I didn’t see it until later…a week or so after I drew this. I was merely in the moment, reveling in my spot to draw at Tanglewood Park, perched with pen in hand on a little hill enjoying a pastoral view across the road.
But now I see how the image and the words I drew that day speak volumes.
That fence. That dark, right-across-the-middle-of-the-page structure, barring me from the pasture beyond. Horses grazed off to the left in the light dappled field. The fence represents a place I’m not allowed to cross over. Yet something reaches back to me from that beautiful field. The shadows from its glorious trees reach toward me, envelope me, touch me. I sit in those lovely shadows from beyond.
This is a picture of my life. I am not yet allowed beyond…to that place I call home, my real home. I do not/cannot go there yet. But as I draw…as I draw near to God…He draws near to me…and I see hints of that world here in my own. I may only be seeing the shadows of that lovely land to which I go. But they are beauty full! And the very shadows call to me to draw more and more of my sustenance from looking, from peering, from seeing beyond the veil. In doing so, my travels here are made more beautiful.
An exquisite pain of homesickness pierces me now as I see this drawing afresh. Draw near. Yes, I will today, this Thanksgiving Day. I will gaze into the faces of my family around the table and I will see the dappled light of the beyond dancing in their eyes. I will taste of the Feasts yet to come, in the opulence on our Thanksgiving table. I will hear the bells of glad tidings beyond, that reach my ears in the form of their laughter.
And I will give thanks.
In drawing, I am drawn. By drawing, He draws near to me. Through drawing, I see. And from drawing, I hear the music.
This is my prayer for you today.