Deep Summer, the Creative Calling, and Holy Surprises

Some freeform processing, semi-related photos, and untangling of ideas because it is deep, hazy, hot summertime.

Freewrite. I need a good hour in the morning to wake up–to get up and move (a gentle unwinding of the knots and tense places), feed my body and spirit, enjoy the good coffee, and allow the engine of my mind to warm up. I want to establish routines that are good for me, like exercise, but I like to get a lot of sleep (8 hours, is that a lot?) I want to have an early morning routine of writing but struggle to get up (again, sleep) and don’t know what to write about…even though my mind is crowded with thoughts, ideas, simmerings, and whatnot. Do I lack focus? Direction? It is the middle of summer. 

We have lost any sense of a routine. I’m surprised Michael and I are still employed and are able to get some work done. The boys are living by the rhythms of the sun and moon and late-night movies and late-morning toaster waffles. They are, in turn, grumpy and argumentative, possibly succumbing to the deep summer boredom, while also hilarious and thoughtful and endlessly creative. I wish we could exit real life for a month like the Europeans and sit on a Sicilian beach and eat fish and olives and read novels. Maybe we can start w/ 3 weeks in July. Maybe next year. 

Lately. Travel to be with loved ones, travel to eat/sleep/sunbathe/find some respite, travel to work. Dinners with new friends and old, dinners with my love. Sitting under stadium lights for the sake of the mems. Realizing at 41 that I am rich with relationships; these people are precious and I am lucky to be with them, even for a moment.

I am reading Elizabeth Gaskell again; this time, it is, Ruth. Her writing is like a beautiful compass pointing to something familiar but not completely known. I’m think I am ready to study again, to be in some kind of formal school. Of all the graduate program I have considered, the one I really want to do is also the most intimidating one…but I need to rewrite that internal script anyway. Not intimidating, but exciting! Don’t I want to rise to the challenge? Don’t I want to grow in my thinking and writing? Of course! Easy is boring; difficult is good. (Still freaks me out.) 

I don’t know what to do with my wordpress site or my substack, whyyyy do I initiate things and not follow through? I love the launch phase, and then I lose inspiration, likely because I am forging it alone. ALONE. For so many years. It’s discouraging. I’ve moved digital houses from my old Macbook Air to a Macbook Pro. I can’t tell an immediate difference in performance but I did have to pull everything off the shelf (so to speak) that I wanted to keep from my Air and save it on a jumpdrive. When I glanced at the contents of that drive this morning, it was a mess of family photos, research papers, creative writing endeavors, PDFs on theology and writing and entrepreneurism, and the like. A snapshot of the last 5 years. Possibly clues to my future (why do I always look for the clues??) 

Sourdough toast, spread with ricotta and lined with the most glorious, juicy, ripe peaches and drizzled with honey. Cold brew at 2pm with a splash of milk. Fell in love (again) with a story; not as visceral as falling for a flesh-and-blood person, but it is just as intimate because the love springs from the same place within. This time, with a Western (I know?! very surprising, as I’ve been solidly stationed in 19th century England and Russia for the better part of 3 years) that I picked up at my favorite beach bookshop. The story flew at the pace of the runaway cowboys within its pages. Immersing myself in Charles Portis’ True Grit (maybe bc I was completely unfamiliar with the story and had not seen either movie rendition) was pure fun, and I savored the final few days of the reading. **Have since watched the Coen brothers/Jeff Bridges/Matt Damon version and it was just as good as I hoped. Highly recommend. 

Process. What I really don’t want to talk about but feel compelled to share is that we are no longer homeschooling our boys during this season. Feelings aside, it was an interesting experiment that our family tried (for the second time, as we had an earlier season of homeschooling when my oldest two were very young) and I’m glad we did, but I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t also say that the experience has left a battle scar or two. I will likely share more in time, but my main takeaway has been a lesson on the “F” word (sorry, couldn’t resist! lol)...on the dreaded topic of Failure. In his book Failing Forward, John Maxwell puts it simply enough, “If you’re not failing, you’re probably not really moving forward.” Apparently, I needed to rewire around the word “failure,” and experience proved (once more) to be my best teacher. 

The decision to stop homeschooling and send the boys back to their small private school was fraught with so many “what ifs” that it kept me in a frozen state for a while. Usually I am a decisive person, but this decision was on another level; I was stuck, not wanting to fail my sons but also unable to continue on as we were functioning. When a vague sense of failure would creep in, I had to stop and remind my own brain (or, if you also lean Charismatic/Bapti-costal, tell the Devil and his fear-mongering lies to take a hike) of this truth: failure is data, because it is teaching me something about myself or God or the world, and if I can embrace humility and LEARN THE LESSON, failure is also forward movement. 

Consequently, fear and failure are bedfellows, and I have a thought emerging along these lines (maybe it’s terrible, feel free to shoot me an email if you strongly disagree!), and that is this: fear and failure are natural ingredients for growth, and when prudently dealt with, they are meant to propel us on to greater adventures. However, the enemy of our soul will often try to spin them as the actual enemy (instead of his own grimy self) so we won’t face them head-on or make them servants to our own journey toward maturity. Wouldn’t it be great if we could develop a keen sense of discerning what is difficult and still useful (fear, failure) and what is just plain lies against our imago Dei (accusations, shame)? 

Here is another statement potentially worth analyzing: you are an artist meant to reflect the glorious God of creation. Hold on, don’t close this email! Stay with me. Because we are all unique individuals with the potential to reflect our Maker, we are each artists–even if you don’t identify with that word. You are a unique kind of intelligence meant to live in this world as embodied reflections of God -as vessels of the Holy Spirit- therefore, you are also a creator. You create in the simple act of living (making dinner, tending your garden, doing your homework, building a report, leading a team meeting, telling bedtime stories) as you were created to do. 

But for those of you who resonate with the “artist” or “creative” or even an “aesthetic” or “curator” identity, you likely have an added level of anxiety around those terms; for we creatives are anointed the special or weird ones, the touched-in-the-head folks, meant to parlay our talents for beauty and meaning and the greater good (**deeeeep breath**). Through some psychological-turned-physical act, we express our inner world through an external means by turning ourselves inside out, hoping the exposed self is understood (at best) or not completely rejected (at worst). Art is made; the collateral damage is endured. If we are trying something new, Lord help us–the journey from the first stroke of the pen or brush or fingers striking a keyboard or strumming of a tense string to the finished product (shared with others or kept for ourselves) is a struggle, to put it mildly. No wonder the creative path is fraught with trials, hucksters, thieves, and deep pits. Do we recognize fear and failure among the cast of characters? “What separates artists from ex-artists is that those who challenge their fears, continue; those who don’t, quit.”¹ Can we gain wisdom as we wrestle through the creative process and press on to do it again tomorrow? Do we have the courage to keep going? 

Closure. Something about the long, hazy, hot days of summer provides space to unwind complicated thoughts and feelings. Failure and fear are in the vicinity, but they do not take center stage (they aren’t allowed that much attention). Wisdom and hope are much more interesting; they are the warm earth and pink sky of a July sunset. The realness of my experience with failure (and perhaps yours) is so much richer than a two-dimensional glossy representation of it (although, at times, that is all we can manage to produce as evidence that we survived the ordeal) precisely because of the way it draws us closer to our Father-Creator-God. It reveals pain, or wounds left unhealed, and in those moments, I look for my Savior. 

When He came to us as Christ and sat in the dirt and smelled like a man, He was showing us his own creative expression of love. He doesn’t shy away from our fears, He isn’t disgusted by our failures. He turns and sees us; His eyes are clear and steady. He asks, “What do [we] want?” Do I even know how to answer such a question? I want to live! I want to breathe deeply with the lungs I am given and feel a lightness of spirit because I have tasted His wine! I want to always look for His gaze. I want to ask where He is staying and hear Him say (again), “Come…and see” (Jn. 1:36-39).

I want to follow and see what happens. 

Last night I witnessed a baptism at a minor league baseball game. Our team won the lively game and we lingered, hoping for some fireworks. Instead, we heard the gospel preached by a baseball player and watched as his teammate, now a brother-in-the-faith, declared his newness of life and allegiance to the Lord. I sat and watched with a huge grin on my face and tears in my eyes because there is nothing I love more in this life than being surprised by Jesus. He is just so good at it…it’s almost as if He is creativity personified!

One final question. Do you want to see what happens next?

Until next time,

SBL

1.  Bayles, David & Orland, Ted, ‘Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking,’ (1993 Capra Press, Santa Barbara, CA), 14.