With My Own Two Hands

I had a little revelation the other night when I was making "Bugs on a Log," one of my favorite childhood snacks, for dinner. For those of you who don't know, Bugs on a Log consists of celery sticks with peanut butter on them and raisins stuck in the peanut butter, looking like little bugs sitting on a log. It is so good. Anyway, making "Bugs on a Log" is a pretty time consuming task because you have to spread the peanut butter in the little trenches of the celery, and the peanut butter I have is the natural kind and it's chunky, so it's really hard to spread. After spreading the peanut butter and filling the little trenches, you have to dig out some raisins and place each one in the peanut butter. I made about 6 "logs," and it took me close to 20 minutes probably. I could have cooked a real dinner in that amount of time! It seems like a bit of a waste, right? I could have delved into something much more convenient and much more filling during that time. That is missing part of the point of eating "Bugs on a Log" in the first place...making it is half the fun! I realized in this process that I love making things with my hands. This is something I have been aware of for a while now, but this process of making a whimsical children's snack reminded me of how much joy I get out of making things with my own two hands.

I got to thinking, since we have been studying Genesis in church lately, about the curse that God proclaims to Adam and Eve. Eve is given the great duty of bearing children in pain (yay) and Adam is to toil and tend to the land. God wants man to work. It's not that Adam has to work to earn anything back from God, God just needs him to keep himself busy so that maybe he has the potential for giving in to fewer distractions in life. God gave man and woman consequences to help them remember the time that they strayed from God. He wants them to remember their dependence on Him.

Now, I don't know about you, but generally I hate the fact that people have to work. I don't even really understand how our society developed into the one it is today, where someone can be working as an iPhone app developer, making a living off of a random job supporting something totally unnecessary. (That's a topic for another day, I think). I am at that point in my life where I am realizing that even though I want to spend my life doing things I want to do, I have to work in order to survive in this society, whether it's a pointless job that aligns with my worldview and life philosophy or not. That may or may not be what God had intended when he cursed Adam with work, but nonetheless, it's the truth of the matter. It's the reality in my society. In American culture I feel like it is often hard to see the purpose of work, but if I think about people living in other places, like Ethiopia, they are working truly to make a living. They grow their own food in order to eat and hopefully to sell the abundance of what they have for a variety of other things that other people might be selling. From childhood, they learn to work with their families and they spend their lives working, too, even though it may not be in order to buy a new car or flat screen TV.

Being unemployed has given me even more insight into the idea of work. I do not like sitting in my apartment doing nothing. It is not as glamorous as it seems! I am usually so bored and unmotivated. When I have work to do or a schedule to follow, I get enjoyment out of that. I feel purposeful, and honestly I just like doing things with my hands. One of my remedies to the lack of work is making work for myself. I cook usually for both lunch and dinner. I don't have a microwave, so when I mean cook, I really mean it. This has been a tremendously enjoyable activity. Not only am I using my hands and working, but I am also using my creativity, thinking about what flavors go well together, what colors would make the dish look more appetizing, and what kinds of tweaking I could do to the recipes to make them my own. It's amazingly therapeutic and a great creative outlet. As some of you know, I have been struggling with expressing myself in the ways that I normally express myself (mostly through making visual art of some kind), but I am glad to see that other outlets have been presenting themselves. Cooking, playing and writing music, writing on my blog and journaling, plus a little art-making on the side makes for a very aesthetically pleasing "work"-filled life.

Sometimes I think that creating for a living would be so satisfying, but then I remember all the times when I was really frustrated because I couldn't create anything for long amounts of time and I don't think that I would like the pressure of my livelihood standing solely on my ability to create. Being a music teacher is the outflow of my creative desires because I get to teach other people how to engage in expression and creativity without having to exhaust myself by creating and expressing my own ideas and feelings on demand.

When I do get a job, the balance between all of those creative processes will have to look a bit different, although I know I will never stop doing those things completely. I'm really okay with that, as expressing myself all the time can sometimes make me feel crazy. Focused self-awareness and expression, although needed, can become daunting and exhausting tasks. Having some other mindless tasks or even tasks that take the focus away from myself will bring the needed balance to my life, not to mention that every Christian in the world who feels they are living the most purposeful life feels that from serving others and not just themselves. The most interesting thing to me, though, is that no matter the circumstances or motives, I always feel the need to be doing something active, measurable, and purposeful with myself, whether I am earning a living from that work or not. We were cursed to toil, and toil we must.

True Friend?

Source

I have been struggling in a relationship with a "friend" of mine...I don't know whether to call her my friend or not because I haven't really decided if I like her or not...hence, the struggle.

Her name is Grief. What? You know her? I thought you might...

Grief is not the life of the party...not that fun to have around or keep around...

But, sometimes she is so good for me. Grief knows how to push me into places that I am too fearful to venture into. She doesn't just leave me there, either. She helps me move forward. I have always realized these things about Grief's character, and usually I am pretty good at being friends with most people. In the past I have chosen to embrace Grief, despite her overall nature of making people cry, scream, fall, question, doubt, run, etc. I know that she brings truth, that reality that is many times too hard for me to realize on my own, but lately I have been avoiding Grief. I know. I am a terrible person for trying to avoid her. I have just not been wanting to be in the places that she often takes me. Normally, I would be totally willing, but this time, I just don't want to.

I know. I feel kind of bad. She means well. She wants to help me. Maybe I should let her into my life more. A little bit of Grief can't hurt, right?

Wrong. Grief hurts. A lot. And that hurt doesn't usually go away so quickly. Maybe I have been avoiding the grieving process because I know how much energy and time and life it takes out of me. Maybe it's because I know how much I hurt and how much crying I would need to do before the grieving was over. I am fearful of entering a state of depression or of facing my hurt at all.

The reality of the situation, though, is that Grief needs to come over to my apartment and hang out with me for a little while. She always knows the right time to leave, and she usually brings her delightful friend Hope with her when she visits me. The reality of the situation is that I am hurting. I am not the only one hurting.

I have spent a bit of time during the past few months telling myself, "This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not what I intended to make of this situation at all. It's chaos. It's fallen apart. It was beautiful, and now when I try to fix anything, it falls apart in my hands." I only let those thoughts linger for a moment before seeking out an escape from them. Those are the reality, though. I am not in control, and when I try to be in control, I royally screw things up. I am not in charge of my future. I cannot control other people and make them into what I think they should and could be. Wake up call-- I am not God. I should not try to BE God.

As I said before, I am not the only one hurting in this whole thing. God and Grief are actually (unfortunately? fortunately?) pretty good friends ever since Adam and Eve took that big step toward their demise. And Cain and Abel. And Lot. And Judah. And David. And Solomon. And all those other people that tried to please God, but still inevitably screwed up their lives. God grieves over the world and the trouble that inhabits it. God grieved when he saw that no one on the earth was pursuing Him except for Noah. God grieved when he saw that he had to flood the entire earth. God grieves with every small and large scandal, violence, war, hatred, prejudice, immorality, unjustness that happens on this side of heaven.

God grieves and says, "This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not what I intended to make of this situation at all. It's chaos. It's fallen apart. It was beautiful, and now when I try to fix anything, people rip it apart in my hands." God places us and sets us up for the greatest good we could ever know, and we run away in fear, wanting to control it because it feels safer to us. Then we end up in the ditch wondering how we got there and why God has left us. God did not leave. I left and refused to admit my fear. God grieves for me, even if I can't muster up the courage to accept the fact that I should be grieving, too.

So now it begins. Decidedly. I am going to send Grief an invitation into my life so that I can move forward, relinquish whatever control I am deceiving myself to have, and let God direct my path. Grief will help me scramble out of the thorny bushes, out of my embarrassment, and back into the warmth of the light peeking through the storm clouds and shining on the path.

Grief, want to be my friend again, if only for a time?

Desire and Want

Desire and Want are two characters that play huge roles in the drama that is my life. I spend countless hours attempting to deconstruct them and pick them apart in order to understand every facet of each one of them. My desires and wants often tug heavily on my heart, sometimes to a point where I fail to understand them for who they really are. Sometimes I know and feel assured that my desires and wants are God-given, that he wove them with passion into my very being, never to be separated from who I am. Sometimes, though, Desire and Want are parasitic selfish pursuits that mask any work God is doing in my life.

Desire haunts me. Want grasps tightly to me. What if my desires and wants are not what God wants for me? I often desire and then wait to let God hand over the object of my desire to me. When he doesn't, I feel wronged. I ask, "Why was this desire placed in me in the first place?!" I grow in anger and frustration when my heart itself deceives me and pulls me farther from the trust that I owe my Father. Yes, he has given me desires and wants; he has knitted my soul together, complete with all character traits, personality quirks, and desires and wants. These things are also subject to sin, though. Even though God himself lives in me, my sinful nature is still residing there, too. (I hate that.)

Years ago, I desired that God come into my life and tear it up a bit. I decided to follow the truth presented through Christ's death for all of man on the cross, and I knew that would take immense sacrifice. Did I remember that "sacrifice" could mean obeying God to such a limit as Abraham did? Did I realize that I could be asked to sacrifice my own kin? Did I realize that only when my arm was raised in obedience would God send me a sheep in place of my own kin? I don't think I could realize that at the time that I decided to surrender my life to follow God. I am realizing it more today, although I know I am slow at learning these types of things and it will probably take me a lifetime to truly understand.

Desire and Want are the two daughters borne from my very heart and affecting every action I make. Unfortunately, I have not yet stepped out of myself to sacrifice my own kin. Desire and Want are entangled in the web of my sin: my selfishness, my pride, my rationality, my independence...I tend to be really overwhelmed by this. I try to change myself, change the people around me, change my environment, learn about myself more, learn about other people more, but I forget about this one Person who has a bigger effect on my life than any of those things.

Today, I found some good news in a little old devotional book I found years ago called Gates of Beauty. December 13th's entry begins with some very wise words: "We have spoken much in recent years about Christians building the kingdom of God, of letting God work through us; as thought God were a victim of our indifference, stalled until we get ready to cooperate with him. There is both truth and falsehood in believing this. In a very real way, God will use us if we give ourselves to him with humble spirits. But even if we do not, that does not take the initiative out of God's hands."

It is such a comfort to me to remember the magnitude of God's power outside of my understanding of my own power. God dwells in me, and he can change me whether I am willing to let him change me or not. Even when I feel that transforming Desire and Want seems nearly impossible, that I cannot sacrifice my own dear daughters, God still intervenes there. If Abraham would have chickened out of sacrificing his own son, what would God have done? He would have taught him some other really hard lessons to learn in some other really hard way. God does not leave us behind if we are failing to get his message to us (which I feel like I probably do a lot of the time).

The devotional entry goes on, " God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son." How little men had to do with this act of God for our salvation! God took the initiative and sent Christ because he loved us, not because men were ready and clamoring for his coming. The whole story of Jesus is one to give us confidence in God's way of dealing with sin, not in men's way. For even when sinful men crucified Christ, God in his way brought victory out of defeat. 'God so loved the world...,' 'while we were yet sinners, Christ dies for us.' From beginning to end, it is God's hand that controls and acts, turning the pages of history to bring to pass his divine purposes,--while we were yet sinners."

My Father is a relentless pursuer. I hoard up what I think are treasures in my heart and on this earth, and no matter if I surrender those or not, he busts through the door of my heart and pillages any sin that I should be willingly sacrificing. Jesus already died for all my sins; that's why I need to let them go. I need to throw my stored up "treasures" out the window and into the river to be swept away and burdening me no more. Whether I do that myself or not, God will not let me continually flounder, fall, and fail. His love is bigger than my love for Desire and Want. As much as it hurts me to tear Desire and Want from my heart, it grieves God even more when I do not.

Surrender is stripping myself down to bare bones and letting God clothe me in righteousness. God doesn't want to put me through the embarrassment of stripping me down himself, but, like a good Father preparing a child for a long soak in the tub, he will do it if I don't, no matter how embarrassed I might be. He would rather embarrass me than let me destroy myself by sitting and rotting in my own filth.

Thank God for his mercy.

Self-Expression

There are many things I could write about in this post, as there are a million and one things happening right now-- life changes, heart changes, mind changes-- but instead I'll take to tackling the task of rediscovering my love for art.

One of the most fulfilling things about my life as a human is the ability to express myself. Sometimes I can do it, sometimes others do it for me, but nonetheless, whenever my thoughts are put into music, words, or visual art of some kind, I feel so fulfilled.


I am realizing more and more how inexplicable the affect of art on our souls (or maybe just my soul?) really is. I cannot argue to someone why art is so important in the life of people. I cannot make any logical explanation for why I feel a great sense of peace in those moments when I am accepting my emotions and creating something out of that acceptance. I cannot explain to anyone else why someone else's  lyrics and music can make my heart beat in time and rhythm with what I hear. I cannot explain what relief it is to pound my feet on the floor and swirl my hands all in the air along with the insistent bass of an upbeat song. I cannot explain why when I create something with my own hands I feel as though I was able to pull my thoughts through my fingers and display them in a more understandable way. Try talking to me-- see the pleasure I take in each breath and each sincere proclamation from the floors of my heart chambers, at least when the words are there. When they aren't there, watch to see how my heart is reflected. It is equally raw and real.


Some things I really love about art-- Sillohuettes. Darkness. Tints. Shadows. Unexpected twists and turns. Saturated colors. Texture. Depth. Symbolism. Analogies. Purpose. Meaning. Deliberation. Variety. People within their art.


Art is honest in ways that words alone cannot be. Art conveys its honesty in different levels to different people-- no worries about feeling out that awkward situation and searching for just the right small talk to engage in. Art can break the awkwardness with a bold statement, it can mask the awkwardness subtly, or it can present a distracting focus from the awkwardness altogether without feeling the effects of any of those actions. 


I really love honesty and vulnerability because I think people benefit from stepping outside of their fear and comfort. I am coming to understand, though, that not a lot of people can handle the honest me I often present. I am often times really awkward and/or overwhelming or I come off as aggressive/opinionated/emotionally unstable. Unfortunately, I present myself in nautical knot form. Not many people understand the nautical knots I present in the first place, but when I hold back I tie myself into wrongside-out nautical knots. (Try visualizing that one.) People tend to exhaust me for this reason. I exhaust myself already simply attempting to decipher the code of my thoughts, and when I strive equally to express myself to other people, I'm doubly exhausted.


With art, though, feedback from people isn't necessary. I deeply hope that my art can communicate with people like a lot of art communicates to me, but I may not ever see that communication even if it does occur. I would love to see and hear how people respond to my art, but if I never do, I don't mind because of how fulfilling it is simply to create. The internet provides a similar forum of expression because I can post whatever I want to express and not expect anyone to read it or respond to it. I am not sitting and typing this right to anyone so I don't expect feedback. When I expect feedback I am often disappointed, and with the internet I can express simply for expression's sake. For art's sake. Maybe also to shield from disappointment, but is that such a bad thing?















The next thing to discover: how to make mistakes successfully and make them beautiful, in both art and life.

Fall Fiction

The leaves crunched under the rubber soles of her shoes as she carefully and swiftly walked across the greenish-brown lawn on the south side of the park property. The sun was shining and the sky was so blue it made the sun shine brighter, enough to make her slip on her sunglasses as she eyed a nearby tree to sit under. She noticed a woman on the far side of the lawn painting or drawing a landscape and a young couple walking a small dog. It was a beautiful day to be outside and to be inspired.

She rolled out her patchwork blanket under the medium-large tree she found. There was nothing unordinary about this tree, as all the trees in the park were medium-large and losing their leaves as this one was. After unrolling her blanket, she sat to observe and to soak up the sunshine a little while longer. She saw a few more people jogging and walking along the path. She could hear children laughing and shouting, and she strained her eyes to see bits of the playground through the line of trees to her right. The sun warmed her, and she peeled off her sweater before unlatching her case and removing her instrument.

She wondered if she would write a new song about this day: the weather, the unspoken stories of the people around her, or the animals that she had observed. Maybe she would sing a familiar song and someone would walk by and sing along silently. Maybe she would sing a song that was familiar to herself so she could be alone. She laid her fingers across the strings and started playing a melancholy song. The enigma of the melody twisted around her hand, went straight into her heart where it lingered only for a few seconds before bumping off her tongue and exiting through her teeth as words. The words flowed naturally, as if someone was whispering them for her to repeat for the birds or the dogs or the people around her to hear but not fully understand.

The Mask I wear becomes me.
I become the Mask I wear.
They don’t really know.
They don’t care to know.
Their Masks become them, too.

You are you and I am me.
You be you, and I’ll be me.
Do what’s you,
Be who you want to be,
Set free.
Then we can be we,
When you are you and I am me.