by Katy Kauffman
I stared at the painting and tried to memorize every detail. Dark gray brush strokes created ominous clouds and morphed into blue and white patches. An eagle with its wings outstretched in a “v” shape descended out of storm clouds into the bright light of day. I was captivated by the light shining on the eagle’s feathers. He looked so real, so beautiful. His look of determination said that he was going to win, whatever the battle was.
This eagle picture was unlike any other I had ever seen, and my twelve-year-old heart craved it. I memorized the artist’s name—Laurie Snow Hein, a beautiful name. The painting was perfect, but its frame and mat weren’t right for my room. I lingered at the painting for a while, wishing I could take it home.
“If God wants you to have it, He’ll give it to you, and it will be perfect,” my mom said. I didn’t know how that would happen, but I tucked her words into my heart and left the store with some hope.