by Jill Larsen
My daughter made a painting
She made it just for me
I loved it so I framed it
And hung for all to see.
Over the years I hung more paintings
But not made by my daughter
And though their names were famous
My daughter’s I did favor.
My collection became famous
I’d obtained quite a few
And people came from far and wide
To get a little view.
And hardly a day would go by
When people would ask me
You have so many famous paintings
How did this one come to be?
And then I couldn’t help but smile
For I was still so proud
All those paintings were so good
But I’d say this out loud.
“Thomas Kincaide never sat at his desk
Thinking just of me
Nor Andy Warhol or Leonardo Da Vinci,
It wasn’t me you see.
“But my little girl got out her paints
And with all her heart
She made this painting just for me
Now it’s my favourite art.”
Do you think that maybe God
Sometimes feels the same?
He’s not concerned with how well we do
Or even in the fame.
But when somebody gives all their heart
And love Him with their all
That each little act that is done for Him
Is like my painting on the wall?