Letting Go of Five Chunky Crayons

The dew rests on the early morning blades, as one, two, three bunnies take over the front field, like landscapers, dissecting and inspecting, combing the field, for the goodness of God.

Robins, bluejays, sparrows dance from tree to tree, prepping their nests and filling it, anticipating their hatchlings.

Four eyes look back at me; a young buck and doe, standing alongside the road; between the edge of their natural habitat and the cement where humans stamped their permanent marks.

And here, as the gray morning awakens in my soul, school-aged feet patter down our windy stairwell, hands filled with a colorbook and five chunky crayons…

Black, brown, purple, orange, and green.

Opening arms, I call her near me.

In a house filled with chidren and strangers, family and everything any heart could dream of; I seek one-on-one relationship, and I know she needs it too.

Mother and child just sitting in silence, as the world around us sleeps.

She curls like an eight-year-old toddler, feet tucked underneath her, curled upon my lap.

I whisper soft and try to listen, because I know, too often I am talking. And any woman; large or small, needs ears leaning towards her heart.

She tells me of her sister. Her fourteen year-old-sister who gave her a new colorbook. Page after page, she reveals what she has colored. she also shows me what her older sister has drawn.

It’s not long before I notice the different.

Pulling out those five chunky crayons, she takes each one and colors again, the picture of an elephant riding a motorcycle near the beach.

At first, I don’t think anything of it. She is near me. The house is quiet. She is happy.

She pulls each color out of my hand and puts the next one back. Purple sand, orange arms.

My mind is lost at first, in my own world of just accepting a new day, awaking with gratitude, that I get time alone with my sweet little child who has fought her own giants, before landing permanently in our home.

But then I ask, “Where is the big box of crayons I bought you?”

She whispers weak, unassuming, “I don’t know? I think we lost them?”

I knew we hadn’t. I knew there was a large, brand new, 120 pack of crayons, likely in our raton baskets, hidden where our homeschool books are located.

But she seemed happy, appeased with her five, chunky crayons, so I hesitated to press further.

She flips back and shows me more old color pages, done with markers and gel pens. The colors pop. The vibrance is diverse and almost shocking, compared to the pages colored with only five chunky crayons.

Then, I turn my mind from grasping to learning, from knowing to needing understanding from my own parent, the Good Teacher.

And it is there with my heart fillets open, I hear Him whispering, “Sometimes you only choose five chunky crayons too.”

It wasn’t condemnation or judgement.

Instead, it was a Father longing for abundance, the transformation of a chid with an orphan spirit, not knowing her worth in Jesus.

It was a scared and scorn infant, ignored and neglected, grateful for any goodness, feeling unworthy to “rock the boat”, ask for more, or create waves, because they were content with the basics.

It was a daughter, grateful, but not knowing her Daddy owns cattle on a thousand hills; living like a peasant instead of an heir of the throne-room of grace.

Adopted and inheriting the crown of heaven.

Yes! I had taken only what I could find at times, used to the best of my ability, then placed it back in the Father’s hands, just like my daughter did with each chunky crayon.

Wasn’t it good that I never demanded treasures; held and hoarded, owned or felt entitled to the abundace of His goodness?

Yet, I lacked. As a daughter of a King, I lacked. Lacked more than what I had access to, but lacked my identity as an heir of a Kingdom not of this world.

We all do, if we are honest.

We squander and borrow, access scantley and peasant-like, using phrases like, “humility” to justify our frugality.

We keep telling ourselves almost ritually, “God is good”, with our minimalist mindsets, gratefully justifying, by puffing out our chests and announcing our contentment.

Money from fish, healing from heaven.

Yet, hasn’t God called us to more? Hasn’t He been waiting to offer us, a pack of 120 colorfilled crayons that our ours? But first, don’t we need to stop clinging to our five chunky crayons?

Rabbits hop outside my window. Birds sing of their Creator’s goodness. Good Father’s and even good mother’s love to give good gifts to their children.

Who hoards and keeps things from those they love? It’s not God’s heart; stingys, selfish, greedy.

Doesn’t He have more than five chunky crayons for His children?

Our God is generous, kind, loving, and lavishes good gifts on His children. (1 John 3:1)

It’s the nature of our Father. It’s the heart of this mama.

I instruct my daughter to go get the colored pens, the ones beaming with vibrant beauty.

She is not an orphan any longer, but a daughter; loved, blessed, adopted, chosen, and gifted with every spiritual blessing.

And for that reason, my heart is that she might know…all I have is hers.

Just like all our Father has in ours.

He is a good, good Father. 

But first, will must let go of our five chunky crayons.

“What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? So if you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!” (Luke 7:11-13)