Brightly colored oil sticks lay ready on my desk next to a big blank sheet of paper. I hadn’t painted since I was a child.<\/p>\n
I never expected to be doing it in graduate school\u2013until I signed up for a class called Art Therapy and Dreams. I was studying at Lesley University to become an expressive therapist for kids who had a hard time talking about their feelings, usually kids who had been emotionally or physically abused.<\/p>\n
The different art forms\u2013drawing and painting, dance and drama\u2013gave them ways to communicate and process their experiences. In order to really understand how this therapy worked, I had to try it myself. I stared at the blank paper. Drawing didn’t come naturally to me.<\/p>\n
“Don’t judge yourself,” the instructor said. “Just start scribbling!”<\/p>\n
I picked up a green oil stick and streaked it across the paper. I made loops and circles with green and red. I grabbed a new sheet and started again. Bright green and purple covered the page, and I added a little blue house up in the corner.<\/p>\n
I stopped drawing. Where had I seen a blue house like that before?<\/p>\n
In a dream! The memory came back in a rush. I was five. My mother had just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She told me not to worry, but I did. Was Mom going to die?<\/p>\n
Then one night I had a dream. I was walking down our driveway. An angel waited for me at the end. He scooped me up in his enormous wings. He was glorious!<\/p>\n
He cradled me in his strong arms as we flew into the sky. Up, up, past the moon and the clouds until we came to a little blue house amid the stars.<\/p>\n
Suddenly I was inside it! And I was no longer afraid. The walls protected me just like the strong arms of the angel. Inside my star house I felt loved and cared for, completely and forever. I felt strong.<\/p>\n
That dream became my refuge. No matter how I worried during the day, at night I found comfort in my star house. Finally, I could see that Mom was going to be okay; her disease was under control.<\/p>\n
I forgot all about my star house\u2013until that day in my art therapy class when it popped out in my painting. I felt a rush of comfort and strength, just like in my dreams as a child.<\/p>\n
“Now you can see the power of art and dreams,” the instructor said when I explained my picture.<\/p>\n
The star house became an important part of my master’s thesis. Now that it was back in my life, I didn’t want to let go of the feeling it gave me\u2013even after all these years. I hoped it would help me teach other children how to find such strength within themselves.<\/p>\n
After graduating I had a chance to put my skills to work with children on psychiatric wards. We celebrated when a child healed enough to leave the hospital.<\/p>\n
We also knew the harsh reality. For too many the struggle was far from over. It was a big step going from a safe, structured environment into an unpredictable world.<\/p>\n
“It’s so frustrating,” I said to another therapist one day. “These kids need a place where they can transition at their own pace.” The words had barely left my mouth when a thought came to me: Why don’t you make a place for them?<\/em><\/p>\n That night I lay in bed thinking about my star house. Every child deserved what it had given me: a feeling of being loved and protected. But I had had an angel to carry me there on his wings. I didn’t have wings. Could I help other children anyway?<\/p>\n God,<\/em> I thought, I felt your loving protection in my dream. I want these children to know that feeling too. Help me find a way. <\/em><\/p>\n The next day I called a friend who was the director of a group home in Beverly, Massachusetts, which was not far from where I lived. “That’s quite an undertaking,” he said when I told him the idea.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “But if you do it here in Beverly, I could introduce you to locals who could help.”<\/p>\n My friend made good on his promise. We formed a dedicated board of directors, wrote a mission statement with program policies, and developed a business plan. Star House became a nonprofit corporation.<\/p>\n Then the Office of Community Development gave us a grant to buy ourselves a house. I began hunting with a real estate agent. Months went by. I saw house after house with no luck. The few times we did bid, we lost. “It’s hopeless,” I told the agent after another afternoon of searching.<\/p>\n “We’ll find your house,” the agent said. “Don’t worry.” I remembered trying not to worry when my mom first got sick. When I was only five and didn’t know how to keep my worries at bay, God had given me my dream.<\/p>\n But now I was all grown up. I would be strong and put all my worries about finding a house in his hands. Perhaps he would give me this dream too.<\/p>\n “Okay,” I told the agent. “We’ll just keep on looking.”<\/p>\n