"Lift My Eyes": the story behind my newest release

Beautiful Friends,

There are moments when God weaves together stories in ways that leave us in awe. It's the simple things for me, and a reminder to watch out for them. While I was in the process of painting this piece based on Psalm 121, a friend unexpectedly said to me, "God has just put Psalm 121 on my heart." She had no idea what I was working on. I couldn't help but smile as I replied, "That's funny—I'm painting a piece about Psalm 121 at the moment." Moments like these remind me how beautifully God whispers to us, confirming His Word, and encouraging us that He is with us.

This painting was born out of a difficult season. The past couple of months have been incredibly challenging for our family. Like so many of us, I've found it easy to become consumed by the stress, the uncertainty, and the overwhelm of what is right in front of me. My thoughts race, my perspective narrows, and I lose sight of eternity. But there is a call for quietness. For stillness and a refocus.

Painting has always been more than creating art for me. It is healing. It is prayer. It is relationship. It is one of the places where I slow down enough to hear God's voice. As the brush moves across the canvas, my anxious thoughts begin to quiet, and I find myself lifted out of striving and into His presence—into His perfect peace.

This painting also marks my very first attempt at oil painting. What I didn't expect was how much the process itself would become part of God's invitation. Oil painting demands a different pace. It cannot be rushed. It requires patience, discipline, waiting, and trusting the process.  As I slowed down, I realised God wasn't simply teaching me how to paint with oils—He was teaching me how to pause and where to place my gaze.

So often, my eyes are fixed on the urgency of life. The problems that need solving. The uncertainty. The fear. The endless stream of thoughts demanding to be heard. But painting became an act of worship. It gently lifted my eyes away from the noise and back to His presence.

Sometimes God doesn't change our circumstances first. He changes where we're looking. Perhaps that's the invitation of Psalm 121. Not to deny the darkness or pretend it isn't there, but to lift our eyes above it. To remember that there is a greater reality than what is immediately in front of us. The Maker of heaven and earth is still on His throne. He is still watching over us. He is still speaking. He is still faithful. He is still with us. He is still miraculously moving.

As my gaze shifted, so did my perspective. The circumstances around me hadn't changed overnight, but my heart had. Anxiety gave way to peace. Striving gave way to surrender. This painting slowly became less about creating something beautiful and more about learning to see differently.

While painting this piece, the Lord spoke to me deeply and taught me so much about listening to His voice.

One word kept surfacing over and over again, and I felt prompted to share it with you.

Shamar.

A beautiful Hebrew word meaning guarded, kept, watched over, protected, carefully attended to, and listened to. In Scripture it carries the picture of active, loving care—like a shepherd faithfully watching over every sheep in the flock.

As I've reflected on this word, I've realised how often God has carried me, protected me, guided me, redirected me, and faithfully watched over my life. What a gift it is to know He is with us in every season.

The woman in this painting represents the Bride of Christ. But also each of us. She wears pearls as a reminder of our immeasurable worth to the Father, and soft pink as a symbol of His extravagant love.  The butterfly resting on her wrist speaks of transformation. God is able to turn hurt into healing, fear into courage, uncertainty into peace, and disappointment into beauty. He is always at work, even when we cannot yet see the finished masterpiece.

As I painted, I had a picture of our Heavenly Father inviting His children to dance with Him. Like a loving father lifting his little girl into the air, securely catching her every time, He delights in us. Like a father holding his child's hands and spinning her around with laughter, His grip never lets go. His eyes remain fixed on ours, inviting us to keep our gaze on Him. In that place—where our gaze is fixed on Him—hope is restored, joy returns, and the truth that darkness no longer has the final word becomes so obvious.

My prayer is that Psalm 121 becomes more than familiar words—it becomes a lived reality.  Whenever life feels overwhelming, I hope this painting gently reminds you to lift your eyes. Not because the darkness isn't real. But because God is. My invitation to you in whatever season you find yourself in isn't to deny the darkness. It's to lift your eyes above it. Sometimes God doesn't change our circumstances first. He changes where we're looking.

May you know the peace that comes from fixing your gaze on the one who has never taken His eyes off you.

The Lord Shamars you (and anyone who knows Hebrew knows my grammar is wrong. I'm sorry!) He keeps you. He watches over you.He protects you. He is always with you.

With love,    Beck