Like the shortage of funds, this illness is a challenge that tests her resolve to keep painting the soldiers. For the moment, she is dexterous, but she wants to raise enough money to make sure Project Compassion can continue even if she cannot.

"I want to make it so that there is never a time when an American soldier is not painted," she says.

The grief of the mothers is the constant hum that moves Hancock's brush across canvas.

"Those beautiful hens out there," she says, pointing out the window of her farmhouse in Manti, "dedicate their entire day to teaching chicks all they know about survival. They will fight to their death to protect that baby. These mothers couldn't do that. Their baby is gone, and they are full of grief beyond description."

Her portrait of Joseph Lancour, who died in Afghanistan in November 2007, hangs in his mother's white guest bedroom in Ludington, Mich., just down the hall from where she sleeps. The guest room is his mother's memorial to her late son, adorned with plaques, medals, poems and photos from his brief life.

On a black bookshelf are three recordable frames — one gold, one green, one red — with messages left by a son who did not seem to perceive life was so short. Contained within them are small photos of Lancour before he enlisted in the Army.

"Sorry I missed you, Mom," he says through the gold frame. "I will try to call you in the next day or two. Sorry I missed you. I love you, Mom."

Lancour was 21 years old when he was killed.

"He meant more to me than life itself," his mother, Starla Owens, says during a phone interview while standing amidst the items. "It was like Kaziah brought him back to life in this painting."

Owens will often enter the room, close the door and speak to her son.

"It's like he's sitting there, waiting for me to talk to him or sit with him," she says. "It's a real comfort to me."

Hancock has sacrificed a great deal to paint portraits like the one of Lancour.

Over the years, she has spent $50,000 of money she earned as a professional artist to keep Project Compassion alive. She likes to describe herself as the biblical widow from the New Testament.

In the parable, Jesus tells an audience at the temple in Jerusalem of a widow who gave only one mite to the church. Her one mite was a greater sacrifice than the king's ransom, he said, for it was the sum of her money.

Hancock is not as poor as the widow. She lives comfortably. But, she says, she has now given all that she can.

"I've got to get this done. I've got to do what I've got to do. I've thought of it for years. This is an act of last resort. I cannot, I will not, turn these mothers down," she says.

Then she adds, looking down at the kitten on her lap, "At some point the widow's mite and the king's ransom have to meet in the middle to get something done."

How to help

Kaziah Hancock's portraits may be purchased as tax-deductible donations at www.kaziahthegoatwoman.com

E-MAIL: mgonda@desnews.com