A Crayola in His hand

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

Bending low, I scoop them up. Ah! Fresh, new crayons. Like that, I’m transported to my childhood, mesmerized by the potential packed in row on row of bright, untouched colors. Oh, the things you could make with Crayolas…

Rainbows. Houses. Families. Animals. Grass, in green. Trees, trunks brown. And yellow, yellow suns shining awkward in the corner of the sky.

Who could tell, looking at new crayons marching in lines, what would spring from tips onto paper? Rocket ships? Race cars? Kittens? Anything–anything at all was possible. Beauty; creativity; drama; action, all wrapped up in that familiar paper, C-r-a-y-o-l-a printed up the side.

I move to a low table, taking my place. I’m ready for the next lively group.

It’s Ornament Day in the kindergarten class, and I’m a mama volunteer. We’re making Christmas trees with glitter, paint and sequins. Little’s face when he sees me is my reward.

I look at the faces that ring my table. And I’m thinking of those Crayolas. Here, a dimpled Amish boy. There, a budding cheerleader. This one’s shy. That one grins sweet, and this one–oh, he’s a little player. An alpha male, and I can tell by the way the girls simper and titter.

All these lambs, fresh-faced, new like unused Crayolas. Bright-eyed, young, bursting with promise. Who knew what they’d be? Where they’d go? What they’d do? Only One knew their potential; knew what lay hidden within. Only He could see the finished picture; could see what would burst forth onto canvas one day.

Looking at them, some sparkly, some muted, I’m thinking of the Artist. Thinking of how He sees rightly. How He sees clearly. And I give thanks.

I give thanks that no matter what anyone else sees, He always sees the heart. The ‘me.’ The ‘you.’ The real me and you. And in the seeing, He knows what we can be–all of it–and He knows how to get us there.

Oh, glory. Oh, grace! For in the Artist’s hand, a crayon of any shape or color can become an instrument of beauty.

No limits. No impossibles. All grace.

So happy to be in His hand today.

About Rhonda Schrock

Rhonda Schrock lives in Northern Indiana with her husband and 4 sons, ages 22 to 6. By day, she is a telecommuting medical transcriptionist. In the early morning hours, she flees to a local coffee shop where she pens “Grounds for Insanity,” a weekly column that appears in The Goshen News. She is an occasional guest columnist in The Hutch News. She’s also blogged professionally for her son’s school of choice, Bethel College, in addition to humor and parenting blogs. She is a writer and editor for the magazine, “Cooking & Such: Adventures in Plain Living.” She survives and thrives on prayer, mochas, and books. Her new home in cyberspace is at http://RhondaSchrock.com.

Comments

  1. Donna Gorby says:

    Loved this post! So fresh and full of faith and grace.