The Painting on My Easel

How Comparison Stole Twenty Months — and What God Said About It

📖 “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV)

There’s a painting on my easel.

It’s been there for twenty months.

Mountains in ivory and grey reach toward a wide blue sky. A bold red train presses through the landscape, flanked by deep evergreen forest, a river catching the light at its edge. It’s alive with colour and story — and yet, the brushes have been still.

Clipped to the bottom of the easel is the reference photo. The original. The one I’m “supposed” to match.

Comparison, sitting quietly in my studio, watching me work.

💔 I’ve known this feeling for most of my creative life — the paralysing whisper that says, “It’s not good enough. You’re not good enough. Why even try when someone else does it so much better?” It sounds like wisdom. It feels like honesty. It is, in truth, a lie dressed in reasonable clothing.

Comparison doesn’t just discourage. It steals. It creeps in like a slow frost, leaving inferiority in its wake. Inferiority gives birth to fear. Fear settles into the body like lead, and before long, you’re not painting, not writing, not singing, not dancing — you’re simply… waiting. Procrastinating. Paralysed. The creative God placed inside you has gone very, very quiet.

On an ordinary morning, my Uncle Rodney left a comment on one of my posts. He’d been reading Galatians 6 in The Message translation, and he shared a handful of lines he thought might encourage me.

They stopped me in my tracks.

📖 “Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.” — Galatians 6:4–5 (MSG)

Sink yourself into that.

Not someone else’s work. Not someone else’s style, skill, or standard. Yours. The work you’ve been given. The canvas that belongs to your hands, your story, your obedience.

I read those words and thought of the painting on my easel.

🕊️ It struck me, with a quiet but unmistakeable clarity, that God had never asked me to paint the reference photo. He’d asked me to paint. The fact that someone else’s rendering is more polished, more detailed, more photorealistic — that isn’t a verdict on my work. It’s simply a different work, by a different person, for a different purpose. Mine is still mine. It still matters. It’s still waiting.

I’m not sure when I’ll pick up the brush again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe today. There’s something about naming a thing — about dragging it from the shadows into the light — that loosens its grip.

🌱 What I know is this: the painting is still on the easel. It hasn’t given up on me, even if I’ve given up on it for a season. God hasn’t given up on it either. The mountains are still reaching. The train is still pressing forward. The water is still catching light. It’s already beautiful — not despite being unfinished, but as it is, in this moment, in this season of becoming.

Perhaps that’s the truest thing I can say about the creative life: it’s never really finished — it’s always becoming. The comparison that told me to stop was always a liar. The fear that kept the brushes still was never from God.

🙏 He gave me the mountains. He gave me the train and the water and the deep forest green. He gave me the desire to paint them. He gave me the hands to hold the brush. The only thing I added was the comparison, and the only thing I need to lay down is the same.

“Live creatively, friends.”

💡 Reflection

“You don’t have to have it all figured out to begin. Your story matters — even the parts that still hurt, even the chapters you’d rather skip. Take a moment with these questions and let the Holy Spirit lead you gently…”

• Is there a “painting on your easel” — something God placed in your hands that comparison has kept still? What does it look like? 🤔

• Whose work have you been measuring yours against, and when did that comparison first take root in your heart? 🤔

• What lie has fear been whispering to you about your creative gift? Can you name it, and then hold it up to the light of God’s truth? 🤔

• What would it look like, practically, to “sink yourself into” the work God has given you this week — not perfectly, but faithfully? 🤔

• If God were to leave a note on your easel, what do you believe He’d say? 🤔

🎺 Affirmation

You are not behind. You are not less than. You are not disqualified by the gap between where you are and where someone else appears to be. God didn’t give you their calling — He gave you yours. Yours is holy, necessary, and utterly irreplaceable.

Your art matters. Your voice matters. The work of your hands, offered in surrender and love, is a fragrant offering to the One who created you creative. Don’t let comparison steal another twenty months. Don’t let fear keep the brushes still.

Pick up the brush. Open the journal. Lift your voice. Take one faithful step into the creative life God has already placed within you.

🕊️ “And if this is your story too — even a fragment of it — know that you are not alone. God sees. God knows. God redeems.”

🙌 Prayer

“Lord, I lay this story — all of it — at Your feet. The beautiful parts and the broken ones. Take it, and let it be of use…”

Father, I confess that I’ve let comparison speak louder than Your voice. I’ve measured the work of my hands against the work of others and found myself wanting — not because You said so, but because fear did. Forgive me, Lord, for believing the lie.

You are the Creator of all beauty. You breathed creativity into me as an act of love, not performance. You never asked me to be anyone other than who You made me to be. So today, I choose to lay comparison down. I choose to pick up the brush — metaphorical or literal — and sink myself into the work You’ve placed in my hands.

Let every stroke, every word, every note, every step be an act of worship. Let my creative offering, however imperfect, however unfinished, bring You glory. For You are the Master Artist, and I am simply the clay in Your hands — willing, yielded, and learning to trust.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The painting on the easel isn’t finished yet. Neither am I. Neither are you. That’s not a failure — it’s an invitation. An invitation to pick up what comparison laid down, to silence what fear has made so loud, and to trust that the Artist who began this good work in you is faithful to complete it.

He’s not done with your story. He’s not done with your canvas. He never was.

🕯️ “This is my story. This is His glory. And it’s still being written.”

🌸 A Gentle Call to Action

If this reflection spoke to your heart, I invite you to take it deeper:

• Journal your thoughts and prayers as you process these truths.

• Explore my Devotional Collection for more writings that weave Scripture and creativity together.

• Visit my This is My Story page, where I share the deeper journey behind my art, writing, and ministry — a testimony of God’s restoring love in the broken places.

• Consider joining one of my Healing 💔heARTs💖 gatherings or paint parties, where we create, share, and heal together in God’s presence.

Your story matters. Your freedom matters. And most of all, you are deeply loved by the One who sets captives free.