I believe art heals.
I KNOW art heals.
How do I know this?
Just look at the image above.
It doesn’t look like much to you, does it?
Or…maybe it does.
God used this image to heal a 45+ male.
Here’s the story.
I was painting in a room with other artists. People come to this place to get prayed for. Most are sick or hurting or hopeless or curious or drawn by some “unknown” reason. They bring their diseases and brokenness to well…broken people who have been filled with love by the Spirit of the Living God. These broken people pray for the broken people and healing happens. I don’t understand the exchanges of God but I welcome them. He loves broken people.
I choose to paint with others in the midst of this glorious exchange.
One night I was led to paint a heart. I don’t like painting hearts. Everybody can paint hearts. I prefer abstract art. So I did my best to turn it into an abstract heart. I like my art to be void of anything recognizable because it is in the lack of image that meaning is found. Lack of form causes one to slow down, ponder, reflect, gaze, think, listen and hear.
This heart form caused a 45+ broken man to slow down, ponder, reflect, gaze, think, listen and hear.
He shyly stood to the side of the canvas mesmerized. Hesitantly I questioned his interest. His eyes never left the red on white form but slowly words fell out of his mouth.
He stated the obvious at first, “It’s a heart.”
But then he pressed in closer and pointed to a place at the top right of the heart, “I see my baby.”
His words surprised us both. A hush followed. God’s Spirit wrapped us in a long silence as we stared at the healing art before us.
I am stilled stunned by the confession that followed.
In the safety of that broken place where people pray and paint he looked me full in the eye and said, “Twenty years ago my baby was aborted.”
Water formed on both of our eyes as I asked, “Do you have any idea if it was a girl or boy?”
Immediately he said, “I am almost certain it was a girl.”
I asked him, “Did you ever name her?”
“No, I never thought of that.” He responded.
Ever so gently I suggested, “Well, you may want to do that. It’s powerful when a dad names his child.”
The moment ended as he pulled back and said he would but not at this moment. He wasn’t ready. He needed space and alone-ness.
I offered the child bearing heart canvas to him as a memorial. He accepted the gift.
