Lessons from the Sidewalk

As I look out the front window, there is nothing but snow as far as the eye can see. Although it is beautiful, a shiver quivers through me just thinking about going outside. I am digging deeply into my memory bank to try to recall a time when it was warm. A beautiful memory flashes before me. One that I had intended to write down months ago, but just never got the time. The air was still, weather unseasonable warm, and my youngest daughter and I had the afternoon in front of us. We both got summer fever in mid-November, and pulled out the sidewalk chalk, an unheard of pleasure at that time of year. We started with simple shapes, expanding one next to the other, coloring in as we went, and starting new sections. We worked silently, with no particular end in sight, and no hurry to get there. Suddenly my daughter cried out, "Look Mommy!". I looked up at her, and saw that radiance not only glowed around her as she stood with her back to the sun, but from within her as well. I stood up to discover the source of her excitement. Our haphazard shapes and colors were magically transforming. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "We are making a mosaic!" She smiled and said, "It's beautiful! Okay, let's get back to work mommy." I hugged her, and said, "Okay sweetie, but let's remember to take a perspective break every once in a while." After explaining a little more what "perspective" meant, we returned to our task, humming a little as we worked side by side. Every once in a while I would hear my daughter cry out, "Perspective break!" We stopped whatever shape we were working on, gathered together at the foot of the driveway and admired the artwork taking shape. Just as suddenly, she would say, "Okay, back to work!" We worked this way for quite some time, when suddenly I noticed a shadow over the mosaic. I looked up to see our neighbor's nanny from Cameroon. I noticed her earlier in the afternoon out walking. Her step and her gaze seemed heavy, even from a distance. Right in front of me though, I saw a joyful face and a glowing smile. Our eyes met, and she excitedly said in a heavy french accent, "This reminds me of my father! I am missing him, and this brings him close." I lifted the chalk pail and invited her to join us. At first she stayed back hesitantly, but then shyly took the chalk, stooped down, and started to draw. My daughter and I continued our work, and the three of us worked silently for a time. Suddenly, our neighbor stood up with a satisfied gesture. She explained her drawing as best she could in broken English. "This is me, and this is my father." She had sketched a girl surrounded by arcs of color. She continued, "Where I come from, there is always color. I am leaving on Sunday to go to a new family. I am sad, but this brings me joy." She thanked us, we said our good byes, and my daughter and I watched her walk by to her house. We both sighed, looked at each other, smiled, and said together, "Back to work!" Neither of us understood the work God had planned for us that day, or the lessons He wanted to teach us in our labor. I often get caught up in the "big picture", focusing too long on how everything is going to fit together. I learned to stay focused on what is in front of me, every once in a while take a perspective break, ponder a bit, and then get back to work. The work may seem small and insignificant, but each piece put together will eventually grow into something beautiful and generate unexpected results if I but work hard, keep faithful to the task, and trust God with the outcomes.