December 11

THE LAW OF THE HARVEST

Herr N., my dear German suicide-victim-gone-artist, left the clinic for an extended stay at at health resort. He took his drawings with him. As a small good-bye gift I gave him a pack of oil pastels and a sketching pad to take to the spa so he would feel encouraged to keep on drawing to access more of his deeply buried feelings. My colleague, M., was so impressed with the rainbow drawing that he asked Herr M.'s permission to scan it and use it for a research paper. Herr M. gladly granted his permission. I also got a copy, which is now hanging in my office. Last week I said that everytime I would walk along train tracks in the future I would think of crowbars. I would like to rigorously amend that statement: Everytime I walk along train tracks I will think of rainbows. If I don't, I will have failed Herr N. -- and the purpose of Christ's Atonement.

Translucent Frau L. was rather happy today. She asked for permission to leave overnight and stay with her boyfriend, which I happily granted her. Since she seemed quite approachable today I pulled out my own pastels, having barely taken them away from Herr N., and set the box in front of her. About 25 different colors.

I tacitly assumed that this might be just as painful for her as it was for me the first time my therapist set a box of colors in front of me. Just the thought of having to choose a color as an expression of my emotional state that very minute had nearly given me a nervous breakdown and I got so upset with my therapist for forcing me into such a self-revealing decision that I quietly started crying, which completely mortified me and I almost ran away in shame and fear.

Fast forward. Now I'm sitting here with Miss Borderline who can barely look into my eyes because she is so scared of life. But she has no problems choosing neon orange to describe her mood right now and it didn't take her longer than 10 seconds and very little prodding from me to grab the neon orange crayon and start drawing some very odd figures. Still, "better than I did after hours of therapy," I said to myself with a very sheepish grin. "And I'm NOT borderline." Okay, my husband and kids would possibly argue that point, but never mind ...

Our time is over. I ask Frau L. if she would like to take the neon orange crayon and the sheet of paper with her over the weekend. She says yes and then suddenly asks for 3 or 4 more empty sheets because she would like to draw more than just one picture, she announces to my surprise. I am dumbfounded (as I have been so often in working with people). So I give her the whole crayon box for the weekend. And another hug. Not to make HER feel good, but to make ME feel good, a token of gratitude, in a way, for my own therapist who "tortured" me into learning to use art as a means of releasing and expressing emotions.

Still, Frau L. appreciated the hug enough and left.

After she closes the door I go to the window and look outside. Gray skies, rain, sleet, mud from the construction site underneath the window. I recall John 4:36:

"And he that reapeth receiveth wages and gathereth fruit unto life eternal: That both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together."

We just don't know HOW our actions, decisions, and choices will influence other people and maybe generations to come. Which "border line" am I going to cross (or not) and where will it take me and the people around me? What am I teaching others, either consciously, by introducing them to, say, art therapy, or unconsciously, by the way I respond to certain people or situations?