I sat on the black leather futon couch writing my blog as I waited for Lydia to finish her guitar lesson. It was a group lesson in the eclectic little art center. In this quiet little waiting room, I felt inspired. Student Artwork hung on the walls and creativity permeated in the air. The plucking of inexperienced fingers filled the background as the patient teacher encouraged the elementary students to try again.
In came a young mom. She laboriously sat down across from me with a two-year-old flung sleepily on her chest. Her spritely little four-year-old daughter followed like a little fairy princess prancing around happily in the little space.
“Is it ok if we join you? The exhausted mother asked.
‘Of course,” I responded as I continued to type.
The truth is, I miss those days in a forgetful nostalgic way. Forgetting the hardships and choosing to remember the precious stage of being needed, wanted, and adored. Children are the greatest blessing and challenge I have ever known.
Then I noticed her little girl had a beautiful green tiara painted on her forehead and around her eyes with a lovely emerald green jewel fastened between and just above her eyes.
“Oh my, she looks so pretty, where did you go to have her face painted?” I asked charmed by the little girl’s appearance.
The young mom said humbly, “I did it.”
As her little two-year-old boy shifted on her lap I could see he also had his face painted. In the practice room behind us, her oldest son was practicing with a spider man design on his cheek. The other students looked at him in jealous wonder.
“So did you study art in high school or college?” I asked suddenly curious.
“I was very involved in art and choir in high school, “Her face lit up as she remembered.
“I can tell”, I went on, “your children all look adorable.”
“I am actually doing face painting for a Fair tomorrow,” she said with excitement and a tinge of anxiety, “but I don’t believe in myself.”
I felt the sinking feeling she knew all too well. The insecurity that plagues the artist. I wanted to talk to her about how common that feeling is among artists. That we must fight past the discouragement. We must allow ourselves the grace to create. We must have the kindness toward ourselves to allow the vulnerability our expression creates within us and the willingness to create anyway. I knew fear that she faced. I knew the courage it takes to put yourself out there for other people to see and speak of your work. Looking at this young mom with a toddler sprawled like an afghan across her, I whispered a prayer instead.
“Oh Lord, please encourage this mother artist as she steps out tomorrow to face paint.”
At that moment her friend joined us in the little room taking the only vacant chair left. Her four-year-old daughter following on her heels and her baby infant asleep in the carrier hooked in her arm. I resumed my typing as the mothers bubbled with a conversation about their children.
I gained a picture into a world I had forgotten. A tired and overworked world of diaper changing and potty schedules. Weeks made up of play dates, numbers, colors, and Play-doh. Stresses ranging from food jags and toddler messes, to the under current fear that I am not even a good mother at all. In this little room I was transported to my own early parenting days.
She asked me then, “How old are your children?”
I smiled as I said “10, 12, and 14.” Pausing I said, “It goes too fast.”
Soon our children were finished with the group guitar lesson. I had finished my thoughts and pressed save before shutting down the computer. I quickly followed Lydia out to the van. Getting ready to pull out of the parking lot, I spotted the young mom lugging her two-year-old, as her seven and four-year-old energetically followed her to the SUV. In that moment the Lord touched my heart for her.
Stepping out of the van I walked to the busy mom as finished buckling her children in. “Can I pray for you?” I asked.
She stood to face me and paused for a moment, “Yes, it’s funny you should ask, I have been feeling very emotional lately.”
Reaching out for her hand I began to pray, speaking life and truth over her, as little eyes studied through closed car doors.
“Oh Lord, please encourage this mother artist as she steps out tomorrow to face paint, that you are with her. She can do this, and so much more because you have created her for great things, Oh God! Let her know today that you sent me to let her know that she is never alone.”
She thanked me, and we parted ways.
Sitting in my van I held Lydia’s hand, overcome with emotion I whispered, “she going to do it, she is going to have the courage to do her art!”
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