Let’s start off with an introduction to one of my closest friends. My Opa was one of my best pals since I was born. We had a special bond, the kind that forms through years of smiles, inside jokes, laughter, and stories. We understood each other. I had already asked him to be my escort for my high school graduation when I was only fourteen.

The first painting I gave as a gift to Oma and Opa.

My Opa loved the Lord with his whole heart and it shone through in his life, the way he was always building up and encouraging others. He had a deep love for beauty, from a small half-crushed flower, to a glorious sunset reflecting on the ocean.

One way he was especially encouraging in my life was with my paintings. I remember a time several years ago when he and Oma, on a visit to our home twelve hours away, were shopping with us. Opa noticed me eyeing an acrylic paint set and he came over, picked it up, brought it to the till, and paid for it.

Just like that.

I was delighted. It was one of the first acrylic paint sets that I ever owned. I insisted on paying him back, but he said all I owed him was an ice-cream cone. And so, the next time we visited Langley, the two of us went on an ice-cream date to McDonald’s. And if I remember correctly, the money for that ice cream never came out of my wallet.

And as the next few years went by, I discovered a love for painting. I was pretty bad at it at first, but it brought me a lot of joy. Whenever I had a difficult or tiring day at school I would plug in some headphones and start mixing colors and slapping paint onto the canvas. I slowly (and I mean very slowly) improved a little bit. Opa and Oma would always admire my new artwork whenever they came for a visit.

Opa started putting it in my head that I should sell my paintings. I had begun selling a few at art auction donations, and to friends, but the idea of seeing if I could get accepted into a place like “Out of Hand” (a local artisan store) daunted me. However, I tried. I brought some samples in to Out of Hand in the fall of 2024. Unfortunately, I was emailed that they didn’t have enough space and I could use some more practice. I was told to try again in a year.

The painting of the photo I took in Morro Bay the day before Opa died. Given to my mom for Mother’s Day.

This, of course, was rather discouraging. I found it harder to pick up a brush and keep painting. I told Opa about it and, like always, he kept encouraging me to continue. He was so enthusiastic about my art. He loved beauty. It was like he could see something in it that I couldn’t. Or maybe it was because he loved me and wanted the best for me in everything I did.

One day it came to me that I should paint something for him. He always loved the local scenery that I painted. So, I found a picture on the internet of some nice mountains, pine trees and wildflowers, grabbed a piece of plywood – canvases are expensive you know 🙂 – and got painting. I sent it along with someone who was travelling down to their town. My Oma and Opa immediately phoned me when it arrived. They just loved it, and again Opa encouraged me to sell my artwork.

During a stay in November, Opa told me he wanted to buy two paintings from me, for $100 each. He picked out a smaller snowscape one I had done earlier. He said that for the other one I could choose what to paint. A cheque arrived in the mail for $400, along with a loving card. $400! That was $200 each! Opa and Oma were not well off but they were very generous.

February came around. My cousin and I were able to stay with Oma and Opa for a night on our way back from a conference. I told Opa about a big painting I sold at the youth art show. He was very happy for me. I wasn’t able to fit his first painting in my suitcase and had not yet started the second one, for I had to finish a different painting first. Looking back, I wish I started that second painting immediately. If only I had known.

My family visited again in March on our way to California. I brought the snowscape painting and he was thrilled. I had decided that for the second one I would paint a photo I took on our trip at California. I knew Opa loved the ocean dearly.

The first painting he bought for $200 that he got to own for about a week.

On March 24, 2025 I took a photo of the waves and rocky cliffs at Morro Bay. I would begin the painting once I got home.

The next day, March 25, 2025 was the worst day of my life. We received a phone call while driving to our campsite that Opa, my loving, wonderful, perfectly healthy Opa, had just died suddenly of a heart attack. No! How could this be? Who would cook shrimp, my favorite food, for me on our visits? Who would tell me countless childhood stories now? Who would remind me over and over how I was the spitting image of my Oma? Who would say my name the way no one else could, with a delightful twinkle in his eye? Who would walk me down the aisle on my graduation? I was brokenhearted.

This is the lowest point of the story, and if I am being honest, it’s probably also where I started growing the most. I had to decide to get back up on my feet and paint again. My head told me never again but my heart knew I must. And so, by God’s strength, I began to paint that picture of Morro Bay. Opa’s last painting. Part of me wanted it to be perfect, and the other part thought “Who cares anyways, since he will never see it”. Needless to say, I did finish it. I still owed Oma a $200 painting, but I didn’t really want to give this one up. I gave it to my mom for Mother’s Day instead. She knew it was meant to be for Opa, but that I wanted her to have it since her dad was very special to her, and she shared the memory of the beautiful ocean at Morro Bay.

The last $200 painting given to Oma that Opa never got to see.

Sometime later I asked Oma what she wanted for the last painting. She told me that she and Opa “had a talk” and they decided they would like the view from our dock, since they often walked down there together and loved that view. I painted it and brought it to Langley on our next visit. I told her I had the last painting, but she said she wasn’t ready and hurried away. I wasn’t really ready either, but we both recovered ourselves and I showed it to her. We cried together and then put it in Opa’s study with the other two. The last painting, though he never got to see it, was complete.

This world is broken. There is so much darkness and suffering. Yet we have hope. Opa has taught me that we can still rejoice in the Lord, and enjoy the beauty He has given us in this world. You see, death is not the end. Just imagine the beauty my Opa, and all those loved ones who have been taken to our Lord, are experiencing. Sunsets, baby birds, and mountains, to name a few, are just a tiny foretaste of the beauty to come. In my paintings I try to depict the beauty of God’s creation. There is something about natural beauty that reminds us that one day everything will be restored. Sin and ugliness won’t last. “He has made everything beautiful in its time” (Eccl. 3:11).

So, take a step outside. Breathe in the fresh air. Are the trials you face too heavy to carry? Watch an eagle soar in the sky. Does the grief feel like it is crushing your soul? Consider the lilies of the field. Is anxiety constantly fighting for your heart, a battle you just can’t seem to win? Gaze at the stars. He will make everything beautiful in its time. Your mess is His canvas. Trust Him. The One who created all of that beauty just by speaking. The God who creates life out of death. Who brings the light of dawn after the darkest night. The one who carefully formed and fashioned you, and loves you, His masterpiece, more than you will ever know. Behold our God.

*****

“Originally, this story was part of my autobiography for a school project. My teacher encouraged me to share it when I was ready, because he felt it could bless others. When I saw this contest, I thought it would be a good way to share it, and use it to inspire others. It is also a chance for me to share the wonderful legacy of my Opa. I was a bit hesitant to share it at first, as it is pretty personal, but I was encouraged by a few different people to put it out there. After all, I’m sure many people can relate to it in some way, and be reminded that they are not alone in their grieving.” – Miriam