Acorn

The warm sunbeams danced relentlessly amongst the oak tree’s leaves overhead, fading the dark green leaves to chartreuse with the slightest of breeze as they caught the sun’s brilliant light. Wrestling leaves whispered overhead while a rainbow of colored art supplies sprinkled the table below, and whinnies of horses in the nearby pastures and the stable just off to my right sang harmony as I knelt on my knees at the art table facing an 11 year old boy whom I just met.

He looked like an average 11 year old boy, lanky with dark hair and eyes and a crooked smile that immediately endeared me to him. He wore a t-shirt and shorts, revealing the brace on his leg. I never learned exactly what his disability was, something to do with his muscles, but honestly, it doesn’t matter.  He had come to Raven Rock Ranch this day expecting to work; but instead was asked to do art with me. He was readily compliant and walked to the table and then just stood. His arms hung heavy at his sides as his eyes took in the array of colors. He didn’t say a word at first, but his lips would purse and then pull taught and his eyebrows furrowed and lifted as if he were in deep thought for several moments. And then suddenly, a sigh escaped and he picked up a green oil pastel.

I had come with a specific art project in mind for the kids, but upon seeing his anxiousness about art in general, I decided to skip it, follow his lead, and work more intentionally on building a relationship with him.  I picked up an orange oil pastel and started to draw. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to draw. I really don’t know how to do any art.”, he said in a single breath. I laughed, trying to break the tension, and said, “What a relief! Neither do I! Maybe together we can make something pretty cool”. We decided to make an alien, taking turns drawing each body part and article of clothing. It was a messy colorful creature that had one eye, a tongue sticking out the side of his head; one long arm and one short arm. He was also nearly circle in shape with two short legs. It was quite the sight, I assure you!  We talked as we drew and I learned that Samuel loved sports. I mean really loved sports. Soccer is his all time favorite. He could ramble off players, teams, trades, scores and the like. We decided to make our alien a soccer player.

Looking at this finished creation, I said, “If this is a soccer player, he needs someone to play against. We should make another alien”. Feeling more relaxed about the process of creating, he agreed. We took turns drawing each element of our creature again and talked more about sports and his dream to become a soccer player. My heart sank as I listened to his grand plans, knowing his disability would not allow him to play the way he dreamed.  Nearly complete with our drawing, I handed him the oil pastel to draw the legs. He drew one long leg and one short leg. It seemed to suit our crazy creature, but I couldn’t help but to see the personal connection he was making to this creature. In the end, this alien had a football shaped head, one eye, the neck of a giraffe, muscular arms with two uneven legs.

We named our players crazy made up names and laughed about how silly they looked. Samuel kept talking about sports and without thought, picked up an oil pastel and drew a goal and a soccer ball off to the side. I asked, “If the two were really playing, who do you think would win?” He pointed to the first, nearly circular alien. I looked at him, questioning his choice, while pointing to the other alien telling him I bet this one would win. Samuel quickly refuted my vote by pointing to his uneven legs and said in an almost in urgent tone, “He would not be a good player. He would probably lose the game for the whole team”. I pointed out his long neck and gigantic eye and told him that he would be able to see everything and be able to tell his teammates where to go, what to do, and such. “He would be the most valuable player for sure”! Samuel still disagreed, but then was silent. He set his pastel down, hung his arms to his sides and fixed his eyes on the player with uneven legs.  I could see that he was not going to leave that conversation under the oak tree that day, but take it with him, perhaps pondering his own value.

Although the Lord was unwrapping something so profound for him to see, to accept about himself, I knew it hurt. Wanting to encourage him, I shared with him that my husband, Mr. Dennis, was once the star pitcher for his baseball team and had played for 13 years, never missing a game. He had such talent that he was awarded a scholarship to play in college. Though playing was Mr. Dennis’ first love, as he got older, he could not play like he used to, like he wanted to. Years later he helped coach a team for our church and as it turned out, Mr. Dennis made a terrific coach. His love for the sport equipped him to see all positions, read the body language of the opposing team and make wise calls. Coaching was just as important as play and incredibly fulfilling. Samuel looked solemn, nodded his head and said, “Yeah, if I can’t play, coaching or being an announcer might be kind of fun”.  I sat back on my knees, awestruck by the work the Lord was doing in that very moment in this boy’s life.  It is my hope that he sees his value and learns his true identity.  He is loved, He is accepted. He is valued. He is wanted. He is treasured. And it has nothing to do with his ability or disability.

Later that day, while driving home, my heart was burdened for Samuel and several other children I had the opportunity to do art with that day. I witnessed their hurt, their lack of self worth, their insecurity, anxiousness, and fears. My heart has always wept for these children, but today some of these children now have faces and names. My heart bids me to pray on their behalf constantly and that lump in my throat seems to be ever present. Driving home, my mind wrestled with the hurt and in my human mind, I searched for more ways to help when I heard (not audibly) “Just pray. Just keep praying”. God has a perfect plan for each of these children.  Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that it is not to harm them, but to prosper them and to give them a hope and a future. I love the verses that follow: “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and bring you back from captivity…”

It has only been a few days, but I can still see the brilliance of those oak leaves glimmering in the sun. And as I sit here, in front of my large picture window that looks out to a forest of trees, I am reminded that each of these majestic trees started out as a small seed. I cannot help but to see the children at RRR as little acorns. They are in the deep dark soil feeling as if they will always be there, perhaps feeling frightened, alone, not able to trust, perhaps paralyzed either by past experiences or the unknown future. But God’s plan is that they will one day grow into a great oak, strong, vibrant, and full of life; praising Him for giving them hope through Raven Rock Ranch and a future in Him.

Beauty from Ashes

Holding the two vividly detailed hand-drawn self portraits in my hands, I shook my head while biting my lower lip in both amazement and anguish as I slowly studied one and then the other.  The little girl looked up at me with those dark chocolate brown eyes and cautiously asked me if she had done the assignment wrong. Forgetting that my body language was communicating what I felt in my heart rather than what I desired for her to hear and understand, I quickly tried to cover my actions, by replying, “Oh, honey, the detail you put into each of your portraits is simply beautiful. They have stolen my breath away!” She innocently laughed and bounced away to pick up a book that she had been begging to read.

The assignment had been to make two portraits. One portrait depicting what she felt like on the inside, the part that no one sees; the part that she believes no one would understand, the part that is hard for her to express with words. I asked her to think about what colors represented her feelings as I opened the tray of oil pastels and took out the box of charcoal and colored pencils. I asked her if she was big or small, loud or quiet, seen or invisible, etc… The other portrait was to represent what she wanted to feel like on the inside and how she wanted other people to see her. I asked her the same questions (what colors do you see, are you big or small, loud or quiet, seen or invisible, etc...). I then sat at the far end of the table and worked on my own project.

Unlike me, she needed no time to begin her portrait. I watched from the corner of my eye as her hand searched for her color of choice, finally resting on a new piece of rectangular charcoal. I set my eyes back on my own pad of paper, but could hear the sharp sounds of the charcoal being etched onto the textured paper. The sound of the charcoal told me her story before I even saw her picture. I heard every stroke. I heard every frustration. I heard her feverishly race to put the image on paper. There was certainty in what she was creating. There was bitterness and anger. With the slightest pause in the air, I looked up to see her start shading the image with her fingertips, again intensity filled the air. I said nothing and returned to my work.

When I looked at this finished portrait, darkness hovered over the young girl wearing tattered clothing. Her dark eyes were smudged and a single tear was at the corner of one eye. Angry, bold words were written all over the page. Words like: stupid, loser, fatty, ugly, just kill yourself already… My heart ached as I could identify with some of these emotions, for I had spent a good share of my own adolescence believing many of these lies. If I am being honest, I was not surprised that her portrait revealed such hurt. I was taken aback however, by the intensity! That is something that art can reveal that words often cannot, especially when the child struggles to communicate effectively with words to begin with. I asked the girl later if she could describe herself in just one word what would it be and she said, “A tomb”. My heart sank and I smiled weakly as I pulled her into a hug.

Her second portrait was also in charcoal but she had used crisp thin lines to draw her image of a young girl wearing a flowered top and a crown on her head. Her smiled filled her entire face, which in turn made me smile! Words again filled the space around her image. Words like: beautiful, accepted, loved, important, etc. At the sight of this portrait my heart seemed to stop beating and my breath truly was stolen away. Again, I could identity with this 13 year old girl. Though I am far older, I believe all girls, young and old, desire to be beautiful, to be valued, and appreciated.   When I asked her to describe herself in one word in this picture, she said, “Filled-up”. If you know me, even a little, you know I couldn’t hold back the tears at her words.

My breath wasn’t stolen away for the realization that I am not all that different from a 13 year old girl, but because just that morning I had read Isaiah 61:1-4:

The Spirit of the sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach the good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor. They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated, they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.

In those days it was common practice for those who were in mourning to pour ashes on their heads, tear their clothes, and wail loudly as they roamed the city streets. This was an outward expression of the anguish residing in their hearts.  Though this is not common practice in our culture today, our grief can become a foothold for Satan to keep us from living a full, Spirit-filled life. The Spirit of the Lord longs desperately to come alongside us in our grief, in our pain, and walk with us, replacing our torn rags with garments of praise, restoring our hearts to gladness, and bringing us more into the likeness of His Son, Jesus, as He places His crown of beauty upon our heads.

Strong’s Dictionary reveals that the original meaning of the “crown of beauty” was an ornamental head dress like a crown or a wedding veil. The term is derived from the Hebrew word, “pa’ar”, which means “to gleam, to explain oneself, to beautify” (Strong’s). In those days, the kind of head dress a woman wore explained who she was. Isaiah 61:3 beautifully portrays God “blowing away the ashes of mourning and replacing them with a crown---not just any crown, His crown”! We are the bride of Christ, of the Prince of Peace. Can we accept that? Can we let go of the lies we have allowed Satan to fill our empty spaces with and confidently walk in the Truth. We ARE His bride.

Obviously, there was no way for this little girl to know what I had read hours before our art lesson. However, the Lord gave me such a tender moment with her as He had most certainly primed my heart for this time. Forever, this young girl will be in my thoughts and prayers as I hope with all my heart that her and all women, young and old (me included) will embrace the identity Christ desperately longs for us to accept.

Satan wants to destroy our dreams, God wants to surpass them. He gives us dreams so we will long for His reality” (Beth Moore).

Can we learn to see ourselves as beautiful to Christ? Can we wear His crown confidently? I dare you to sketch yourself as He sees you and then pray that He give you His eyes to see yourself like that too!