The Hand of Grace

"Children are a blessing: a gift from God."  ~ Psalm 127:3

Grace Ross gave her first graders a fun assignment: draw something for which they were thankful.  Most of the class was disadvantaged, but they still had things that they’re grateful for . . . except maybe David.

David’s sketch was unique.  He was a different kind of boy: a frail child, mentally weak, and piteously poor.  She didn’t have to guess at the pain he felt behind those sad green eyes.  She’d dropped by his home one day after school to deliver some homework after he’d missed several days.

There was really no way to describe the horror!  Animal urine and feces ground into the carpet: everything dank and rotting.  Tattered curtains, yellow with cigarette smoke, dangled from bent metal rods.  Cardboard and old comforters were stuffed into broken, grimy windows.  Trash blanketed a stained couch.  The sink was full of filthy dishes.

Worst were the legions of scurrying cockroaches.  She remembered it felt like walking on eggshells: she couldn't take a step without crunching them.  They were in the lights, in the furniture, even inside the freezer!  Such a sweet child – what an abysmal environment.

Yes, his picture was different.  When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew an empty hand - nothing else.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his classmates. Whose hand could it be?  One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise food.  Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people.  Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God loves us.  

When the children had gone on to other assignments, Grace paused at David's desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was.  The endearing little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, Ms. Ross."

She immediately recalled the times she’d taken his hand and walked with him.  How often had she said, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil," or, "Let's do this together."  While other children played at recess, David was likely to stand close by her side.

Yes, David was most thankful for her guiding hand.  Choking back a tear, Grace pondered her career choice.

She could only imagine the suffering David must endure as a child and what he sees, hears, and feels.  But like all children, he’s loving, hopeful, and filled with joy.  Every one of her students is a unique art form.  Gifted is the teacher who inspires the artistic qualities God intended.  Some are striking in their color, or form, or composition.   Others take a more skilled eye.  All require an open mind and committed heart.

Dear Jesus, we pray for the children whose nightmares come in the daytime, who aren't spoiled by anybody, who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep.  Bless the little ones that want to be carried and for those who must.  Amen