Painting Words

Life is hard.

Rocks are hard.

Art is hard.

I am not an artist. Give me ink; I’ll write you a poem. There will be no illustrations. Promise. I love art. I love the element of capturing a moment and expressing something true with colors, shapes, and textures. I just can’t do it. I need words. But one time, art and words mingled for me. I was reminded of this encounter recently when I received an unexpected gift: a hand-painted rock with a heart and the word “hope” written on it.

A couple of years ago, we visited someone in a long-term rehab center. Though she was well cared for in her recovery, she was discouraged. Healing was slow. She was away from the people and home she loved. She was out of her routine and, honestly, I think she was a bit afraid. One of the strongest women I’ve ever known (and I’ve known a good many), I saw her emotional struggle as clearly as her light green eyes. She was weary with discouragement.

The rehab center was lovely, though, and if you must rehab, I hope you find a place as warm and comfortable as this one. The rooms were situated in two L-shaped wings, creating a square around an open courtyard. I loved it. They had a stone patio with chairs and tables and a grill (rumor had it the center treated folks to a cookout now and then, just for fun), several flowering trees, birdhouses and feeders, and a walking path around a beautifully designed pond. On one side of the pond, they had built a lovely rock fountain. Opposite the fountain was a created border with a few flowering plants and a shrub I wouldn’t know again if I saw it. Around the base of the shrub were several dozen stones, each painted with an image or word intended to encourage.

Little Lady and I walked the path around the pond many times. With each orbit, Little Lady would stop and marvel at the stones, picking up each one in turn and exclaiming what she’d found as if we hadn’t already seen it seventeen times: A sunshine, a flower, a butterfly, a rainbow, “faith,” “heal,” “I am strong,” praying hands, a cross, a heart, a bird in flight, and my personal favorite, “You are loved,” which prompted Little Lady to throw her arms around me and say, “aww” against my neck in what turned out to be only the second sweetest ever Little Lady embrace.

On our eighteenth trip around the pond (kidding – I don’t honestly know how many times we went around, but it was a lot, I promise), CW pushed the wheelchair of the sweet woman we were visiting. As we stopped at the unmemorable shrub and painted stones, the woman laughed as Little Lady plopped stone after stone upon her lap with super-fast, super-excited toddler-speak. The woman nodded at Little Lady, agreeing with every unintelligible word, until a stone painted pink with darker pink letters – HOPE – caught the woman’s attention. She looked at it for several moments and then held it close to her chest and said, “That’s a good reminder: Hope.” Tears slipped from her soft eyes, down her cheeks to drip upon the painted rocks like a cleansing Spring rain, and Little Lady put her arms around the woman and leaned into her, replying, “Aww” in the sweetest ever Little Lady embrace.

I’ve heard it said that where there is life, there is hope.

Maybe the same is true of rocks and art, as well.

Maybe whatever hardness we face, there is hope… if we will paint it.

From my heart to yours,