looking through me

Tag: expectations

April 14, 2016

still at work

My image of God is shaped by His roles: Father, Judge, Redeemer, Shepherd, Savior. Yet lately one role has been more prevalent than the others . . . Artist.

I watch Him paint the sunrise morning after morning. I feel Him molding and sculpting me. Some days He seems to do more editing—more tweaking and wordsmith-ing—than writing.

But He is always creating. The artistry didn’t end when the first six days of creation were declared good.

He isn’t an artist because He made something beautiful once upon a time. He isn’t living off residuals. He isn’t parading around the gallery pontificating about His long-completed works.

No, He is still in the studio.

Today He scripts grace and truth into the story.
Today He chisels calloused hearts.
Today He weaves good into grief.
Today He pastes peace onto the collage of chaos.
Today He feeds the deepest hunger.
Today He holds the tension of minor chords before resolving them at the perfect moment.
Today He sands selfish edges into compassion-rounded corners.
Today He sings over His children.
Today He mixes the colors of hardship and pain with hope and joy.
Today He builds refuges for overwhelmed souls.
Today He knits together the future.
Today He speaks life.

Today the Artist is at work. And it is good.

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April 4, 2016

sometimes

Sometimes.

Ninety percent of the time I start writing with the word sometimes.

Sometimes I think . . .
Sometimes I wonder . . .
Sometimes . . .

Even as I type it I’m trying to edit it out, but if I don’t start with sometimes, I might not start at all. Because starting is hard. In writing. And in life.

Signing up for the class. Asking for help. Getting out of bed. Making the phone call. Breaking a habit. Making a habit.

Hard, hard, hard. The first step is a doozy.

The first word is no different. So I put on my floaties and wade into the water with the safety of sometimes.

Because rituals help. We need to tap the bat on our cleats before we go up to bat. We need to twirl our pen or rub our necklace. We need to put on the left sock before the right sock or take off our glasses before brushing our teeth. No? Just me?

I need the security of rhythms. I need to find the steady beat and fall in step with it. I need muscle memory to take over because my mind is filled with what ifs. What if I don’t have any words left? What if I can’t finish what I start? What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not perfect? What if I’m not perfect?

Sometimes is how I propel myself from stationary to starting. Sometimes is how I hush the fears and brave the waters.

And once I’m in? I wonder why I was so scared in the first place . . . sometimes.

 

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