Journey of the art...

I call it my God Space. That wonderful, time-suspending place where everything stands still. It's a place of quiet tranquility I desperately need so often in my life.

The Art. In all the myriad of places God has taken me to heal, this, the artwork, has come as a sweet surprise. Years ago, as a small child, I loved to draw. I was drawn to drawing. I can remember in 1st grade, the teacher asking us to take off our shoes, place a piece of construction paper on the floor and draw an outline of our tiny feet. From there we were to make a picture of something we enjoyed. I drew a girl, skipping rope. Later that afternoon, when she had finished reading to us, Mrs. Shannon held up some of the drawings she thought particularly good. Mine was the first one. Oh my goodness!

My little girl and very shy self was forever changed. I couldn't have been more surprised and very happy the teacher had chosen my drawing. From that point, I loved creating art. Sadly, it didn't last long. By third grade, it was clear I had some form of learning disability. I struggled especially in arithmetic. We were required to learn our "times table" and I just couldn't get the memorization. I remember the day when I came home from school in tears. "Whats the matter?" mom asked. "I'm so stupid! I hate school!" I went on to tell Mom that I was failing in school. That I couldn't memorize the time tables, couldn't understand the science lessons.

You've got to also remember it was 1963 when kids like me were lost in the process of public education. I went undiagnosed for a learning disability for the next 38 years. My parents did the best they knew how to do at the time. The communication between moms and teachers consisted of planning the annual Christmas party and PTA. I was labeled as lazy and unwilling to do as requested. The very thing that fed my young soul was taken away. When the art work should have been the vehicle to my learning, it was put away in order to focus most of my free time after school on studying.

Third grade, at 9 years old, was the first time I put away, stuffed deep down, the real person God created me to be. And yet, years later, God resurrects the art work as a key to healing...40 years later.

God is good....God wastes nothing.