These were the =
weeks of school after Thanksgiving and before Christmas break. The =
first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment related to BOTH =
holidays. Draw a picture of a present they hoped to get AND for =
which they were truly thankful.
Most of the =
class immediately had ideas for their picture. Some thought of =
food, others of family. Dolls and toys also topped the list. The =
teacher smiled at the subjects of most of her student’s =
art.
But Douglas =
made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. =
He was the teacher’s true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As =
other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by =
her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad =
eyes.
Yes, his =
picture was different. He had drawn a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty =
hand.
His abstract =
image captured the imagination of his classmates. Whose hand could it =
be?
One child =
guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers grew food. Another =
suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for =
people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. =
And so the discussion went — until the teacher almost forgot the =
young artist himself.
When the =
children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas’ =
desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it =
was.
The little boy =
looked away and muttered, “It’s yours, =
teacher.”
She recalled =
the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as =
she had the other students. How often had she said, “Take my hand, =
Douglas, we’ll go outside.” Or, ”Let me show you how =
to hold your pencil.” Or, “Let’s do this =
together.” The greatest gift to Douglas was his =
teacher’s hand.
Brushing aside =
a tear, she went on with her work.
Keep reaching =
out, because you may help pull someone out of darkness and guide them =
into the light.
~~
Dr Bob Griffin =
[email protected] =
www.grif.net
"Jesus =
Knows Me, This I Love!"