Like Worship Spilling Over The Edge of The Page

Like Worship Spilling Over the Edge of the Page

“Whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” — 1 Corinthians 10:31

A few days ago I wrote about the quiet that settled after the cars had gone. The driveway had emptied, the grandchildren were on their way to Italy and Austria, and the house had become wonderfully still. I wandered into the garden, listened to the birds, watched butterflies among the flowers, and thanked the Lord for another ordinary day that quietly became extraordinary because He was in it. I thought that little story had come to an end. I was wrong. Sometimes God lets one ordinary moment lead gently into another.

This week, while talking about the artwork for a new Jesus & Mimi reflection, our conversation drifted somewhere unexpected. We weren’t discussing theology or studying Greek or Hebrew. We were simply talking about paint—watercolour splashes, to be exact. As we spoke, a sentence appeared almost as if it had painted itself onto the page: “Like worship spilling over the edge of the page.”

People often describe my writing as peaceful. Quiet. Gentle. I enjoy writing about Robins, clouds, cups of coffee, grandchildren, butterflies, gardens, and those ordinary moments where God quietly whispers His presence. But then I looked around my own home and smiled. White walls. Royal blue. Ice blue. Silver. Glass. Touches of gold. Fresh flowers. At Christmas I would happily decorate every room with a Christmas tree if I had the space. At Easter I delight in setting a beautiful table. I love cheerful colours—bright pink, joyful orange, rich purple, sunny yellow, and shimmering gold. Even my dresses tend to be colourful and flowing. My writing whispers… but my colours sing. Sometimes we imagine that peace must look beige, soft, muted, almost colourless. Yet God’s creation tells another story.

Kingfishers flash blue over the water. Butterflies wear colours no artist could improve. Tulip fields stretch toward the horizon. Sunsets blaze with impossible beauty.

Peace has never meant the absence of colour. It means the absence of chaos.

Perhaps that is why I love watercolour so much. It begins quietly. A few gentle brushstrokes. A little ink. A simple illustration. Then the colour refuses to stay neatly inside the lines. It blooms. It spreads. It dances across the paper—not wildly, not carelessly, but freely. Almost… “like worship spilling over the edge of the page.”

The Lord has given each of us different ways to worship Him. Some sing. Some preach. Some teach. Some serve meals. Some raise children. Some plant gardens. Some paint. Some write. Whatever gift He has placed into our hands becomes an act of worship when it is offered back to Him.

Sometimes beauty itself quietly points toward the Creator. Perhaps that is why I Iinger over flowers, birds, clouds, and ordinary moments. They remind me that the world is still full of His fingerprints. Maybe that is also why I love colour. Not because colour is the point, but because it reminds me of the One who imagined it first.

As I finished reflecting, I realised this little discovery wasn’t really about watercolour at all. It was about the Artist—the One who painted the robin’s orange breast, the butterfly’s delicate wings, the evening sky, the wildflowers beside the path, and the quiet joy He longs to paint into our hearts.

So if one day you notice joyful splashes of colour drifting beyond the edge of one of my illustrations, I hope they remind you of something: joy was never meant to be contained.

Prayer

Father, thank You for filling this world with beauty that reflects Your heart. Open my eyes to notice Your fingerprints in ordinary days. Whatever gifts You have entrusted to me, may I offer them back to You with humility and joy. Let my life, my words, my work, and even the smallest acts of kindness become worship that points others to You. May Your peace dwell at the centre of my heart while the joy of knowing You overflows into every corner of my life. In Jesus’s name. Amen.