I walked through a modern art exhibit recently and kept waiting for something to come together. Canvas after canvas—scattered strokes, fragments that didn’t resolve, shapes that looked like they belonged somewhere else. I read the descriptions beside them, hoping they would help. They didn’t. If anything, they made the confusion feel… intentional. Like I was supposed to see something that just wasn’t there.

Then I turned into another section. Same textures. Same randomness. Same sense that I was missing the point. I looked for the description. Instead, there was a sign:

This is not an artistic piece but an area under construction.

I stopped. Because I couldn’t tell the difference!

My front yard right now… looks like that. I cut down hundreds of weeds and left them where they fell. Dry stalks, tangled branches, no pattern, no design—just what happens when something is started and not finished. When people see it, they don’t hesitate. “You’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

And sometimes I answer like this: “What are you talking about? Do you know how long it took to arrange each branch to achieve this pattern? I spent BIG money to have this design implemented. Post modern art, at its best!”

They laugh. Because it’s obvious. I didn’t design it. I just stopped working on it. That’s the part that stays with me. Not the mess. The explanation. Because there’s a moment—subtle, easy to miss—when something unfinished stops bothering me. Not because it’s been completed. But because I’ve learned how to talk about it. I don’t say, this still needs work. I say something that sounds better. Something that makes it feel intentional. Something that removes the pressure to go back and finish what I started. And after a while… I believe it.

Scripture doesn’t describe this as confusion. It calls it something else.

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?
Jeremiah 17:9 (ESV)

Not mistaken. Deceitful. There’s a part of me that would rather explain something than change it. And over time, that explanation starts to feel true.

I call what’s unfinished… complete enough.
I call what’s neglected… on hold.
I call what I’ve avoided… not the right time.

Until God says something that cuts through all of it.

Is it a time for you yourselves to dwell in your paneled houses, while this house lies in ruins?
Haggai 1:4 (ESV)

They hadn’t rejected God. They hadn’t abandoned the work completely. They just… didn’t finish it. Life filled in around it. Comfort came back. Other priorities took over. And the thing that mattered most slowly became something they learned how to live without addressing. Not rebellion. Neglect. And neglect is quiet. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t feel urgent. It just waits… while you get used to it being there. Until one day, you’re not working on it anymore. You’re explaining it.

“What are you talking about? Do you know how long it took to arrange each branch…”

It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud about my yard. But not when I say it about my life. That’s the danger. Not the mess. Not the delay. The story I build around it. And God doesn’t argue with the story. He interrupts it.

“Is it a time…?”

Not: Can you explain this?
Not: Can you justify it?
Just: Why did you stop?

I don’t need a better explanation. I need honesty. Because this isn’t art.

It’s still under construction.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #modernart

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