The Art of Trials

They looked like random pencil lines
Each one alone, they took no form.
How could this be a work of art
It was so far outside the norm.

The lines were twisted as if in pain
It made no sense to me at all.
I wished it all to just make sense
So I would not feel so very small.

Years went by to no avail
To figure out what it all meant.
My finite mind, it could not see
The message that, to me, He sent.

One day a knock came at my door
My closest friend was now with me.
Where is that masterpiece of art
The random one you got for free?

I had not thought of it for years
My life had taken many a turn.
I must go search and hope I find
The art for which I now did yearn.

I found it buried deep beneath
The things I thought that mattered most.
I pulled it from its dusty home
It looked so old, just like a ghost.

I gave it to my dearest friend
Ashamed that It had been misplaced.
He took it from its aged frame
One by one it's lines He traced.

These lines, my son, are trials faced
I was beside you with each one.
Never were you left alone
That lonely task fell to my son.

Now hold that masterpiece up high
Against the grand celestial light.
I now beheld what I could not see
The lines now formed a glorious sight.

The image that I gazed upon.
Was me all dressed in radiant white
The image only could be seen
Because of God's pure holy light.