We are, not metaphorically but in very truth, a Divine work of art, something that God is making, and therefore something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character. Here again we come up against what I have called the “intolerable compliment.” Over a sketch made idly to amuse a child, an artist may not take much trouble: he may be content to let it go even though it is not exactly as he meant it to be. But over the great picture of his life — the work which he loves, though in a different fashion, as intensely as a man loves a woman or a mother a child — he will take endless trouble — and would doubtless thereby give endless trouble to the picture if it were sentient. One can imagine a sentient picture, after being rubbed and scraped and re-commenced for the tenth time, wishing that it were only a thumb-nail sketch whose making was over in a minute. In the same way, it is natural for us to wish that God had designed for us a less glorious and less arduous destiny; but then we are wishing not for more love but for less. (The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis)
Child of God, you are His poem, His great picture, His masterpiece. You are His Divine work of art.
Rubbed and scraped and re-commenced for the tenth time, yes, but no thumbnail sketch are you. No purposeless life do you live.
For you are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus. You are His sentient, alive picture, labored over with endless attention and love, designed for a glorious destiny. (Ephesians 2:10)
Do not wish for less love, but celebrate the more.
A Painter at Work, Paul Cezanne, 1875