Spray Paint and Spiritual Things

I'm sure my aunt and uncle had a lot of faults; funny thing is, I was never aware of them. He's a laid-back, patient man who gets amused by the tiniest things and she's a friendly, hospitable farmer's wife that always had a meal for you. I loved playing at their house when I was a child. I chased cats in the barn, fed their cows, played hide-and-seek, and spray painted their wall.

Somehow in my free time as a 6 or 7 year old, I found a can of spray paint and took it to the brick wall of my uncle and aunt's enclosed back porch. I don't know why I did it, but I remember the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I knew I had to show my relatives what I had done. I don't remember what they said to me, but I do recall they weren't angry as my parents justifiably were. My aunt and uncle didn't discipline me and I knew I should have been.

Last night as my kids tricked and treated, they got to meet these relatives for the first time.  Over 25 years after the incident, my children got to see the evidence of my childhood mishaps. My aging uncle turned on the dim light to the back porch and pulled back his jackets that hung on the wall. There it was....clear as.....black spray paint on a red wall. As my kids squealed with delight over their mother's mischief, the conversation went something like this:

Kids: "Mom, I can not believe you did that."
Me:  "Me either."
Kids: "If we would have done that, we would have gotten a spanking."
Me: "Yes. Yes you would."
Kids:  "WHAT were you thinking?"
Me: "I don't know.  What could I have been thinking?"
Kids: "I guess you were thinking that wall could use some re-decorating."

My uncle's reaction was strange. He chuckled years ago, and today he is still genuinely laughing about the whole ordeal. He told me that he passed by the "artwork" the other day and thought of me.  My uncle and aunt sat at their table in amusement and said "if that's the worst thing that's ever been done to us, we'd be doin' alright."

My uncle never had to muster up the right feeling when it came to that stuff; he automatically responded well when children messed things up. There's a reason Aunt Peggy and Uncle LD didn't react in explosive anger.  When they built the walls of their house, they weren't thinking of resale value. They were thinking of the value of the people in their home. Though they had every right to lash out at me over the permanent markings, they chalked it up to the fact that kids do stupid things and it doesn't necessarily mean they'll turn out to be stupid people. 

Last night made me think a lot about the things I want to pass down to my kids. Do I want to pass down shiny heirlooms that sit on a shelf, untouched by grimy hands? Do I want something tangible that can be admired by observers?  Because the truth is: the prettier something is, the less it's been used. Fine china doesn't give my kids their daily nourishment--they are fed by the bowls with dents and nicks.  Each scrape, scratch and scuff on my dining room table tell the story of a happy kid who was coloring or eating or running their toy car across it. 

I want to pass down useful qualities, unseen by the eye. I want to be a parent who is strict on love, and lax on stuff.  When people look at my kids and grandkids, I want them to see the handy artwork of Jesus: in the flesh, a man strangely unattached to things. The Son of God left this world homeless, His only possession being the people He left behind.

My childhood actions defaced the wall in my uncle and aunt's house. Their reaction left a permanent mark in my heart.