“I like to draw. Paint pictures.” I mime the words with my hands, one palm is a canvas, the other hand holds an imaginary brush or pencil, poised to paint an invisible masterpiece.
“You make me picture?” She spoke the words through broken, but decent English. She understood what I was telling her. Her eyes lit up with excitement when I gave her my answer.
“Yes. Do you work on Wednesday night?” I asked her, knowing that Wednesday night would be my last night of ministry out in the bars on Bangla Road. It would be my last and only chance to give her a picture.
She nodded her head, her silky black hair tucked behind an ear. I knew that she was genuinely excited, and I prayed fervently in my mind that she would be in the bar at the time we came back on Wednesday night, so that I could come through and give her a picture.
I gave her a hug goodbye, bid our farewells to the other girls in the bar, and headed on our way.
The next day, I found myself laying across my bed, letting the cool morning air run over my face. Fans whirred in the background, and the sound of sleep and night dreams still held to the air as light began to fall across the room.
What would I draw for her?
What do you need her to see, Abba? What do you need her to hear? What truth does she need in her life right now?
I prayed for a while, asking God for an image to give this special girl I met in the bar. She is only 20 years old, but her English is strong. She told me she has never been to class for English, that she only knows it from speaking with customers at the bar. I don't want to think about to what situations she had to talk to some of those customers in. But her joy and life is evident, and I felt my heart move when I met her.
This is where I will leave my art in Thailand. With this special girl in the bar on Bangla Road.
Suddenly, an image came to mind.
A girl, hair swept up in the wind, a smile on her face, and an huge, blooming red rose tucked behind her ear. Her eyes are fixed upward, a dove hovering over her face, an olive branch is in its mouth. The word “peace” stuck out to me.
And so I began. I drew this picture that God placed in my mind, and after an hour, the finished piece lay before me. I sighed with contentment, loving to see God's heart in the image He gave me.
I tucked the picture away in my purse, safe for our meeting that night, and waited.
That night we walked confidently towards the bar. I was praying that she would be there, that she would remember me, that she wouldn't be with a customer. To my joy and relief, we walked up to the bar, and she saw us and recognized us. We hugged, and she ushered us into the bar to sit around the table to play games.
I pulled out the picture, and handed it to her.
“I made you a picture! Remember?” She smiled and took it tentatively from my hands, her eyes scanning over the picture. She smiled and thanked me for it, gave me a huge. She set it on the table and we all spent our last night together laughing, playing games and talking.
And I left peace on Bangla Road. The peace of Christ in a dark place, a pure smile in the midst of crooked grins and lustful intent. We brought life into Bangla Road, and ushered the Holy Spirit to work and move. And I believe He has, and will. And I am thankful to have been able to share God's love with one girl, through art.
