The Artist

There was once a masterful Artist. He had painted and sculpted many beautiful things in his lifetime, but there was one in particular which stood out to him as his best, most precious work. He gave it a place of honor in the gallery above all his other creations, he cherished everything about it.

  One day a servant of his who had become jealous of the high regard in which the Artist held this most precious work did great damage to it. It looked to some as though any repair would be next to impossible. The Artist was devastated and could hardly look at his masterpiece any longer, it had become abhorrent to him. So time passed and in due course the once lauded work was taken from its original position and separated, away from the Artist and his other works. But even still he never forgot about it or the joy it had given him to make it. 

  Now, the Artist had a son who was with him when he had first conceived of it and had even assisted his father in its origins. You see, his son understood how rare and beautiful it was and had also never forgotten its former glory. He knew that even with the damage and the effects of time and wear, it had never ceased to be anything short of a masterpiece, the most precious work the Artist had created, so he asked and his father gave him permission to attempt its restoration. Many ways that he tried soon failed and many years passed in the meantime. It became clear to them both that to re-make the great work properly would eventually cost his son's life. But the son, knowing how dear it was to him, and wanting more than anything to please his father, endeavoured it nonetheless.

  

  His best and final attempt was both a terrible and amazing sight to behold. He had realised at last that it would take the full measure of Love and devotion his father had had in the beginning to make it perfect again. This would mean sacrificing his time and every ounce of talent and energy imparted to him to ensure attention would be paid to every last detail. The work was arduous, frustrating, and at times nearly too great a weight for him to bear, but he pressed on. His fathers Love for him and for the creation was so deeply ingrained that he was willing and able to overcome all pain, fear, or hardship in to see to its fruition of this greatest of tasks.

  In the end, when re-counted, the cost of the restoration had indeed been much for the Artist and his son. But the reward was worth even more; the work the Artist had begun so long ago, once lost to him, had been remade through the eyes of his son. It had been given its perfect place again, restored by his own perfect Love.