, begin to live a story of peace created from the pain, live a story of beauty colored by the brokenness, embrace the joy that grows from the hard

It is a pictured painted bold, a pictured painted soft

to be a wildflower among the rubble, to hold pure joy even in the pain, to be a spark of color in the ordinary and the plain, to grow and dance in the rain

To be a wildflower among the thorns, to hold hope and love in me, to grow wild and free, to not just exist, but to really live and be—

This is the beauty of life and love, pain and peace, the glory of joy in the hard, and serenity in the dark

I paint pictures in my mind. I am a wildflower dancing on the hills, living in the sun, breathing in the love, painting beauty from the pain