Jonalyn's Watercolor Blog

Picking Plums

On a child’s level, the general chaos of the world increases.

Take a supermaket. My youngest, O, stands level with the conveyor ramp. Down at his eye level, everything changes. Here on the same plane as knees and thighs and crotches, you feel the sudden ugliness of the world.

At three feet, you know most of the business of the world is conducted over your head.

At a checkout stand, O walks a narrow corridor walls above his head, and even the credit card payment screen high above his line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why a child will whine or raise their voice to be heard. What other persuasive asset do they have?

O is far from powerful. When he’s noticed, even the most well-meaning adult can be patronizing. Children receive praise for being quiet, looking cute, and receiving all our issues without complaint. One time a security guard offered O a sticker,

“I know Santa,” the guard said importantly. “And if you eat all your food, I’ll tell Santa you’ve been a good boy.” And he winked at me as he laid down a shiny sticker.

O is only five, but he still looked at me dubiously. Is this really how it works? 

Sadly yes, sweetheart, this is how the broken world runs. You follow a rule to impress security guards who are part of Santa’s good ol’ boys club. Then, you get presents. But it doesn’t really scan for O.

A child is not an idiot. And a child is not a cute distraction or a blank slate. One of the hardest compliments for me, still, to swallow is “Cute” (especially when people call my painting cute 🙄).

It’s hard to imagine Jesus ever calling a child “cute”. When Jesus said, “Unless you are converted and become like children, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven” he tipped his hand (Matthew 18:3).

Jesus knew children receive their limitations.

A child sees the world very accurately. O knows he is limited in stature, in power, in wisdom, in knowledge. His ten-year-old brother can out-smart him any day of the week. O doesn’t have a say about wearing that mask at the Farmer’s Market. He knows he cannot navigate a grocery store, a freeway, or a doctor’s office by himself. And since children haven’t learned self-justification, their humility out-flanks mine every day. You won’t ever hear a five-year-old say,

“I’m just eating 50 jellybeans to take the edge off.”

O knows he is a created little boy who needs help.

At the Farmer’s Market, O knows he cannot reach the green beans on the upper shelves. For those, he needs his mother or father to lift him up. But, he can reach the plums on the lower shelf. And he, rightly, glories in that power, asking me to step back to let him fill his plastic bag all by himself.

“Whoever then humbles himself like this little child, she is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:4).

I have power, just like O. I can discern things and connect ideas and paint watercolors, these are the plums within my reach. But I cannot help or mend the problems inside of others. I cannot mend the problems in my own heart. I am a mere human being. I need my Father to lift me up for most of my work in this world. The Psalmist put it another way

Unless the Lord keep watch on the city, the watchmen keep watch in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late, To eat the bread of painful labors;

For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.” (Psalm 127:1-2)

In these last years of closing Soulation and watching our field of influence contract and condense, it’s easy to wonder what power I really have. According to Jesus, not much.

I can reach this bottom shelf. I have plums to pick. And that is still a gift. I want to pick carefully, to cradle the fruit, to lower it into the bag without bruising, to carry the bag with strength over to my Father who will show me what these plums will do.

A child knows that everything around him is a gift. But as he grows, he begins to hear the siren’s call that we can help, heal, and change almost anything, if we want it badly enough. We can fix racism by posting hashtags. No, my friend, that is a siren’s call. Real work against racism is never flashy or popular, it never becomes a frame on Facebook or a button on Instagram or a black and white sign on our front lawn.

Humility is where healing anything (racism, generational shame, lust, sloth, addiction) always begins. How beautiful to return to the willing and grateful dependency of a child. Because without God, there’s no way to change anyone. He plugs us into reality, to who we are, what the world needs, and where we fit into building hope.

Humility always leaves me with more questions, of course. Have you listened to a child’s list of questions. Why do we need plums? Why not the candy? What about the top shelf? That’s the better stuff! My brother doesn’t like plums, so why are we doing this? Picking plums is what the humble do, even if they don’t know exactly how this fits into the great causes of our day. Picking plums may be preparation for something greater, or not. It may simply be ripe, juicy fun for eatin’.

Humility helps us find the Good Father, and trace his hands in all that has happened to us. Because if he wants us to have a handful of green beans from the top shelf, no powers that exist on heaven or earth can keep those greens away from us.

And so we learn, as my O is learning, how we are the greatest enemy to enjoying our humility. Being human means relishing our humble place, a created, small place. The very similarity of the words show us the way: human, humility, humus, Latin for “the ground”. Just like children, we are close to the ground.

Without humility we cannot embrace our thimble of power, which is enough, big enough to pick a pile of plums. All those spheres of shiny purple, ours for the taking.

After all, isn’t a bag full of plums enough?


9 Responses

  1. I like this… “just like children, we’re close to the ground”-Yes, humility indeed. So good to think about the things we can’t control…the things Jesus has put in our reach. Keep blogging, J. You have an important gift to share!

    1. Thank you, Audra! The hobbits in J.R.R. Tolkien’s books were like us, close to the ground. Humble little fellows. With all the glitz that we humans put on, it’s easy to forget the reality. David in the Psalms said “We are but dust”. Dust with God’s breath in us. It is enough.

  2. Beautiful blog friend! I’m wondering if you could share more about the proper use of cute. I’m thinking about some of the ways I use it. My son loves to be called cute, but only from me. But you’re right that kids want to be recognized as fully human. Cute can be dismissive. I also think of my husband as cute sometimes, usually when he is nerding out over something. I like that ability to set aside “cool” and be totally joyful.

    1. Thank you, Savvy. I’m particularly interested in talking more about cuteness, so I’m glad you asked. Cuteness is properly used when it describes something attractive or fetching. It often means that diminutive quality when something is darling or precious, the Precious Moments figurines comes to mind. I’ve copy-pasted the dictionary definitions below from my fav dictionary site (American Heritage) as I found those interesting.

      I think when people call O. or my paintings cute they mean they’re attracted to them. So I know they mean well. However, it’s too often sheer laziness on the part of the user. And I get it, I do it too. 😆

      It’s so much harder to think of the word or share the emotion that touches me. So, that’s probably why I tend to feel so un-flattered when people call my art ‘cute’. I put so much work into this painting, please show me the dignity of trying (even just 10 seconds) to think of a better adjective. 😊 It reminds me of when my oldest, F., wrote for 30 minutes a new section of his story and I read it in about 30 seconds. He was like “WHAT?! You finished reading it already?” And he and I connected on how discouraging it feels to labor over something that’s consumed in 1/10th the time.

      My youngest, O., as any human, is a much more intricate work of art than my paintings. He offers so much more than just being attractive. I think sometimes F dresses cute, but I will never call him cute. I’ll call him handsome or tell him he’s looking sharp or clever or proactive or focused or resilient. I work really hard with the words I use to describe children, especially as I know they’re listening to me. These words form their self-concept, especially the ones we raise.

      So while I may talk about a boy I see across a park as “so cute” with friends. If that boy was within earshot, I’d amend it to “He dresses like a little man” or “He’s wearing that look so well” because that says more and helps the boy know he has more going on than sheer dainty, fetching qualities.

      That you’re attracted to your husband’s nerdy adoration of his hobbies is a proper use of cute, you’re fetched, drawn toward him by his vulnerable delight. Cute is more of a magnetic quality and it can be a nice flirty way to interact with your spouse/boyfriend. But it’s sort of objectifying to smaller humans. They can’t respond “You’re cute, too”, they just have to sit there and take it.

      cut·er, cut·est
      a. Attractive or pretty in a youthful or dainty way: a cute puppy; a child wearing a cute outfit.
      b. Sexually attractive; good-looking: a cute boyfriend.
      2. Obviously contrived to charm; precious: “[He] mugs so ferociously he kills the humor—it’s an insufferably cute performance” (David Ansen).
      3. Clever or witty, especially in an impertinent or evasive way, as in falsely suggesting that one is ignorant about the matter at hand.

  3. I have enjoyed your pre-painting sketching, your watercolor, and now I find your writing equally captivating. Excellent expression of important thoughts. Thanks for sharing.

    1. Shane,
      You came over to comment! I’m honored to see your words and your encouragement here. From that moment when you stopped over to ask about my sketching those Portsmouth fire boats, to our Instagram conversation, I see the Spirit at work. Your journey into the valleys has given you long vision and the most exquisite of gifts: humility to see others well. Thank you for visiting. I hope you’ll feel free to come again.

  4. Such beautiful thoughts here. I needed it today, needed to ponder how it is God’s hand lifting me that enables me to work and heal deep wounds. I cannot on my own, no wonder i grow weary.

    1. Elizabeth,

      Yes, it is His hand that lifts us. Lately, I’ve been meditating on how impossible it is to face-off with our desires without God. If it’s just our piddly human will against the desires of the flesh, we lose every time. Desires are so strong, so chaotic and deceitful. And without His superb strength and re-calibration, I cannot overcome. Without the centering rest the Spirit brings, I cannot heal. Weariness is, to me, a reminder that I haven’t drunk deeply of the life-giving water. Weariness is not a sign of impossibility or failure. Gentleness, my friend, gentleness as you journey onward.

      Also, your comment is a reminder of God’s goodness to bring my friends who found me years ago back to my writing. Thank you for commenting, once again!

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