Are You Proud of Me?God loves us and is proud to call us His children.
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Ellie and her purple crayon
One of my favorite childhood story was "Harold and the purple crayon." Harold does not know what it is he will create though the landscape and everything in it is his own mental space he has the capacity to be surprised by his work. His tree turns out to be an appletree, and he is frightened by some of his own drawings; he draws an ocean without realizing it and falls in. His imagination is both his, and something the Authors who created him. This internal landscape is also one in which time does not exist: Harold decides what time it is when he creates the moon (I find it necessary to remind myself that the entire story takes place at night: even with the moon it is easy to forget that this is journey at night time, as the blank page invokes a bright landscape. The only reference to color (other than purple) in the story is the appletree and Harold waiting for the apples to turn red. Harold goes looking for a hill to see where he is, but realizing that the higher he is the farther he can see decides to make the hill into a mountain. It is Just like God that he is use to making something out of nothing which is exactly what happens in Harolds narrative. I have my own crayon and I too draw lines Yet today I sit here with tears in my eyes and these lines may give me a false sense of safety and shelter from pain but I know I am never going to get to the heart of God by staying in the lines that I have drawn my life in. I am nothing if left to my own design. I'm only something if I put all my faith in God who proves time and time again that he has been available to me and on behalf of me and even through me. In this all of God's riches are available and the kingdom of heaven is near. My heart hurts to think God would allow hurt in my life but then look at all that must be traced up to God? I always say I am trying to trace the heart of God for my life but my crayon keeps breaking! So praise God that He arranged the commencement of my life even the breaking of