Something Beautiful by Rebecca Jenkins

   Sterile white walls glared down at the frail old woman on the hospital bed – what she now knew would be her deathbed. Those walls were the loudest white she had ever seen. Blinding and obnoxious. Begging to have paint violently slapped against them. Yearning for a “Starry Night” to tumble across their clean-cut angles and tiles. 

   She could bear the blank void no more. So she looked down at her hands. Pale, tired, and numb. Nearly as lifeless as the walls of her room. Was there no safe place for her eyes to rest?

   She averted her gaze to the window, where the sun was beginning to set. It nestled contentedly in its cloudy mattress, its descent leaving glory in its wake. Its final rays painted each brush-stroked cirrus a different color. The pinks blushed at the reds’ passion, while the royal golds feasted on the luscious peaches. The sun could depart knowing he had mastered his work. 

   A single tear streamed silently down her cheek. Oh, how she’d wanted that. To create something beautiful. At 20, the world was a blank canvas, and she was ready with brushes and palette in hand. But workshops gave way to grocery shopping and mopping the kitchen floor. Classes gave way to rocking babies and reading bedtime stories. Creating gave way to dance recitals and college visits. And painting gave way to kissing and holding her sweetheart’s hand until his death. 

   Another tear dripped onto her nightgown. She’d lived well. But oh, how she’d wanted to make something beautiful. 

A gentle tapping came at the door, followed by a spoken, “Knock, knock.”

   Too startled and slow to respond, the old woman simply turned her head. A woman with screaming red hair poked her head into the room. “Mama? I have someone who wants to see you.”

   A little girl with equally alarming hair burst into the room behind her mother. “Grandma! Grandma!” She ran and jumped on the bed with no regard for the current state of things. She was far too full of life to notice death hanging in the air. Leaning down, she hugged the old woman’s legs. “I’ve missed you!”

Grandma smiled as bravely as she could, speaking with her eyes, “I’ve missed you, too, Charity.” 

   A gap-toothed grin stretched wide across Charity’s face, and she began to take off her backpack. “I’ve got something for you!” She rustled through loose school papers, friendship bracelets, and plastic jeweled rings to find her gift. Grandma glanced at her daughter, who smiled and rolled her eyes at Charity’s never-ending hole of a backpack. “Aha!” she triumphed in her victory. 

   Reaching down, she pulled out a house-shaped suncatcher. Black marker outlined the roof, walls, door, and windows, and tissue paper filled the negative space with a mosaic of colors. 

   Charity held it up for Grandma to see and explained. “We made these in art today. They catch light, and the light makes the colors shine bright! Mrs. Garber told us to choose something that brings light to our lives. So I chose home – because it’s ours. Where you and Grandaddy lived, where Mommy lived when she was a little girl, and now where I live, too.” Charity beamed with pride.

   As she raised it to the full exposure of the setting sun, its light refracted the radiance of the little home, projecting a thousand impossible colors up and out onto the hospital walls. The stark white retreated in submission to the rainbow before it. The colors twirled and tumbled into one another, creating new hues one after another. A holy spectrum in motion progressed across the walls, a prelude to future glory that would soon be revealed.

   The old woman laughed with her eyes, crow’s feet stretching out across her temples. Of course. The blank canvas had been filled. 

   And there, as she rested her head back, Grandma worshipped in the stained-glass sanctuary of a hospital room. No melody crossed her weary lips, but the dancing colors sang a heavenly chorus like no other. What a divine grace, to be able to master her work.

The last tears she would ever cry flowed freely down her cheeks.

Cupping Charity’s face, Grandma whispered a pronouncement over her life’s craft. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Rebecca Jenkins is a teacher and writer living in Columbia, SC. She has been a pastor’s wife for almost fifteen years and considers it pure joy to serve alongside her husband, Blake, and their three children. You can find her on Instagram.