Good morning…
In art class, our eleven-year-old made a telling clay mask. Taped-tight beneath layers of newsprint, she secretly hid it in the garage. Spring cleaning several weeks later, I found the package lying amid odd-and-ends. Still wrapped. Still unexposed. Still hidden.
Picking it up, I was surprised by its thick heaviness. “Honey, this has your name on it. Is it something you made at school?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s stupid. You can just throw it away.” Hiding this object was no unconscious accident.
“I’d like to open it. Is that okay? I’d like to see what’s inside.”
“Sure, you can open it if you want to, but it’s stupid and you’ll want to throw it away,” she replied, secretly hoping that after the contents were revealed, I’d still want to keep “it,” I would want to keep her.
Three layers of newsprint cocooned this hard object. Pealing back the layers, what I saw at the core was my daughter’s core. Staring back at me was the mask of a blue-eyed, brown-haired girl, crying. Tears were well-crafted, unmistakeable. The sheer honesty of this work of art took my breath away.
Regaining my composure after the initial shock, I said, “Sweetie, this is amazing. What a beautiful expression of an honest feeling. Tell me, what are those streaks on the cheeks of the mask?” I wondered, inviting her to put words to her own truth.
“Those are teardrops. Everyone else was making smiley, happy faces. I wanted mine to be different,” she explained, knowing full well it hurts to be different. I understood. She was exactly right. Most of our masks are smiley, fake, and keep us hidden. Her mask was unique and tear-streaked, an exposure of her struggling soul.
Fifth grade was a hard year for my daughter. Friends shifted loyalties, crushes on boys created giddy competition, and sky-rocketing was the pressure of sports, of clothing lines, and of making the play, the grade, and the popular list. Forces from the outside and forces from the inside shaped this truth-telling mask from her pliable lump of clay. This sad, crying figure was another facet of the carefree, “boofie-haired” girl who had been described at her fall parent-teacher conference. Naïve. Bubbly. A friend to all.
“It’s ugly. Just throw it away,” my daughter thought re-hiding was the best solution. “Honey, I love this piece of art. It’s so real and so honest. It describes a feeling I’ve felt many times.”
In my heart, I knew this was the first of many conversations we would have about the masks people wear. God, please strengthen our brave, maturing girl who has formed with her fingers how it feels to be human.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18, NIV).
…Sue…
