Picasso was an artist. His works could be described as interesting, different and unique, but even so, they were masterpieces. People coveted his work, paid outrageous amounts of money for it and desired to have it in their home despite it being different.
Masterpieces come in many forms, some more unique that others, but all beautiful.
God gave me a masterpiece. A unique, one-of-a-kind piece of beauty. God gave me a son with special needs.
Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8 NIV
My son’s mind thinks differently than mine and, at times, I have to step back and evaluate how a situation played out. Like last night for instance when I asked him to write his spelling words two times, once in small letters and once in big, capital letters. He proudly handed me his paper and at the top there were his spelling words in a size requiring a magnifying glass. On the bottom, the words were written with letters each several inches tall. That’s not quite what I asked for, but that’s how his brain processed the request.
His brain is a beautiful masterpiece.
My son is creative, beyond my imagination at times. He asks several times a day – “may I change my clothes?” and asking him why is a futile endeavor. He wants to create costumes from Santa to Shrek to Garfield. Recently, he came downstairs with red basketball shorts, white tube socks, black boots and the girls’ red Christmas sweater. He completed the ensemble with a Santa hat headband and answered only to Santa.
His bedroom is far less often a bedroom and far more often a carefully constructed set. Last week it was a donut parlor (Paradise donuts to be exact) and currently it is a baby Fiona exhibit. I’ve walked into book fairs, Santa’s workshop, swimming pools and amusement parks. I’m always in for a surprise when I open his door.
His creativity is a beautiful masterpiece.
My son has tics, sometimes to the point of making me clench my jaw until it cramps. From eye blinking to snorting and a sound that mimics a dying animal, we have perfected the art of ignoring.
His sleep patterns are that of a toddler, up every several hour at night, making a journey from his bedroom to our bedroom. He’s often found in the hallway or under my feet as I get out of bed. I’ve perfected the art of not squishing his skull every time I rise.
My son is a beautiful masterpiece.
Just as sure as I am in the fact that God creates masterpieces, I’m resolved in the realization that Satan attempts to scribble on them. He mars their beauty with lies, frustrations and heartache. He attacks the uniqueness and breathes discomfort into our souls. Satan clouds our ability to appreciate and accept, magnifying our doubts and worries.
Satan emphasizes every bump in the canvas and smear of misplaced paint. He works double time to convince us that our masterpieces are thrift store quality, not those of the finest gallery.
Satan. Is. A. Liar.
My child is a masterpiece and so is yours! Satan has been working overtime in my life, convincing me that my son is broken, doomed and just too different to succeed. For a moment, I believed him. I broke down and believed that my masterpiece was flawed.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Psalm 139:14 NIV
Today, I let Satan win. I let him take my joy and I missed moments of absolute pleasure with my masterpiece.
Parents, I beg you not to do the same. Praise the one who very purposefully crafted your masterpiece. Thank Him for allowing His work of art to fill your home.
My son is a masterpiece and I will revel in God’s perfect work.