 EXCERPT
FROM
Prayer of the HeART
by Kelly Schneider Conkling
Part
2: Chapter 4
The
HeART itself is but a small vessel—
Surveying the landscape of the heart
I
remember well the first time I was aware of God’s creative
force in the shaping of my life; the quiet evening I experienced
the act of creativity as prayer.
I’d
been divorced for a year, with daughters two and four years
old, and was struggling to keep my gift and interior shop
open. I’d put the girls to bed and was sitting in my
grandmother’s old chartreuse plastic stuffed recliner,
feeling anxious, unsettled, and a little depressed. Apart
from my struggle to keep my business solvent, I had no sense
of direction other than taking care of my girls—keeping
food on the table and a roof over our heads.
That
night, the living room was dark, with a couple of candles
giving off their soft light.As I sat there,I felt a new sense
of restlessness in my spirit, one I did not recognize, and
I was unsure where it was coming from. Sitting on the table
beside me was a big, deep-red zinnia—or more accurately,
just the top of one. My daughter Sara had picked it for me
earlier in the day and, in the manner of most small children,
she had picked only the head—no stem. I looked at the
zinnia floating on the top of a glass ofwater, and suddenly
had the great desire to draw it. Why?
I
was startled by the strength and urgency of my feelings. Even
though I had a degree in art, I’d stopped working about
six or so years before. It was too painful, too hard. I had
no confidence in myself or my abilities; my love for art seemed
to have dried up with my marriage.I no longer even made an
attempt to draw, not even to make a simple sketch. So
I found myself, quite surprisingly, sitting with this big,
red zinnia staring at me, calling to my heart to draw.
“What
do you want from me?” I angrily asked the flower. “What
makes you think I could draw you even if I wanted to?”
I found myself holding a conversation with the zinnia, and
then with myself, arguing that I hadn’t drawn in years
and so I couldn’t possibly draw now. But the zinnia
wouldn’t stop staring at me. I ignored it, but the growing
desire to pick up a pencil and draw continued until I finally
told myself, “If I do decide to try and draw, there’s
no one here to see; I don’t have to worry about the
final outcome, how bad it will be, how miserably I’ll
fail.”
I
found myself looking around the room as if to see if anyone
was looking—a silly thought since I was alone and the
girls were in bed. And somehow I realized that I could draw
the zinnia. No one would ever know. No one would ever have
to see it. “I’ll just do it as quickly as I can,”I
thought. “I’ll get it out ofmy system and then
go to bed.”
I
unearthed a drawing pencil and some paper and sat back down
in the chartreuse chair. I thought I’d only draw for
a few minutes—make the attempt, put down the pencil,
throw away the paper, and go to bed. But instead, time seemed
to stop, and I felt God acting in my life, animating my pencil.
Everything else seemed to fade away, and all my perceptions
blended and crossed over into one another.The only thing I
was aware of was the present moment.
At
times like these—liminal moments—God can truly
work within and through us to reach our innermost self, our
hearts. That long-ago night, I was totally caught up in what
I was seeing—the intricacy of the center of the flower
with its tiny little yellow buds circling its deep brown heart;
each red petal, unique and individual as it overlapped and
played against its neighbors. I don’t remember drawing,a
nd I haven’t a clue how much time passed by.
But
suddenly I was finished. I sat for a long time looking at
the image I’d drawn, awed by what I saw; my hand had
responded to what I saw and I was not even aware of it. I
was only aware ofthe presence of God. My agitation and frustration
were gone. I was at peace, with a new sense of excitement
and hope growing within me.
In
the words of George MacDonald, I’d opened my little
heart to God’s big heart in prayer, and God had responded
and begun something new in me. For in the
course of my marriage,I’d lost an important part of
me, and God was bringing it back to life. I can’t say
I immediately began to draw and paint all the time or that
all my feelings of inadequacy and doubt were gone. But I do
know this: In that
moment of drawing—that liminal time of being in God’s
presence and allowing God to speak to me through the creating
of the image of the zinnia—I began to heal.I began to
make a new start....
In drawing the zinnia, God started me on the journey of exploration,
very simply, very gently. I began to discover in myself things
known and things unknown, things welcome and things unwelcome,
things joyous and things sorrowful. All had combined to mold
me into the person God wants me to be.
The
process continues each day; the difference is that now I am
intentional about it. I present myself to God,blank paper
and crayons in hand,and wait for God to illumine for me the
next area of my heart’s landscape that I am to
begin to know and explore.
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