A Painted Picture

I am not an artist.  I've tried landscape, water colors, stick figures, and various means of an artistic endeavor, and I can safely say, "I'm not an artist."  Maybe if I spent more time, tried harder, or took lessons,  I could possibly show some talent.  What I do know is that I can paint a picture with words.  All of us can to one extent or another.  I believe that in the two previous posts about my son, I painted a pretty grim picture of him.  I'm sorry.  So in his defense I want to paint another picture of him, this time showing who he really is, and who he really can become.

When I was a little over seven months pregnant with Andy I received some devastating news about a family member that would completely change my life.  I kept the faith, was hopeful and concentrated on the other four children as well as take care of myself in the last few weeks of pregnancy.  After our son was born I would gaze into his dark, penetrating eyes with gratitude that he was born, and feel the whisperings of the spirit that I was loved.  I knew this baby had just left the presence of  Heavenly Hosts who were aware of my life and circumstances, and I felt that he, too, had that knowledge.  He brought joy and comfort to me as a newborn can.  He was a fussy baby, but I was even grateful for that so I could focus on helping him be comfortable rather than cry about my trial.  

Maybe this connection with my baby son from the very beginning is what makes his being where he is even more painful.  But, I would feel this way if any of my children were sitting in a jail cell.  This has made me realize that every man or woman who is in prison began as a newborn babe, innocent and pure.  Perhaps that is what makes the consequence the tragedy.

Andy grew up being loved and being taught right from wrong.  He attended church with the family, he loved to sing the songs and participate in the classes as a young boy, though he was a little antsy and didn't like to sit still for very long, and some teachers were kind and some were not.  Many told me that he was all over the room, but when they asked him what the lesson was about, he could always give the right answer.  He listened, just didn't look like it.  It became obvious that Andy was smarter than the average child.

This youngest brother would do and say things that endeared him to his older brothers and sister.  One time we were traveling through Utah to Oregon for my mother's funeral.  We hit a bad snow storm south of Beaver late at night.  There was very little traffic to make a path in the snow on the Interstate 15.  His dad was driving our mini-van, kids were all on the edge of their seats in full attention because of the treacherousness of the road conditions.  Sure enough we hit black ice and began to slide, then turn, slide some more, and turn completely around heading south in the north bound lane.  We did come to a complete stop and luckily there weren't any cars heading our way.  The van was in total silence until Andy said, "hey that was fun, just like Disneyland, let's do it again!"  The palpable feeling of horror diminished immediately, and a chorus of laughter began.  Another endearing story is his desire for a "oomp attack."  Sorry, I can't share this, family secret!  And I almost forgot about his specialty sandwich, to die for! 

We have always had a pile of lumber laying around, nails, hammers, glue, duct tape; you name it; the kids' dad made sure they could be creative and build whenever they wanted to.  Andy took advantage of it.  Sometimes I would just shake my head in wonder at his finished projects.  Amazing!  For a school project he picked Amelia Earhart as his subject.  There was a globe, wire to hold the airplane,  as well as a zip line, little figures, and a video camera to capture an award winning production.

I have never felt hatred from my son, even when I would lecture, threaten, or throw away his drugs.  He is a survivor, a positive thinker.  When I think of Andy, what can I see when I close my eyes (a practice of mine when I seek revelation)?  I see a young man lifting others in a destitute situation; I see a young man wearing a white shirt and tie blessing someone; I see a clean, healthy man.  Repentance and the atonement are real.  He can become what I see.