One Thousand Gifts . . .

The final  work on VBS has begun.  The moments I can't turn my mind off, the forgotten or undiscovered ideas that dance around as the clock chimes quietly and then loudly away - countdown.

He patiently listens, we argue a little, finish each other's sentences alot. 

This man understands me.  He understands the color ideas, the placement ideas, that it must be different - and memorable.

He understands my heart needs them to know the what and the why - and the Who - how they must understand the Who.

He understands I love them all.  Each one, every age, every color.

He understands this is my time, my gift, and my blessing.

My work.

I pray, more.

I wonder and wonder some more . . .

My list continues . . .

callings

pencil behind his ear

dirty gym floors

salvaged paint

recycled anything

the smell of wood

paintbrush in his hand

patient darlins'

fountain cokes

grin on his face

the "I know . . ." 's

blunders

light in his eye

opague projectors

second chance T-shirts

his visions

His vision


My List, #52-68.