Title: The Giant Canvas Of A Child's Heart Type: Date Published: 2007-08-23 Can be purchased in Volume 1

     I worked for two years to add on our new addition. It was a 22 foot by 24 foot sunken living room with a foyer and a half bath. I had hoped to have it contracted out so I wouldn't have to build it, but when we asked for bids and the contractors found out how much we could spend, I think they put call blocking on our phone number so we couldn't bother them.
     After two years of hard work, smashed fingers, lots of cuts and scrapes, and a nasty fall, I was finally ready for the carpet. This was my wife's choice. When it comes to paint and carpet, I don't even like to go there. I'm still trying to understand why pink and red don't go together. After all, they are in the same realm of the color spectrum. But half of the time, when I get my littlest daughters dressed for church, my wife has to redress them for proper color coordination.
     For our new living room my wife had this wonderful dream of a room where everything was always perfect when company drops by. For that reason, she chose a nice, off-white carpet. I think when she did, either she met a real good salesman, or she totally forgot that we have children. Either way, when she settled on that color and I asked her about it, she just said, "It will be all right. We won't allow the children to take food into that room."
     I started to tell her I had also heard a good joke, but I held my tongue, and a few days later the carpet installer came. I have to admit that the carpet was beautiful. It made the room look elegant. The only thing that would have helped is if we could have afforded furniture.
     Our children were happy in this new room with its great expanse. They would roll and play on the carpet endlessly.
     Then, one day when I came home from work, I was met outside by my two-year-old, Elliana, and my three-year-old, Heather. One had a blue marker and one had a red.
     "Daddy! Daddy!" Heather said excitedly. "Come see the picture we made."
     They slipped their hands into mine and we walked into the house. As I stepped into the foyer Heather pointed at the new room and said, "Didn't we do a good job?"
     I looked at the new white carpet and there was the biggest blue and red smiley face I had ever seen, or at least what was supposed to be a smiley face. It stretched most of the way across the room on all sides, about 10 feet in diameter. It must have taken them hours and half a dozen markers.
     I know at this point I should have looked down at my two smiling angels and said, "What a nice smiley you have drawn. My, you definitely have a career in art ahead of you - perhaps decorating train cars." But instead, what came out was more like a strangled scream. My wife quickly appeared to see what caused my consternation, and she gasped at what she saw. She looked like she was about to cry, seeing what had happened to her dream room.
     After conspicuously confiscating the markers and making sure all others were out of reach, I obtained some carpet cleaner and some old towels and started to scrub. I grumbled audibly and worked for four or five hours that evening, even skipping dinner. My wife suggested that we might want to rent a steam cleaner. "Why would I need to do that?" I grumbled. "I'm already a steamed cleaner."
     When it was bed time, my two little daughters approached me cautiously, a book in hand. It was our routine every night to have me read them a story, coach them on brushing their teeth, help them with their prayers, and tuck them into bed. But this time, as I was still finishing up the last of the carpet cleaning, I was still mad and gruffly told them they would have to forgo a story.
     They knew how upset I was and didn't argue. By the time their teeth were brushed, I had done everything I could and the carpet only showed the faintest outline of a smiley face. As Heather said her prayers, she prayed, "... and help Daddy not be mad and still love us..." Suddenly I felt like a real heel and the problem with the colored carpet paled in significance with what really mattered.
     "Sweetheart," I said to her after she finished her prayers, "your daddy will always love you."
     "No matter what?" she asked, as tears glistened her eyes.
     "No matter what," I answered. As my two little girls sniffled softly, I pulled them onto my lap. I figured they needed a hug. I know I did.