Kitchen Table Wisdom

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6 (ESV)

Years ago, God gave me a vision for a painting. I knew it mattered, but I did not receive the whole picture at once. Instead, it came in fragments over many months, like pieces of a puzzle scattered across a table.

From the beginning, I knew the title would be The Harvest. I knew there would be a Communion table. Beyond that, I simply waited.

The first image to appear was a harvest scene in the lower-right corner of the canvas. There would be wheat, pumpkins, apples, and baskets overflowing with fruit and vegetables—a reminder of God’s abundance and provision. Later, I saw the Communion table above it, set with bread and wine. The wheat from the harvest seemed to reach upward toward the table, connecting God’s provision in the field with God’s provision through grace.

Then came the image that filled the left side of the painting: a houseless man seated against a wall, his hands cupped before him. His clothes were worn. His circumstances spoke of hardship. Yet his face was lifted upward in expectation.

What tied the images together was a fourth scene placed in the center—a hand pouring wine from a chalice into the man’s waiting hands. The harvest became Communion. Communion became grace. Grace flowed into empty hands.

At least, that is what I thought the painting meant.

I carefully sketched the design, but every time I prepared to paint it, I hesitated. Something was missing. I could not explain it, but I knew the picture was incomplete.

One afternoon, I described the painting to the dean of the school I was attending. He listened quietly and then asked a question that changed everything.

“If the elements of the table are to be served, and if the served are to become the server, who would the homeless man serve? For the harvest must have harvesters.”

His words stopped me.

I had painted the man as a recipient of grace, but not as a bearer of it. I had shown his need, but not his calling. I had shown him receiving mercy, but not sharing it.

Suddenly, I knew what was missing.

I added a stray dog lying beside him. Not a treasured pet. A street cur. An abandoned creature resting beside an abandoned man.

As I looked at the two together, I began to understand. The man was not only receiving grace; he was becoming a channel of grace. Even he had someone entrusted to his care. The dog looked to him in trust just as he looked upward for mercy. One depended on God. The other depended on him.

As I looked at the two together, I began to understand. The man was not only receiving grace; he was becoming a channel of grace. Even he had someone entrusted to his care. The dog looked to him in trust just as he looked upward for mercy. One depended on God. The other depended on him.

The served becomes the server.

Now I could paint.

Looking back, I realize the painting was not the only thing arriving in pieces. My understanding was arriving in pieces as well. Every image God gave me answered one question and raised another. I wanted the finished picture, but God gave me only enough light for the next step.

Philippians 1:6 reminds us that God is neither hurried nor careless in His work. He begins a good work, and He completes it. Yet the space between beginning and completion is often where faith grows. We want to see the whole canvas at once. God usually shows us only the next brushstroke.

Perhaps that is why the painting came one image at a time. God was not simply giving me a design for a canvas. He was teaching me to trust Him when I could not yet see what He was doing. He was reminding me that His work unfolds according to His timing, not mine, and that every piece matters.

If you find yourself living with unanswered questions or an unfinished picture, remember that God is still at work. He has not abandoned the canvas of your life. The Artist who began the work is still adding color, depth, and meaning. What looks incomplete today may simply be waiting for the next brushstroke.

He is faithful to finish what He starts.

Cathy D.