In the Wild

By Jessy Paulson, as published in Gritty Faith: Wild (c) Purpose + Grit, LLC 2025

"The wild is not reckless."

That was the phrase that first stirred in my spirit the day I began this painting. Brush in hand, I stood before a blank canvas and felt that whisper rise like a prayer—a reminder that what we call “wild” is not disorder in God’s vocabulary. It is depth. It is mystery. It is movement and meaning intertwined.

I didn’t begin this piece with a plan. There was no sketch or mapped-out composition. Just an ache in my chest and a longing to capture something deeper than words—the tension between freedom and purpose, the beauty that blooms in unexpected places, the cycles that shape us without even noticing. And so I painted, layer upon layer, letting the Spirit guide each stroke.

What emerged was not chaos but creation. It felt alive, full of movement. Colors collided and wove together, distinct yet inseparable, like joy and sorrow dancing in the same breath. Lines curved and crossed, forming patterns I hadn’t planned, beauty I hadn’t expected.

And as the image grew, so did the message:

The wild is not reckless.

Often, we panic when control begins to slip from our hands—when life no longer fits neatly into the boxes we’ve built around it. But the wild is not proof of God’s absence. It is, instead, the evidence of His presence—of Him gently moving us beyond the edges of what we understand and inviting us to trust Him there. The wild is the landscape where hope grows untamed, where joy runs deep and free, and where purpose is often revealed only in hindsight.

Some of my favorite reminders of God’s wild beauty live not only on the canvas, but in everyday life. One of my most treasured photos is of my son and my nephew as preschoolers, sitting on the driveway, catching their breath after running barefoot through the backyard. Their little feet stained purple from mulberries, their laughter ringing through the air, and their faces filled with the purest expression of wild joy—untamed, innocent, and full of life.

Looking at that photo, I realized that God’s wild is not separate from the ordinary. It is found in the small, messy, exuberant moments—in children running, in laughter spilling over, in hearts that trust enough to be fully alive. The wild is both in the grand sweep of creation and the tiny details we sometimes overlook.

We live in a culture that often equates “wild” with uncontrolled, dangerous, or directionless. But the wildness of God is nothing like that. His wild is holy. His wild is intentional.

Think of the way rivers carve through rock over centuries, or how prairies burst back into bloom after fire. Think of the Israelites wandering through the wilderness—not lost, but led. Think of Jesus retreating to wild places to pray. Again and again, Scripture shows us that the wild is not where God’s order ends; it’s where His transformation begins.

There is a joy that bubbles up easily—the kind born of comfort and certainty. But wild joy is different. It is the joy that rises even in the wilderness, the joy that doesn’t wait for conditions to be perfect. It is the joy that knows the One who holds the stars also holds us.

And there is a hope that calculates and plans, but wild hope—that’s the kind that plants seeds even when the ground looks barren. It believes that God is still writing good stories in the tangled places. It trusts that the cycle of dying and rising, pruning and blooming, is sacred.

What struck me most as I painted In the Wild was how much beauty was born from what I didn’t plan. Colors bled into one another in ways I hadn’t expected. Patterns emerged I could never have designed. And isn’t that how God so often works?

Our lives, too, are brushstrokes on a larger canvas. We may see only the mess—the splatters, the detours, the tangled threads. But from His vantage point, a masterpiece is unfolding. Even the parts that feel unruly or uncertain are woven into the circle of His purpose.

The wild is not reckless. It is a rhythm—birth, growth, death, rebirth—echoing the heartbeat of creation itself. It is a circle, turning faithfully, each season preparing the way for the next. And all of it—every brushstroke, every bloom, every barefoot adventure in a mulberry-stained backyard—is for a purpose.

A Sacred Invitation

When I step back from In the Wild, I see more than paint. I see prayer. I see surrender. I see a sacred moment where the Creator met me in the unknown and reminded me that even here—especially here—He is present and filling my life with purpose beyond what I can comprehend.

The wild is not reckless.

This is the invitation these moments of everyday wildness extend to you:

• To trust that the places in your life that feel untamed have deep purpose.

• To believe that your wilderness seasons are not wasted.

• To rest in the truth that you are not wandering aimlessly—you are being led.
  
  

May this painting and this edition of Gritty Faith remind you that freedom and purpose can coexist. That joy and hope can flourish even in uncharted territory. That the beauty of God’s story is often revealed not in what we control, but in what we release.

Step into the wild, beloved. Not as one lost to the unknown, but as one rooted in divine purpose. Not with trembling, but with sacred trust. The wild is not reckless—it is holy terrain, and God is already there.

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