I am that Marred Piece of Wood

This week's art lesson was looking at African art, which we know a thing or two about. So much of African art is stuff used in everyday life. It is hand-crafted, thus there is no other identical to it. The exercise for our children was to choose an animal with which they identify or admire for some reason. Then they were to sketch from all directions and views to prepare for sculpting said animal out of balsam wood.

The children quickly sketched their animals. Mariama chose a white horse, and William a panther. Though I would have liked for them to take more time on their sketches, they were both anxious to move on to the sculpting. Mariama began. The scraping was taking a long time. Mariama asked about using a knife. I was a little concerned about breaking too much off, but I let them anyway.

The two of them began chopping and laughing as the pieces flew around the room. I admonished them to be careful about getting too silly, for fear of them cutting away more than desired. We talked about how Michelangelo had to take his time in carving David.

The laughter was pierced by a groan and a tossing of the wood, followed by "It's ruined!"  William was in tears and utterly frustrated with the sculpture process. I asked him to step outside the school room with me.

We sat down, and he expressed his frustration with the project. "Sculpting is too hard. I am not a good artist." I refused to accept the statement that he is not a good artist.

"This is your first time to ever sculpt and you have never used balsa wood for anything. You do not know how it works."

I did ask if he was playing and being silly or staying focused.  He confessed that he had been silly, despite my reminder to be careful.

He was ready to be done with and throw out the project altogether.

Then from somewhere beyond me, words came out of my mouth. "God created us and had a specific picture in mind of who and what I would be. Because of my sin and selfishness, I do not fit that picture. Does God throw me away?  No, thankfully He does not. God continues to shape and mold me into the image that He has for me as a mother and wife."

I asked if he was ready to go back to the sculpture. He emphatically shook his head that he did not. I encouraged him to come with me to look at it again.

As we examined and saw where we could still shave off some of the body, he saw what could be the eyes of a cow. I asked if he wanted to change what he was making. He considered it for a minute and then said, "I am going to stick with the panther."

He scraped and scraped, until he was tired of scraping. I reminded him that he could be done for the day and finish tomorrow if he would like. Sometimes a new day brings new energy and new perspective.

I am that marred piece of wood, desperately needing to be shaped.