Like Painted Fingernails
Some stories are hard to tell—the painful memories stay with us: they paint with heartache, the very fabric of our intrinsic design. But God always has a plan and a purpose, and He can take the darkest moments of our past and use them to paint a masterpiece of His providence.
Military Avenue…
I was seven years old at the time, living with the Shaws in Detroit, Michigan. Mr. Shaw was a Presbyterian pastor at the church just up the street from our house on Military Avenue. Mrs. Shaw was, (for the 1960s), a normal contemporary housewife.
I was their foster child, their first…
I think they were looking to adopt, but I don’t know for certain—except for circumstances that acquainted me with a young boy, a year or so later, on a bus while on my way to summer camp in Holly, Michigan. It was with the Protestant Youth Organization, or as I knew it, PYO camp.
The world really is small after all…
In time I found out that Mark, (that was his name), lived with the very same Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, who from my naive perspective had so effortlessly given up on me and moved on to a boy better suited for them. I found out later in life that he became their adopted son and took their name, but at that moment of encounter, he was merely a foster child of the Shaws, like I had been.
While on the bus, I noticed—as I was making myself comfortable with the others during the trip—that one boy near the back of the bus had the fingernails on both of his hands blackened, as if they had been painted. I knew they weren’t, because I was personally familiar with this “finger painting” scenario. I lived it before he did, and I knew who he was living with, even before I asked him… but I asked him anyways.
When Pain Leaves a Mark…
I had the very same “painted” fingernails just a few short months before. My nails had been blackened by the bites from Mrs. Shaw as punishment for any number of things. She didn’t yell, as I recall. She didn’t beat me as others had. She didn’t treat me badly either, except for the occasional nips. She would take each finger, one at a time, and put the tip with the nail between her teeth and bite down—sufficient to make me cry out in pain. It was excruciating, and I hated it, but to me, it was normal punishment for my wrongdoing. I didn’t know any better.
A Portrait Being Painted…
I spent two years with the Shaws and with the painted fingernails. I don’t know what became of Mark, or the Shaws for that matter, but I know those two years of painted fingernails also added to the portrait being painted of me—a portrait of a young man destined for destruction, destined for the failures every child under these circumstances would encounter…Except for God!
Looking Back…
I see now that those “painted fingernails” were not just marks of pain or punishment—they were part of a much larger story that God was writing in my life. At the time, I didn’t understand why I had to endure those moments, or why it seemed others moved on so easily while I was left with the pain of my past.
But God saw me…
Even when I felt unseen, God saw me. The world may try to label us by our scars, our mistakes, or the hardships we’ve endured. But God, in His mercy, takes every imperfect brushstroke and turns it into a masterpiece of grace. What felt like a portrait of failure was, in truth, the canvas upon which God would paint His story of redemption on me and in me.
Your Own “Painted Fingernails”
If you carry those marks of pain, rejection, or shame—remember that God’s love is bigger than any circumstance. He does not abandon us to our past. Instead, He invites us into a future filled with hope, healing, and purpose. My story, like so many others, is proof that with God, no life is too broken to be made beautiful and purposeful.
So, let us trust the Master Artist. He is still painting over the past, still redeeming, and still transforming every mark into a testimony of His amazing grace…
Because of Providence…
God is not distant or passive, but actively involved in the details of our lives, orchestrating circumstances according to His divine will and purpose—even when we don’t see or understand it.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3
Pain is not the end of your story. No matter what has marked you—whether caused by others or by your own hand.
God Is Not Finished…
Maybe you’re still carrying scars you don’t want to talk about. Maybe your “painted fingernails” look like scars too difficult to heal. But they can be healed, and will be healed by Jehovah Rapha—The God Who Heals.
You are not forgotten. You are not disqualified. You are not alone. There is a God who redeems even the darkest moments and brings light from the shadows.
Let God paint over your past!
He loves you…and so do I
~ Brother John Tarter