Where I was born in Belarus, the schools did not allow kids to write with their left hand. Every time I picked up my pen with my left hand, the teacher would either hit my hand or the desk with her wooden stick. However, she allowed me to draw with my left hand because it was deemed inferior to my right. As our family was moving to the United States, my third-grade teacher asked if I could leave my art with her. My family and those around me saw my talent in art, but my father had doubts about making a living from it. His concerns about the challenges of succeeding in art affected me deeply, and I found myself hesitating to fully embrace my passion. As I was growing up and attended my High School in California, my work would occasionally take first place and be published in various places, including a museum in New York. But unfortunately, none of this excited me. As a teen, I was sure I would never make a living from art, so it didn’t seem worth my time and effort. Fast forward a couple of years to when my husband and I were preparing for all of our kids to go off to school. I was considering where I should apply to work. But my wise husband insisted that I give art another chance before applying anywhere. I listened, took it to the Lord, and quickly realized that it wasn’t up to my father or anyone else to decide whether I should paint or not. I cried over all the lost years and realized how much I need art in my life. It brings me such joy and peace, and I often find myself losing track of time. I know God wants to do great things with this art. Even though I still have a lot of learning to do and am sure the journey ahead will be full of surprises, I cannot imagine living without art again for such a long period.