Peace is replaced by chaos in a split second and it seems to take an army to find the way back.
This is my home, and today this peace is interrupted by a shrill cry coming from sandy hair, deep blue eyed seven year-old boy.
He is my artist child and with pencil in hand he creates a beauty I cannot describe.
He is my sensitive artist and all things touch him deeply,
with the largest display of emotion
over the minutest mistake...
and he just doesn't understand why he can't make the line perfectly straight,
though no one sees the curve in it but him,
and when the eyes are too round,
and he has erased for the tenth time,
he wails cries that should be reserved for the most devastating of moments...
he cries and wants to give up because it's just not right,
but to us, we see an amazing piece of artwork,
and don't understand what needs to be different...
but his eyes see it.
We cannot let him give up,
his source of gladness and frustration...
but he doesn't
when I get so frustrated because I am failing
and want to give up...
because I do all the time,
I just can't get it right,
and He just smiles at me,
and holds me,
and loves me,
He loves when I try,
and my mistakes,
He doesn't even see them...
so I see both sides,
and I know what it is to be the sensitive one,
and I know what it is to be the loving parent,
and I want him to see,
he just needs to keep going...
because when we,
in His image,
attempt to do
in His name,
with His beauty