Impractical Moments

There's a painting right above the table where my roommate's computer rests.  It's also my roommate's painting.  I think one of her relatives got it for her at an art sale.  It's a rather large panoramic sort of painting, if the adjective "panoramic" can even be applied to paintings.  I don't know because I pretty much stink at all forms of visual art, and therefore never had the desire to learn about adjectives that can be applied to paintings.

The painting is mostly a muted blue, which is why I like it, though my roommate insists that it used to be much brighter and the colors must have faded over time.  I really like the faded quality, though.  It's peaceful.  It's unassuming.  It just IS. 

The first thing I notice about the painting, other than the lovely mellow shades of blue, are two figures standing slightly to the left of the center.  One of the figures is a lady in an old-fashioned white dress and bonnet.  The dress has a blue sash, and she is shading herself beneath an open parasol.  Next to her is a shorter figure, a girl in a white dress with a pink sash.  She also has a bonnet, but no parasol.  The pair of them are standing amongst a lovely overgrowth of muted green and white wildflowers.  These wildflowers are on the shore of a river, and an arched stone bridge is in the not-too-far distance.  There are two swans swimming near to the opposite shore of the river.  The woman and girl are looking out over this river, and they appear to either be looking at the swans or at the bridge (their faces are not visible).  Overhead is a sky that my roommate says once was pink and orange and blue.  Now it's mostly a very pale blue, gray, and white, with clouds that look as though they are about to bring forth rain.  There are also trees, covered by a mist that was either intentional or caused by the fading of the artist's original colors.

I wish I could paint sometimes, but I can't, so I don't.  I'm not an art critic, either, and honestly, this painting probably isn't anything spectacular.  But I like it.  I like looking at the woman and child, wondering who they might be.  The most obvious assumption would be that the woman and girl are a mother and daughter, out looking at the bridge, perhaps waiting for the child's father to come home.  Perhaps it's an older sister and a younger sister out for a stroll along the river bank.  Maybe the woman is a governess who never married, who loves the child she teaches as if she were her own daughter.  She sees that it is about to rain, but she allows the little girl to tarry, knowing the child delights in seeing the swans.

I like this painting very much.  I don't look at it too often; I probably don't even notice it most days.  But sometimes I just look up and it's there waiting for me to wonder about it.  I guess sometimes that seems like a waste of time when there's so much going on around us.  Art, writing, theater, music--are these things wastes of time?

The world is a practical place filled with practical things.  It's only Wednesday, and I've already had a full week.  It's going to get fuller.  Between the jobs and the carpools and the meetings and trying to feed the kids and get in exercise and plan my meals for the next day and setting aside time for prayer and Bible reading, it's hard to think about anything besides the practical stuff. 

Maybe that's why we need the impractical.

Sometimes, the practical doesn't leave a lot of room for the impractical.  I'm not even a wife or mom, so I can't imagine the urgency of actually living with other people who make constant demands on my time.  Still, my time is valuable.  I don't always make good decisions with the time I have, but then there are the times when I just don't seem to HAVE time to make any decisions with. 

But on my way to work this morning I was listening to this song about praising God and being mindful of Him throughout the day.  At the climax of the song, this beautiful bird just swooped down directly above and in front of my car.  It almost swooped low enough for me to hit it, and I could see the fear in its eyes.  Indeed, for a split second, I saw that bird very clearly.  I saw its gray feathers spread wide as it tried to regain control of its plummet.  I saw its small beak open slightly as it released an even smaller cry.  I saw its tiny, black eye focused on me, on the ground, on the car, on the heavens.  Yes, there was fear in that bird's eye.  There was also joy.  The wind gloriously caught its wings and lifted it up, just as it was about to splatter all over my windshield.  It flew away, unharmed, and I believe both of us soared.

That all happened in less than a second.

And then life kept going. 

And I figure that sometimes you have to grab those impractical moments when you can.  If you blink, you might miss them.  But there are other times when you have to just force in those impractical times whenever you can, even when the practical schedule isn't impractical-friendly.

I barely have time this week to even keep up with myself.  The practical things keep demanding my attention, and I'm tempted to just chuck all the impractical things out the window.  But just because writing might not be a practical thing to do, at least not compared to the immediate need of making sure the kids I watch get dinner, it doesn't mean I shouldn't make some time for it.  This blog isn't a waste of time.  Writing isn't a waste of time.  Playing my songs on the guitar for a few minutes isn't a waste of time.  Getting temporarily lost inside a painting isn't a waste of time.  These are the little impractical moments that allow me to mute the colors of my sometimes all too vividly bright life.  In these moments, I don't have to worry about being a good worker, a good nanny, a good child care provider, a good teacher, a good friend, or a good whatever. 

I can just be.

SEW Sunday: Balance

Happy Easter, readers!  I just ate a pink marshmallow chicky Peep, but that's neither here nor there.

This has been an interesting week, to say the least.  It started out with me heading for church last Sunday, only to find that there were power lines lying on the road in front of my church.  I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and discovered that there was no church because the power was out.  The bad storms/tornado caused a lot more damage than I had realized.  I still didn't realize it, because I immediately went home from not going to church and figured I should use that free time to go running.  I ran six miles.  That's my record...so far.

The next day, I realized that a lot of people had experienced a lot of damage from the storms.  Many people didn't have anywhere to stay; many more needed some extensive work done on their homes.  My church was set up as a station to help out a lot of the people in the community.  I had an opportunity to go help out.  In fact, I had a whole day off Tuesday.

The thing is, I had already planned on working on my writing on Tuesday.  I had been planning on it for WEEKS.  It needed to be done...and badly.  I guess it makes me selfish, because I am selfish, but I prayerfully decided to stick with my plans to work on my writing...instead of going to help out my community.  I didn't even get out of my pajamas that day. 

I reread my first novel on Tuesday.  All of it.  I have to say, in the past week, I've read three really good books.  Two of them were part of the Hunger Games trilogy.  The other one...surprisingly...was my own.  That first book, which was such a catastrophe when I first penned it, had been edited and edited and edited until I was sick of it.  But after putting it aside for several months and going back to it, I had a fresh perspective.  I was viewing it as a reader and not as a writer/editor.  And I found that I couldn't put my own book down...because, at the risk of sounding vain, it was really good.

That's not to say I didn't edit a little here or there while reading it, but all in all, I'm almost there.  I'm almost ready to try selling this book again.  It's because I'm confident that what I have is something worth selling, something worth reading.  I have a renewed focus and energy to actually try to get all the other stuff done so I can send out some queries.

And, yes, I think that was a day off well-spent.

But I have to admit I'm feeling guilty; whether that guilt is justified or not, it's there.  I know that I could have gone to my church to help out instead of spending that time on my own projects.  I don't know how useful I would have been, but I figure in a disastrous situation, almost any willing person can find some small way to help. 

The other books I read this week, the Hunger Games books, are very sad, very intense...even disturbing at times.  But they're really good and make you think.  The main character had all sorts of ridiculous trials that I've never had to face or even imagine.  And it's easy to say, "Well, that's just a book," but then my mind turns to the real-life atrocities.  There are children dying of starvation all over this world--even here in America.  Even worse than that, in my opinion, are the markets which sell children into prostitution.  There's war.  There's hunger.  There's need.

And I sit in my pajamas and write.  Usually with a big warm cup of tea. 

Sometimes I feel like what I am doing is such a waste compared to what I could be doing. 

Art isn't practical.  I think every artist who strives to serve the Lord probably goes through something similar to what I'm talking about right now.  Why create paintings or stories or poems or songs when there are so many physical needs that need to be met?

I, personally, can honestly say that I know the Lord was pursuing me at a very young age.  I don't even remember the exact time I became a Christian because it's just always seemed that the Lord was with me, guiding me, calling me to Himself.  And it's easy to fall into this trap of believing that God pursued me that strongly because there's something big I'm meant to do with my life, something important.

Or maybe...maybe...God just wants me because He loves me.  And maybe that's better than being important.

And maybe all I have to do is what I have in my hands to do at the time.  I get all riled up and start thinking I can somehow change the world if I work harder, act better, do more more more.  But all the good, hard work in the world is not going to change the fact that I'm a weak fool in need of a Savior.

Do I need to show mercy to others and share that Savior with them?  Yes.

Does that mean that I'm being neglectful of the needs of others if I'm working on something else the Lord has given me to do?  Maybe.  In some circumstances, yes.  But, in this case, I don't think so.  The guilt I feel is not of God.

Because the Lord is creative, and He has breathed that spark of creativity into me.  He has given me dreams and visions, stories and songs.  I'm not a writer because I choose to be.  I'm a writer because that's how God has made me.  And the time was given to me to work on something He had given me to do.  So I did it.  And now I'm just a little bit closer to achieving the goal of being a published writer.  I don't regret it.

I have to say, though.  This week, especially today, has really made me think about balance.  Oh, I'm so wretchedly bad at balance.  I could go on an on about how much I have to work, how little time I have, blah blah blah.  It's an excuse, and not even a very good one.  Everyone is busy.  The thing is, I've got 24 hours every single day with which to use.  True, some of those hours belong to my bosses, but I've still got a lot of time that's mine.  The trick is figuring out how much of that time I'm going to devote to helping others, how much time I'm going to devote to my writing, how much time of that I'm going to use to rest (because rest is important, too...God said so). 

Prayers are appreciated as I continue to try to figure this balancing act out.  I'm greatly encouraged that the Lord is working, both in the lives in this community and in my personal writing life.  Aslan is definitely on the move.

And by the way...

The Stone Table has cracked.  The Lion roars.

Christ is risen!

Pain and Writing

"Pain is good for art." --Richard, Caroline in the City

There was a really lame television show in the 90's which I happened to like called Caroline in the City. Richard was a pessimistic struggling artist, who, whenever something bad inevitably happened to him, would repeat "Pain is good for art." That's pretty much the only thing I remember from the show.

It's a true statement, I suppose. I know there's definitely times when I'm struggling with something, and part of my coping involves writing a poem or short story. There are characters in some of my novels that have only developed as well as they have because I have experienced enough pain in my own life to understand their pain. Pain can be very good for writing, and I find myself grateful to know pain so that I can be a better writer.

At the same time, I have also found myself praying, asking God if there might be a better way. Pain is a great inspiration, but so is happiness. I can be inspired by the sunshine as well as I can be inspired by the rain. But life isn't just happiness, and life isn't just pain. It's the combination of both that make up this wonderful, ridiculous, amazing life.

And stories have to have elements of both pain and happiness, as well. No one wants to read a happy story that doesn't have any conflict in it. Well, maybe some people do, but I am not one of them. A good story, in my opinion, involves realistic characters that experience situations in realistic ways (even if the story is a fantasy). That involves conflict, and conflict involves pain. So when I write, I put my characters through a good deal of torment.

Now, I'm not one of these weird writers who leaves endings unhappy. A story with unresolved conflict is just as wrong as a story with no conflict at all, in my opinion. I like to tie things up neatly, but I like to take my time getting there. A couple of my characters probably hate me for making them go through all that they have to do (yes, I know they aren't real, but they're real to me). If they could speak to me, they'd probably ask me why I keep making them struggle and suffer.

All I can say is that I know how the story ends, and when it does, they will be happier than they've ever been before.

Part of me understands a little of what it must be like to be God. He knows the ending, too. He's revealed to us that it will be a happy, joyful ending, no matter what we're going through. Sometimes that sounds trite when we're in the middle of our struggles, but He always gives us the opportunity to trust Him in whatever's going on.

So whether I have to experience pain because God wants to use it to help me be a better writer, or whether He wants me to experience pain so that I can be a better Christian (there's certainly much in the Bible to support that idea!!), or whether pain is just one of the many experiences everyone has to face in this strange, beautiful story--I have the choice to trust Him.

So, God, I trust You.

Contagious Creativity

"I go into the museum
and look at all the pictures on the walls.
Instead of feeling my own insignificance
I want to go straight home and paint."

--Madeleine L'Engle

Anyone who has read any of my writing in the past (especially "blog-style" writing) knows that I tend to quote three people in excess. Madeleine L'Engle, C. S. Lewis, and Rich Mullins. The first two are dead writers, and other is a dead musician. I quote them quite often because something in their writing and/or their lives has touched me. Something in their writing and/or lives has in some small way changed my life and influenced both the way I live and the way that I write.

I've learned that writers (and perhaps all artists--at least the good ones) are repetitive. I think there's a good reason for this. What writers write is important to them, and sometimes writers feel the need to emphasize over and over again what is important to them. The theme of creativity is something I see repeated throughout Madeleine L'Engle's writing. It was important to her, and it's become important to me.

When I was a fairly young child, perhaps five or six, I remember sitting in a Sunday School class at church, and the teacher asked us a question. She asked us why we thought that God created people. As a child, my childlike answer was, "Maybe God was just lonely." As a grown up--a Bible College/Seminary educated grown up, I know that answer is definitely not true. God doesn't need people to fill a void in Himself, because God doesn't need anything to be God. He already is. He always was. He always will be.

But creativity is something I understand because I am a writer. I know why God created the universe and I know why God created people. God creates because God is a Creator. Creating is what a Creator does. A writer writes because a writer can't help but to write. A singer sings because a singer can't help but to sing. A painter paints because a painter can't help but to paint. One might as well say that a breather breathes because a breather can't help but to breathe.

God creates because God is creative. The truly wonderful thing about God's creation is how complete it is. The world is imperfect, but that's not how it began. According to that first chapter of Genesis, God saw that the things He had made were good. The world is corrupted now, but corruption implies the deterioration of something that was once perfect. And no doubt, it would still be perfect if God hadn't included into creation the element that would allow for that corruption.

I'm not blaming God for the fall of mankind. That was all us. Putting the ability to sin in someone is not the same thing as causing someone to sin. But God did put that ability to sin inside of us--the ability to choose to serve God or to serve ourselves. He knew which one we would ultimately choose, but knowing someone is going to do something is also not the same thing as causing someone to do it.

But God is creative. God wrote (and still writes) the story because God is an Author. And in creating mankind, God did something remarkable. He gave us the power, like Him, to be creative. He made us into His image and breathed life into us, and we are not like the animals nor any other creature in all creation. His breath of creativity is inside us in a way that enables us to create, as well.

The Madeleine L'Engle poem at the beginning of this post is one of my favorite quotes because I understand it completely. Whenever I read something truly moving or hear a song that is particularly beautiful, my first instinct is to want to write something truly moving or particularly beautiful. It's the same thing that happens when I see a sunset or a starry sky or a green field or a powerful mountain. Instead of feeling small, I want to create something big. Creativity breeds creativity.

As a writer, I feel the best compliment is when someone tells me that my writing makes them want to write something, too. Sometimes I wonder if it's better to look at that sunset or starry sky or green field or powerful mountain and just meekly breathe out a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of it all, or if it's better to write a poem or sing a song or paint a picture of it. Perhaps the answer is simply YES. Yes to both. Because if God created us to be creative beings, then perhaps the best praise is humbly imitating His creative power in the knowledge that what He created and what we create is good.