The Two Roads

I wrote this a year ago when I was deciding where to go to college. Since I'm transferring this year to another college and the emotions are rising again, I thought it would be an appropriate post. On an extra note, I'm going to post my Christian review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows some time late tonight.

The Two Roads
I never knew I could paint abstract before that moment. One could assume I knew how to paint. I had painted other things, but I had never tried abstract before. I was never that good at painting realistic pictures. But I did paint. My heart and soul screamed out through my paint brush. Who can describe the feelings an artist had when he first puts paint to canvas? Paul Cezanne knew all about that. He studied his subjects for hours before putting one stroke of paint on the canvas. Even once he had painted one stroke, he would stop again to continue studying before applying any more paint. He must have had a lot of dedication and patience. I've never been that dedicated. Painting is just a hobby for me. Besides, I'm not very patient. Never the less, I am a painter, and on that fateful day, I learned to blend colors, lines, and shapes to create a painting with much meaning. It was of the country side leading into the city. Like much abstract art, it had great meaning to me. Or did it? Now that I look back, I'm not sure what it meant to me. Which college was I meant to go to? I know I chose the one in the city, but should I have gone to the one in the country? It stops me in thought, remembering what it was like. All the memories of college years, everything I had made myself. I am a city girl, I was a city girl then, I just didn't know it. I always told myself I was a city girl. I said, "I am torn between the country and the city." I am two different people in two different locations. But who am I really, as a whole? I sweetly remember the painting now. Every detail, every color, shape are vivid in my mind. The city was dark and gloomy. Just the presence of it darkened the sky. A main road led to the city, but there was a side road, a dirt road. It led t o the country, where everything was light and beautiful, pleasant. The sky was blue. It beckoned you to risk the old, dirt road for a better ending. I recall finishing the painting. I looked at it intently. It seemed unfinished, but I was happy with it and left it as is. I sat down on my couch to think. Did the colors represent my mood and the way I really felt? After all, the painting was nothing like I had first intentioned it to be. I had thought the road to the city was the rough road. Was the painting inaccurate? Was it just a painting? Or did it have meaning? Did it really come from my heart? I started to cry at that point. My tears ran down my cheek and onto the floor. I bent over and put my head in my arms, saying a little prayer. My tears hit the floor. That would be my next painting: a puddle of tears. Did I make the right choice? I'm still not sure. But God can use even the worst situations to His glory. Whatever His plan may have been for me, I'll never forget the day I painted that picture of the two roads, and which road I chose to take