A few months ago, I was teaching a large group of very small children at church. I needed to tell them three different stories about Christ without losing their attention.
So.
I took a long strip of butcher paper. I tacked it up over the chalkboard at the front of the class room. I strapped on a work apron that had it’s pockets full of markers… one pocket was filled to the brim with candy hearts.
“Who has two hands?” I asked, tying the apron on.
“Me!” They all cried out, almost in unison.
“Let me see… raise them up.” I said. The children all raised their hands up excitedly, “Wow… Now, someone told me that you guys really like to use your hands to draw.”
“Yeah, yeah!” They cried out, almost in unison.
“What do you call someone you draws and paints?” I asked.
“An artist!” A four year old girl on the front row called out.
“That’s right! An artist. Now. Sister Deets is a terrrrrrrrrrible artist. Can you say that?”
“Sister Deets is a terrrrrrrrrible artist,” they all chimed.
And so we began our lesson. They all had to help me draw because I was SUCH a bad artist, and they all earned candy here and there as they answered questions.
Well, my daughter has never forgotten that day. She actually remembered the story I told about SAUL because every time I said, “SAUL” I made a wicked face and used a wicked voice and made the children copy me. So she loves that story. But what she remembers even more is…
Mother is a terrrrrrrrrible artist.
She reminds me of it always when I’ve almost blocked it out of my mind.
“Hey,” I said to her when we were in the car together, “I’m really sorry but I forgot to take you to preschool this week.”
I didn’t mean to honestly. And I never forget like this… honestly! It’s just… we came back from vacation after taking a week off from preschool and we found out we were pregnant and I’ve been sleeping countless hours and my brain got sort of mushy in all the commotion.
“I’m sorry,” I continued, “I’m a jerk.”
“No you’re not a jerk,” my daughter said in her overly-nice voice, “You’re just… a terrrrrrrible artist.”
Oh, yeah. THAT explains everything!
She really is something else, my daughter. I love her to pieces. She loves the weird foods I love, and she’ll gobble up green olives and artichokes with me like there’s no tomorrow. By the way, the first time she asked for a green olive I told her no. I said, “These are yuckies. You wouldn’t like them.” Later on, when I wasn’t looking she snuck into the fridge, twisted open the jar, popped one in her mouth and came running to me, “Guess what, Mom?!?! I just LOVE those YUCKIES!”
She’s had so many firsts, and she has so many firsts on the way. Last night was a VERY important first… it’s one every family holds dear. Well. Every family that prays together, anyway.
She TOTALLY crashed.
I just love that girl. Love love love.
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