The Peak of Inspiration

On the south wall of our bedroom, about 30 inches away and at eye level if you are laying on my side of the bed, hang four pieces of paper.  They are not in any particular order that I can tell.   Each one is attached to the wall with a generous amount of Scotch tape.  Each one varies greatly from the other three.  In fact, I’m quite certain that there are no other pictures in the entire world that match these, even vaguely. 

The top one is a yellow post-it note.  On it is drawn a crude car, at least I think that is what it is.  The car is colored green and red.  Across the top is a boy’s name.  It is not neat handwriting, but it is what you would expect from a five-year-old.  There is another name below his.  Three letters.  It spells out the name he calls me. 

Below that and to the left is another picture.  This one has been torn out of a child’s coloring book.  It’s a picture of a dog.  I think it is Chase from Paw Patrol.  Chase’s trademark hat and vest had been colored blue.  The inside of his ear has been colored red.  The rest has not been finished.  Another Paw Patrol sticker has been attached to the side of the drawing.

In the center of the bottom row is a paper torn out of a small tablet.  This one is hanging upside down and with only one piece of tape.  This causes it to hang a little crooked.  The drawing on this one is a little hard to decipher.  Some kind of motorized jalopy and a stick figure, hopefully not me.  It’s a bit disproportioned.  Again, a name has been scribbled to identify the artist.

On the far right is the last one.  This is an 8 ½ x 11, life size drawing of a remote-control drone.  It’s a DEERC D20, if you are into that sort of thing.  It’s what this little boy has dreamt of owning for a long time.  The drawing is crude, to put it nicely.  The body of the drone is misshapen.  The arms and propellers are less than aerodynamic.  It breaks ever rule of aircraft engineering known to man.  To the side is a depiction of the controller.  Maybe not the best, but I can tell what it is.

I lay in bed the other night, with my head turned to this section of the south wall.  I studied the pictures.  I saw the lack of perfection, the uniqueness of each of them.  I noticed the copious, almost wasteful, amount of tape used to secure them.  I noticed the one on the left that had never been finished.

As I lay there, my mind came to rest on a simple fact.  That, imperfect as they were, and as cluttered and untidy as it makes that section of the room look, I had no desire to take them down.  Something about the reason they were there speaks to me.  It touches me where a lot of things don’t.  There is something there that, as an adult, I think I may have lost.  I do know this, that whatever it is, I would like it back.

Admittedly, my vocabulary isn’t all that extensive.  But try as I might, I cannot find a word that identifies the quality that is illustrated by those pictures.  It includes love.  And innocence.  Possibly some adoration.  Certainly, a desire to give.  A lack of self-consciousness and self-promotion.  An attitude that “my best doesn’t have to be perfect”.  A heart that says “I want to give you something.  This is what I have, and this is what I can do” and then, unashamedly, humbly, offering that with no compensation expected.  Giving in its purest, most unadulterated form.  So absolutely imperfect, yet so totally beautiful. 

I wonder if, in God’s throne room, on one of the walls, perhaps the jasper one, our Father has any wall hangings.  Have any of His children walked into his room lately, maybe while He was away on an important job, and taped a little gift to one of those marble walls?  I hope so.  I hope He has many pictures to remind Him that he has children that love him.  That all the sacrifice, time, and energy has not been in vain.  That the investment is bringing returns.

The thing is, I have provided everything for this little boy.  Go back far enough, and I purchased the ink and paper for these drawings.  He enjoys all the benefits of a home, shelter, meals, you name it.  I am his security.  Most of this is taken for granted by him, and that is ok with me.  But, at the end of the day, I am powerless to purchase those pictures, or the reason they were drawn and taped to my wall.  Maybe that is why my eyes water when I think about them, and also why I haven’t taken them down. 

Maybe it is time that I learn a lesson.  I enjoy giving gifts and showing love, but I do it with conditions.  It must be a worthy gift.  It needs to be useful.  It must be of a good quality.  It needs to make a difference.  At the very least, it needs to hang on the wall in a tasteful and orderly manner.  And a little recognition is nice too.

I have, in my young son, an example that I can follow.  I want to recapture the innocence of giving for the joy of it.  Of that unabashed, selfless, uninhibited, spontaneous, whatever-I-can-do spirit of a child.  I want to forget about perfection.  I want to forget about the returns or the rewards.  I want to remember that I love my Father.

And, maybe more importantly, that He loves me…