She was a stubborn girl. For two weeks her mother rode around in the back of city buses and ate spicy foods just trying to get labor started. Resignation set in and come New Year’s Eve, the little girl had had enough and began to make her way into the world.
Those first few years were fun. She’d prattle on about imaginary girls named Tootsie, had tea parties, and soaked up fairy tales like a dry sponge on a puddle.
Acquiring time left her shy and soon making friends was hard. I put her heart on her striped-garanimal sleeve and it seemed to bump into everything.
We struggled. She was so envious of the trinkets her friends had, but her empathy was stronger. She still struggles to keep her skin from taking on grassy tones when a friend does well, but it’s better.
Then she became a teenager. We all shuddered those years. Betrayal, abandonment and divorce left her angry and she alienated everyone close to her.
I had to work fast and hard. I kept throwing opportunities her way to see if she’d choose to become more generous, more compassionate, more like me. Instead she mounted herself atop a very high horse and teetered so wildly I really thought she’d fall.
Then I saw my chance. She was running from home. She’d chosen a college as far from her life as she could get. She thought, “it’s a fresh start.”
I sat back with relief, “it’s a fresh start.”
She started to understand, to see things through my eyes. The globe began to shrink and her heart felt growing pains.
Shyness faded to a watermark, boldness in its place. My heart swelled for her. She learned to be a friend. She never blinked at opportunity again, instead jumping blindly into the waterfalls and you’d think she was born with fins the way she could swim.
My heart yearned to fill in that last piece. She ached to know her place.
Years wasted on false dreams because she failed to see that our passions were the same. She longed to pour out her story onto paper but thought it frivolous. Kingdom-work she thought meant denying what her fingers itched to do.
Slowly it sank in, as gradual as the ground softens in spring. She could see her ambition fit within my own. It is possible for creativity to be a ministry. It works for me.
She is a stubborn girl but I’m not through with her yet. She’s a glistening apple to my eye and a prized work of art. Take heed, pay attention, she’ll surprise you still.
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