Just like us

When my children were young, I took three large canvases and placed one on the side of the house, the other on the back driveway, and the third on the front lawn. I lined the children in front of me as the late afternoon sun shone upon their faces, ages 5, 10, and 12. They squinted as I explained the experience I planned for the afternoon.

“I would like you each to paint a tree. That is the only instruction you will be given. The only thing you may ask me for is?more paint.”

I had a tray of brushes, paints, paper plates, small bowls of water, and towels. I assigned the youngest to the canvas on the front lawn so I could keep the closest eye on her. The oldest was on the back drive, and the middle child was on the side of the house.

“You may begin,” I said.

The 5-year-old immediately asked me to give her the specific colors she wanted. I placed them on a paper “palette” for her, with several brushes, a bowl of water, and paper towels. I heard her giggling with excitement as I made my way to the side of the house.

The 10-year-old was studying the blank canvas, turning it in different directions. He barely took his eyes off what he was envisioning on the canvas as he said, “I will take browns, different colors of green, white, some yellow, and maybe orange. And blue, lots of blue.” I did not say a word as I complied with his request. I left him in the state where I found him, lost in his imagination.

Before I could see my 12-year-old, he must have heard my approaching footsteps. He had left his canvas on the drive and was standing before me: “How much time do we have? How big does it have to be? Can we add anything else to the painting besides a tree?”

I could tell he needed answers — that he wanted to know the rules, to “pass” and produce what I thought was expected of him. I looked at him and said, “The instructions are to paint a tree. That is all the guidance you will be given. May I give you a palette of colors? If so, which colors would you like?”

I thought my oldest son was going to snap. This lack of structure did not suit his personality. I knew this, so I was determined to see it through with him till the end. I stayed near him until he put his first stroke of color onto the canvas. He audibly sighed. Just getting started was the most challenging move for him. The second would be deciding when he was finished.

When I returned to the front of the house, my 5-year-old was dancing around her painting, yelling, “I’m finished! I finished first! I beat the brothers!”

Her sundress was painted almost as much as her canvas, and it appeared that by looking at her hands, she discarded the brushes and transitioned to finger painting. I looked at her picture and was impressed. She had created a very Picasso-esque tree. I took her artwork to the garage and helped her get cleaned up.

An hour passed with the 10-year-old standing up, bending down, and looking at every stroke as if he were making a golf putt. I only approached him if he needed more paint. He never asked me any questions and did not speak to me otherwise.

My 12-year-old, despite knowing the rules, would ask, “How does this look? Am I on the right track?” I would tell him that I could not answer that question for him; only he could. Frustration built inside him to the point that I could tell he was angry at me for not validating his work. But I was trying to teach him to evaluate and validate his work before another offered an opinion. In doing so, he would gain confidence in himself rather than look to others to give him a sense of worth. He eventually finished, and even as he saw me take his canvas, I could tell he was searching my face for any sign of approval.

The sun set, and my middle child came to me and said he was not finished and needed more light. I helped him move his canvas and supplies to the front porch, where he remained for another hour.

Once I had all three canvases in the garage, the kids were anxious to see them. “No, not tonight,” I said. “Tomorrow, we will have an unveiling of your work. Then you will be able to see your piece and the others.”

While the kids were at school, I turned the garage into a mini gallery, putting sheets over their canvases and playing classical music. I brought a table and covered it with a white cloth and gold glitter. I served cranberry juice in sugar-rimmed, crystal champagne flutes and made trays of tea sandwiches, finger desserts, and fruit cups.

The kids nearly took me off balance as they came home from school. “Can we see our paintings now? Can we?” They shouted.

“Take off your school clothes and put on your Sunday best,” I said. They looked at me like I had gone crazy until they noticed the nice dress I wore. “We will have a proper showing of your art, which deserves a certain level of respect for both the art and the artist.” Their faces beamed as they tore off into their bedrooms, coming out looking like proud artists.

Once we entered the “gallery” (aka garage), the kids looked around in awe. I made a big to-do about introducing the artists before uncovering their work, taking the sheet from each canvas like a magician from a hat.

It was the first time the kids had seen their siblings’ trees, and I could tell from their expressions that they were astonished. Each piece was fabulous, yet so different. The oldest created a tree so tall that some leaves vanished in the imagination beyond the canvas. The youngest made her tree like a blockish, patchwork quilt. And the middle child created an entire scene: a tree of individual branches and defined leaves and a blue sky with a fiery ray of sun shining like a spotlight upon the top of the tree.

In their momentary silence, I spoke: “You each followed the instructions. And yet, as you can tell, these trees are very different from one another. No one drew a tree the same, yet we all know what a tree looks like. Keep this in mind as you remember to stay true to yourself and allow others to do the same. Be whom God created you to be and be open to seeing the value of others who might see things differently, look differently, or act differently. Different can be beautiful and valuable, as you can see.”

The three tree paintings hung on a wall in our home until the kids left for college. They were each proud of their work but also appreciated how different the other pieces were and how different they were in relation to one another in personality and style.

As we look at the varying hues upon the trees this time of year, may we be reminded that God created them all. He makes trees that offer shade, food, and shelter. Some have traumas; others have carved love notes. But all are God’s creations. All serve a purpose… just like us.