I am not an artist. I smile to think of how coloring challenges a non-artist like me. But the image in my heart was so real. A large heart and a candle holder shaped like the earth nestled in the heart’s dent. The flame was swaying back and forth. The wax spilled over like a river filled with the colors of the earth. The whisper…transforming fire.

From such an image a childlike drawing.  No, the transforming fire does not make me an artist. But it is the childlike drawing that is the transforming fire. I may not have gifts or abilities others may have. I may not have the wisdom or enlightenment others embody. I am not a Mother Teresa, Ghandi, or other mortals filled with love, compassion, and power of being. I am me. Simple, and yes, in so many ways, like a child. I cannot produce on paper the breathtaking image I saw and felt. The absence of that talent does not deny the wonder, awe, and tears of compassion the image stirred.

Though I do not know who will see my child like drawing I place it here like a gentle feather. It is an affirmation to my heart that I will not minimize her gifts. Nor will I allow the talents and gifts I may not possess to diminish what talents and gifts I have been given… if only the gift of trying. Sometimes, the transforming fire returns us to the innocence and simplicity of a child unafraid, knowing no shame or comparison and moving in awe. May I hold the fearlessness and allow the heart to paint the world with transforming fire.