“Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls.
Emily, my dear blogging friend and author of a blog and a brand new forthcoming book, writes often about ‘relentlessly pursuing your art’-—no matter how grand or how measly you think it is.
What is your art, you ask? It is the way you express your truest self.
If you don’t know what your art is, Emily will gently help you find it.
{It’s THAT thing you’re waiting to do when you have more time and resources and less stress and turmoil.}
Those posts of hers cut me to the quick. Sometimes, I click away because I know I’m not there yet and I don’t want to be reminded.
Since the fire, I’m a little hamstrung. I feel like I’m holding back a powerful river of words with a dining fork.
The art will seap out of your pores if you won’t give voice to it. I know that.
And it will lead you to healing waters, if given half a chance.
But…….
I don’t trust myself just yet. All the words come out wrong.
I take that back. The words, the thoughts, the deeds, the meals, the mothering, the learning—-none of it seems quite right yet.
The art is quenched.
Hushed up.
Lying in an ash heap.
It would do me well to remember C.S. Lewis’ words,
“First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that
is already clear in my mind.
If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it.
We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.”
And God, our Father, the first and ultimate creative mind, uses
elements of His creation to bring us into intimate relationship with Himself.
He has not hidden Himself—but
has given Himself lavishly to us in the blood of His son by means
of water, bread, wine, words.
Maybe we hide our art to hide our true selves.
So in honor of the beauty and vulnerability of art, I’m gonna hit publish on my heart’s groanings today.
I will say ‘yes’ to art. And you should too. It’s doesn’t take a lot of time, just a little courage.
Baby steps.
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Every so often I wake up in a cold sweat from the nightmare.
It’s always the same.
I wake up to a burning house.
Only in my dream, my husband isn’t able to crawl through the house…..
and I’m not able to jump out of the window………
and Caiti doesn’t usher the little girls to safety.
:::::::
Thankfully, I wake up before the unthinkable happens.
My heart rate takes a while to recover.
And I usually can’t go back to sleep.
The mind moves on to more pressing things like marble countertops and wood floors and patio furniture.
But the heart is stubborn.
It won’t let go until it’s good and ready.
Time stands still for some of life’s moments.
The healing will not be rushed or fooled by your glossed over and rehearsed answers.
::::::::::
But I know this for sure—-
I live among heroes.
I am wife to a husband who will literally run through a burning building for me.
I am the mother of a daughter who stands up brave and looks danger right in the eyes.
I am the child of a Father who slays every fiery dragon that haunts my soul.
I’ve no need to worry.
He is the ancient path, the crossroads, the Way.
And He’s got this.
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if this post were a song, it’d befind my love by the avett brothers
i sometimes substitute the word art for love
It was a magical night…..
Doesn’t it look like the most fun ever? Well it was and I’ll be back soon with more.
