This was a gift from one of the three boys in the younger group of kids at the art camp. I was told the figure on the left is him, the larger face in the middle is me, and I think the wonderful lips floating on the right would have made Larry the Cucumber happy.
Little Diego... Didn't he do an amazing job of writing his name perfectly backwards? He was probably about seven years old, and just made my heart want to melt. Always had something to tell me, with the wide eyes of one who craves attention. The two other little boys were cute and hilarious, but I was drawn to Diego. He had a bit of a stutter, so sometimes his narrations dragged on. I loved them.
One day he had a bad case of asthma and couldn't come to art camp. I used to have trouble with asthma too. Again, my heart went out to him.
Sometimes I wonder why God gave me so much experience with brothers (all five of them dear and different). Am I going to end up with a clan of wonderfully wild lads of my own? Or will I be called to mother some young fellow who's own can't. Long ago I thought I might work at an missionary orphanage. I keep forgetting that longing, and it keeps sneaking back. The Middle East, China, and Europe especially seem to whisper.
I tend to either jump at or completely ignore my visions. I must learn patience! I don't know why the Lord seems to keep suggesting this area of ministry, but that's okay. Maybe I'll end up as a missionary's wife. Maybe I'm simply called to support missionaries from afar. Maybe some day He'll show and lead me to do something daring, like Amy Carmichael's mission to Indian girls, or maybe He wants me to open my eyes to the needy here, to the suffering families on my block, in my church.
Where is He calling me? May I never deafen my heart to His whisper, and season radical compassion with godly discernment.
Diego didn't come today, the last morning of art camp. I missed him. The hole his absence left reminds me to lift him to the Father, who knows and loves boys so much more than I.
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