"Each One A Priceless Creation"

        Even at first glance you could see she was not just another little red-haired 6 year old. While the other students entered the classroom in a frenzy of excitement, barely noticing the room or its contents, she was almost reverent as she methodically gave attention to each of the “wonders“ of this new environment. She gently touched each object on her desk as if seeing such things for the first time - sharpened pencils, 24 beautiful new crayons, a perfect pink eraser, a name tag with her official name spelled exactly right…Each item was a treasure, precious and awe-inspiring!
        Her uniqueness did not end there. Unmoved by any authority, unaffected by her peers, unchangeable by any outward stimulus, she played, worked, and even moved within the fantasy world of her own making, content to be with us but not part of us.
        And why not? Her reality was a common tragedy: a teenage mom struggling to raise a daughter while trying to avoid the scrutiny and legal consequences of Child Protective Services’ involvement. They moved often, living with whoever would take them in, choosing to accept the consequences of addictions and abuse as a better option than homelessness. Fear of living on the street demanded such desperate choices.
        She had already mastered the art of self-preservation. Misplaced trust had taught her to guard her heart because everyone, even her own mother, eventually abandoned her, regardless of the fervency of their initial commitments.
        The other students quickly decided to keep their distance, not that she seemed to notice. She smelled like the Spray & Wash used to freshen her dirty clothing and reeked of cheap perfume that didn’t quite mask her infrequent bathing. She guarded her lunch, as if anyone else would touch it, and savored each bite as if it might be her last. The attention frequently paid to her was usually negative.
        In spite of it all, she possessed a gentleness that remained unaffected by others’ opinions or indifference. She was pleasant enough to talk to, when you could engage her, and smiled easily. New learning experiences sometimes brought momentary interest, but coloring was her true joy. She drew innocent images as if she were any other first grade girl. Unicorns, flowers, rainbows, animals…her drawings poured from her onto every sheet of paper, whether its originally intended result was math, science, or spelling. My rebukes were met with a “deer in headlights” look of surprise. She quickly checked to see what she was supposed to be doing and then scrambled to catch up with the rest of us.
        As time passed, and everyone‘s patience wore thin, repentance was instant but never lasting. Each incident brought again that initial surprise - she reacted as though she was in a bubble that had just been popped! She seemed completely oblivious as to why she was in school. She was certainly capable; when I coerced her into working, the spark was there. But there was always the compelling lure of those crayons. She drew as if her life depended on it, and in some ways it did. Crayons produced her reality, her creations were her only friends, and her “authorized artwork” was her only source of positive recognition. She participated with us only as long as she absolutely had to, returning to her drawing with added fervor, as if doing penance for her absence. The most severe consequence I could levy was confiscating a picture, and to avoid that she would try her hardest to comply, to be like everyone else.
        She wasn’t with us long. Absences of a day here and there turned into weeks, and eventually she was withdrawn from our school. I can only hope that her next teacher found a way past her “eccentricities” to cultivate the potential inside.
        Time has passed and yet I still think of her, wondering what became of her. I hope that somehow her imaginary world remained a protective bubble that kept her unscathed by others‘ rejection. I want to believe that her artistic creativity eventually positioned her to leave the horror of her reality permanently. Most of all, though, I pray that someone, somewhere, gave her what she needed most, an introduction to God’s love - for He never abandons us, fully accepts and appreciates our "uniqueness" and desires to convince even the most unlikely among us that we are His masterful and priceless creations!