Written by: Barbara Ann Hall
Once,
when I was down in the valley, I heard a cry on the wind. It sounded so sad, so lonely. I looked around expecting to find
a lost child or perhaps even a stray lamb, but found none. Again, I heard the cry and looked around. The tall grass of the
valley, spotted with wild flowers, blew gently all around me and the vines that hung from the branches of the willow trees
hung low and swayed gently in the breeze as if silently weeping.
I often came to the valley, with easel and canvas
in hand, to paint and enjoy its' peaceful and breathtaking beauty. However, this particular day, it felt sad. At
that thought, again, I heard the cry. I laid my brush upon my pallet and set it down in the tall grass beside me. “It’s
not possible,” I whispered aloud.
I slowly walked over to one of the willow trees standing alongside the
river’s bank and tenderly ran my fingers down several of its' long vines. They were damp, creating an illusion
in my mind of fallen tears. Were the willows weeping? Surely not, I reasoned. The cry was only the wind whistling
through the valley and the tears only moisture from the morning dew.
I went back to work on my painting, adding
a willow tree along the scene of the river’s bank. I added a few final touches to the rays of sunlight throughout the
oil painting, lifting them from the canvas’s surface. Then I strategically painted myself into the picture. Standing
there in the valley, beside the willow tree in front of my easel, carefully critiquing my work, with brush in hand ready to
add its next stroke of color.
I gathered my supplies together, faced my freshly painted creation towards the wind
to dry, then sat down on the edge of the river and dangled my feet in the cool water. As the wind blew through my hair, it
helped to mesmerize me with each ripple of the water.
I spread out a blanket on a soft bed of grass, and then
lay upon it staring up at the morning sky. The day was so pretty. I thanked God for it and prayed for Him to lead me through
it. For me to be ready to do His will at all times. I don’t think it was long before I was sleeping peacefully along
the river’s bank under His beautiful heavens.
As I slept I heard the cries draw nearer, sending chills down
my spine. I sat up and looked around. There! Beneath the willow was a beautiful little girl with auburn curls!
“Shush,”
she whispered softly, covering one little chubby finger over her beautiful rosy lips as she looked directly into my eyes.
Her eyes were as deep and blue as the sky, but filled with an eerie sadness, as dark clouds affect the bluest of skies. She
wore a delicate, white eyelet dress embroidered with little pink rosebuds. What a beautiful child, I thought to myself.
But, where did she come from? Why was she sad? And what was the need for silence? I wanted to speak, but her stare
was so intense and her little finger never left her lips. So, I remained silent. Again, I heard the cries, sending chills
down my spine! The little girl’s eyes deepened with sadness as she looked around.
“Come!”
She said, reaching out her chubby little hand. When her fingers touched mine, I felt my heart fill with sorrow. She glanced
up at me, with a look of understanding. Then she silently led me several feet along the river’s edge towards the willows.
“Listen.” She whispered. “The willows are weeping. Look. See their tears, as wet as the morning
dew.” I looked at the child, her eyes now filled with tears. “Why are you unhappy child?” I asked her. “I
am always unhappy when the willows weep.” She cried.
“Why do the willows weep?” I asked with
great curiosity. “Because they feel the pain of this world. Every sorrow. Every sin. And when the willows weep, I and
my brother, and the other children feel their sorrow.” “Where are the others?” I asked her. She pointed
toward the trees, “They are there, amongst the willows.”
“Who are you?” I asked the beautiful
little girl. “I am Leona, and my brother is Sonny. There are many other children here also.” “Are you here
alone?” I asked with great concern. “No, we are never alone.” She said.
Then Leona told me that
she knew who I was. “You are Barbara, God’s special helper. Because of you and people like you, one less willow
cries in the valley.” I marveled at her wisdom. “How do you know who I am?” I asked the child. “Because
you come to the valley often. We hear you pray to God our Father to guide you in His will. To help you help the people who
need to be reassured of His love and forgiveness. People who need to learn to look up to Him.”
“Are
you one of those people Leona?” The child looked into my eyes. “No. I, like you, are here to help the willows.”
As she spoke, I again felt her sadness fill my heart, “Am I suppose to feel your sadness?” I asked her. “Only
when the willows weep... when the willows weep… when the willows weep...”
“Only when the willows
weep.” I heard myself say as I opened my eyes. The clouds where moving swiftly through the blue skies. Was it only a
dream? I thought of Leona, I could see her beautiful blue eyes and her auburn curls blowing in the wind. I could feel her
little chubby hand in mine, and I could feel the sorrow of her heart. I closed my eyes.
I prayed, “Father,
bless the children. Shelter them from the sorrows of this world. For their little hands are your hands here on earth. They
stand ready to do your will. Keep their hearts pure and untroubled. Please Father, shelter them in the palm of your hand when
the willows weep.”
I thought of all the people in this world, who because they live in darkness, cast their
burdens upon their children. “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.”
I studied the picture
I had painted earlier, took out my pallet and brushes and added extra strokes of sunlight to the willow tree; to dry away
its tears. Then I painted two children, Leona and Sonny, sitting beneath it with radiant smiles as I painted them forever
happy into the memory of my heart.
As I walked home, I thanked God for his bountiful mercy and grace and for the
great joy that fills our hearts when we know and love Him. I prayed for Him to keep our hearts pure, as those of His children,
who even in times of great sorrow, continue to love Him and one another unconditionally. And I asked Him to continue to put
people in my path who need the touch of His hands here on earth and for my hands to be as comforting to them as Leona’s
little hand was in mine.
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COPYRIGHT 2007
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