He was one of those artists who works in public, aware that everyone can see every step in the process. He didn’t seem to care. He stepped back to get perspective. He leaned close, on hands and knees, face nearly touching the surface, blowing away dust. He worked with precision and deliberation.

With that kind of artistic discipline, it would make sense that he was working wood, carving a piece that would last for centuries. It would make sense that he was working stone, chiseling marble that would last for millennia.

It would make no sense that he was working with chalk, on a street that would be closed for two days, then carry most of the traffic through downtown.

And yet this careful artist was working on a six by six foot canvas of asphalt, carefully shading, blowing away chalk dust.

It seems a waste of time to be that careful about what last so briefly until we remember that David wrote about us that way. The psalmist says that we are like grass which is here and gone. What seems like a great work of art, this life we are living, is just one of billions of those drawings happening at this moment.

But God isn’t concerned with how many lives are happening right now. He is concerned with each of those lives. He knows that we are dust, he understands that we are weak, he is interested in each element of our lives. Our weakness doesn’t speak of our insignificance, but of the fragility of something of great value.

Just like my chalk artist, God is shading and shaping and blowing away dust. But God knows that when the drawing of my life is complete and blows away, there is the lasting imprint of our real life.