Archive | Creativity RSS feed for this section

A Tenacious Focus

Even if you have a difficult father to overcome, as I did, God wants to father you into all he's made you to be. That sentence capsulizes my memoir, Trading Fathers. When I first began to write my story of wrestling with God, honing that sentence took six months. Getting the story in a sentence is a good starting place for writing, especially a piece of creative non-fiction. "Creative" means using fiction techniques, like dialogue and scene, to tell a non-fiction story.

Writing a book requires a tenacious focus. Every scene chosen must contribute to the story's forward movement. Dialogue must be carefully crafted to convey character. Every page needs to express the theme. 

Sometimes I wonder. Has God formulated our story in a sentence? Is he writing the story of our lives with a similar intensity of focus?

He knows where he wants the story to go. His general theme is "making us into the image of Jesus" so we can walk with him in holiness, lest we burn up near his "consuming fire." Is he crafting the scenes of our lives as carefully as I crafted the scenes of my memoir?

And what's our part in the story? We seem to be more than characters, but less than authors.What mysteries we populate. Plots and subplots yet to be lived. Endings sure but unclear to us, the characters. And yet, most of the time, I'm grateful not to be the author of my own life. I've written a book. It's hard work. Being a character is God's great story isn't always easy, either, but not so hard as being the author.

Father, author of life, source of being. May we submit our whole hearts to the story you are writing.

Comments { 0 }

iTV Will Change our Lives

"When we install fiber-optic, it wipes out the cable companies." A phone company worker was speaking to my husband last week, as the workers were installing new lines in our area. Fiber-optic so enriches the transmission through DSL lines that internet TV is decimating traditional TV.

The future of TV is on the internet because it can be so niched. For the last fifty years, TV has been a mass market medium. It's been programming produced by a few, for the many.  We've been expected to enjoy what everyone else likes.

Internet TV, on the other hand, can be TV produced by the many for the few. But the few are not such a small group. The niche of those who've been raised by abusive fathers, for example, is large. iTV can target the needs of that group. Whether with stories, teaching, or interviewing programs like Oprah, iTV can be more responsive to the interests of specific niche groups, in a way that traditional TV cannot.

Earlier this week, I spent some time at the studios of Hopes, Goals and Dreams iTV network.  See the video trailer I made for Trading Fathers: Forgiving Dad, Embracing God.  The technology is now so advanced that the quality is excellent.

Blogs and Twitter and the other social media are changing how people connect with others. How will internet TV change the world? I don't know. How will it change your life? My life? Who can say? We are in a time of immense change in the world, comparable to the industrial revolution. Sociologists talk about the unexpected consequences of massive social changes. We live in unpredictable times.

I am grateful to walk with a stable, reliable, good Papa-God. We can rely on him to carry us through, to bring his good from these days, and to accomplish his purposes in our lives and in history. Glory.

Father, May we rest in your arms during these unpredictable days.

Comments { 0 }

One Right Way?

Jerry and I do everything differently. That struck me recently, when I noticed the half a banana standing on the counter. If I eat a banana, I'll eat the whole thing. Even though we're both right-handed, he pulls the wax paper with his right hand, holding it with his left, while I do the opposite. And I wash dishes under running water, while he bathes them in a sink full of suds,

I don't know why it struck me so strongly in the last few months that our methods of doing everything differ. We've been married since we were children, practically, and now we're comforting each other in our aches and pains of early old age. It's like it just dawned on me.

Early in the marriage, I worked pretty hard to get Jerry to do things my way. I guess what's struck me now is how much I've given that quest up. And our differences add spice, not conflict, to our relationship.

But it sure is easy to think our way is the right way, isn't it? Am I the only one who wants everyone to see the value of my point of view?Talking with a friend the other day, we agreed, with laughter, that we each knew best–about practically everything. After all, hadn't we gathered lots of knowledge and wisdom in the last fifty years?

Ahhh. True wisdom is appreciating and celebrating differences. God loves differences, or we would be clones of Adam and Eve. How boring would that be?

Maybe this is obvious to you. But it's not obvious to those of us who grew up in families where there was one right way to do everything. Just so you know.

Papa, thanks for being a God who loves variety and difference.

Comments { 2 }

Holding On

I've been waiting a long time for my book in my hand. What I'm waiting for is just around the corner. I've been here before, in other times of waiting. This is the time when I get tense and wish it was here, already. It's a familiar time, but not welcome.

Small things frustrate me. I want to eat chocolate. It is that time when I can finally let myself feel the anticipation/fear/excitement/frustration and whatever else vies for expression. I know the time is short.

Unlike a year ago, when I was also waiting. Then, I couldn't let myself feel anything. I had to keep on, keep plugging away, keep believing the goal would really be realized.

Now, however, I can afford the luxury of feeling. I won't wear myself out, like I would if I'd let myself feel all year. Now, the time is soon. The intensity of feeling won't be much longer. Relief is coming.

We're all waiting for something. We're waiting for the Kingdom to come. Waiting for a wedding. Waiting for a child. Waiting for a job. Waiting for peace. Waiting for joy. Waiting for hope. 

I'm enduring. We are enduring. Some days, that's all we do. We hold on–to the one who has hold of us.

And here's something fun I did while I'm waiting, using Wordle. This program makes a cloud display of the words you enter with size based on frequency of use. I notice "waiting" is pretty big.

(Tip: After the file opens, hit the button for rotating clockwise for easier reading)

http://www.wordle.net/

Poetry Words

Comments { 0 }

Beginning to Believe

I’m
fifty-eight. I’m beginning to believe in myself.

One of
the results of childhood abuse has been a difficulty with believing in my own
judgment. My childish belief, “I should have known not to go with my father
that terrible day,” has warped my self-image.

The
length of time this healing has taken is a measure of the depth of the
infirmity. God has taught me, with patient and persistent repetition, to
recognize my decision-making abilities.  (I
just edited the second sentence, from “one of the results is” to “one of the results has
been.” That says it all.)

How hard
it is to see oneself with God’s objectivity. The sin against us, especially
against our vulnerable child selves, leaves subtle and lasting marks. Those
who’ve been neglected often feel worth less than their parent’s time:  worthless. Those who’ve been bullied by
classmates struggle with powerlessness. In this fallen world, we struggle with the
many consequences of others’ sin.

And yet,
God. God, who is making us into the image of Jesus. God, for whom nothing is
too difficult. God, who promises never to leave or forsake you. God, who
believes in you. That God is healing us, making us fit for his kingdom.

Father, show
us today how to cooperate in the healing you are working into our hearts.

 

Comments { 2 }

A Quilting Lesson

On Tuesday, my daughter Jenn and I spent the morning sewing.
She had fabric left over from a previous quilt that I pulled out while she cut
strips for her next one. She has a sharp eye for color, so her leftovers went together
easily. I sketched a simple box on box pattern. After choosing a background
piece, I randomly started cutting squares—two inch, one and a half inch, one
inch, and half an inch. I eyeballed them into a symmetrical pattern. When Jenn
looked at my design, she shifted a few pieces here and there into a less
predictable style that I liked better.

 

At the sewing machine, I stitched the stacks of fabric
squares. Again, I just estimated the line placement. By the time I finished them,
two out of the nine crossings on top of the half inch squares crossed closely.
The other seven caught the little square in the middle, but imprecisely.

 

Precision, in quilting, is not essential. Yes, the best quilters
are precise. But no quilt is perfect. That’s what the people in Paducah, Kentucky told us once when we visited the Museum of the American Quilter's Society. Quilts are celebrations of color and shape. The colors of my little nine by nine and a quarter piece please me. (I planned a
nine by nine, but miscalculated when I pieced the back.) The shapes draw my eye
in a pleasant arc. I don’t notice the irregular stitching. Quilting is a
forgiving art. I will enjoy this little colorful refreshment hanging on the
wall next to my computer.

 

God quilts together the pieces of our lives. He arranges the
colors and shapes into a pattern than pleases him. He rejoices in the process,
forgiving our imprecision and imperfection. When we’re done, he will gather us
all into his great museum of glory. What a refreshment of joy that will be!

 

Father, help us forgive ourselves our own imperfections and
imprecision. At this beginning of another earth cycle around the sun, let us
know your forgiveness in a fresh way.  

 

Comments { 0 }

Handmade Beauty

In junior college, thirty-eight years ago, a sociology professor predicted the current resurgence of handcrafted items. He said the increasing mechanization and mass culture would create a desire for the personal, the handmade, and the individualized.

I was reminded of that prediction this morning when I ran across an admonition to Buy Homemade this holiday season. In the last five years, my husband and I have sold our handmade jewelry, made of Jerry's lampworked beads and my silver designs. We've discontinued that business as my memoir nears publication, but the pleasure of the personal transaction remains. Our customers received not only bits of beauty made by the hands of someone they'd met, but we enjoyed the many conversations about life and art that resulted. I've yet to have such a conversation with a Wal-Mart clerk.

I'd be dishonest if I said I don't appreciate the standard of living I enjoy because of the mechanization of, say, towels. I can afford absorbent, soft pieces of fabric to dry my hands because they are mass-produced in quantities large enough to allow middle-class Americans to buy them. Pioneers probably made do with linen they grew, spun, and wove themselves. But even more, I appreciate my mother-in-law's watercolors–personal, handmade, and some of them, individualized. Several are painted from photos I took.

This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful Jesus is personal and treats us each individually. He knows our hearts and our needs. He speaks personally in ways we can hear–images for some, the still, small voice for another, "feelings" for others. He takes the lives we give him and, like a craftperson, weaves beauty.

Father, thank you for all the beauty you have created, are creating, and will create–by your hand.

Comments { 0 }

Seed Believer

 

Lotus

Frankly, I was an unbeliever. When my husband harvested seeds from a roadside lotus plant a few years ago, I didn’t believe we could really grow it. But I kept my mouth shut as he dug a deep hole, set a plastic garbage can, and planted the seeds in soil weighted with stones in the deep water. The first two years, only the round leaves perched on tall stems stood out among our backyard tangle of coneflowers, coreopsis, and cosmos. But in the third year, it bloomed! Not only did the plant grow from the found seeds, it reproduced itself, beautifully.

How many seeds are languishing in our lives because we don’t believe they can grow? Seeds of greatness or at least of goodness. Ways we could bloom if we could just believe it was possible. We don’t pursue what we don’t believe is possible. We vaguely dream of impossible activities, but we don’t plan to make them happen. We don’t go back to school to learn new skills. We don’t call the local SCORE business counselors to help us start a new business if we have no vision of success. We don’t get off the couch if we feel like seedless soil.

Granted, seeds don’t always come to fruition. But seeds will for sure not grow if they are left in the seed bin. Only those that are exposed to light, air, and water will take root.

Jesus, please show us the seeds you want to nourish in our lives and give us grace to let them grow.

Comments { 0 }

The Possiblities of Loss


For the past 10 years of our 36 year marriage, my husband
and I have slept in different rooms. I resisted that for several years, but
finally we decided we really had to sleep apart if either of us were to sleep
well—I snored, his legs twitched. I cried myself to sleep, pouring out my heart
to God, alone in what had been our bedroom, for the first four days. On the
fifth morning, I woke up with the thought: 
“There are some advantages to this.”

 

I went to the paint store and found a deep red for the walls.
Wide white crown molding joins the red walls to the off-white ceiling. On a
trip to an Illinois river town, I found a cotton lace valance. Because I needed
to only please myself, I could decorate in a style I liked. What I grieved,
the warm closeness, we actually do more of since we sleep apart. We snuggle
and pray every morning and night in a way we didn’t when we slept together.

 

Sometimes the outcomes we most resist have unforeseen
blessings. When we grieve our losses, God uses his endless creativity to redeem
that pain. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” is a call
to grieve fully. If I’d stayed angry and sad and kept that to myself rather
than crying out to God on those first four nights, would I have seen the
possibilities? I wonder. God meets us in our honest grief.

 

Father, at the right times and in the right ways, help us to
mourn our losses. Amid those losses, may we see your possibilities.  

Comments { 0 }

In Creative Hands

Tuesday night I made a purse out of loose ends I found around the house. I cut the body out of the legs of black cotton jeans, discarded when I was 40 pounds heavier. The zipper I ripped out of a fanny pack on which “Gold Strike” was embroidered. I don’t know what that phrase means or where it came from, except the back of my closet.

I stiffened the sides with reinforced plastic left over from our old jewelry business sign. The ribbed nylon strap I repurposed from a fleece stadium blanket carrier. I don’t do football. But I do do creativity. I love making new functionality out of useless objects. The purse is just the right size for my wallet, phone, and voice recorder, and the strap is just the right length so the bag is tucked under my arm.

Isn’t that what our creative God does with previously useless pieces of our lives? Those third grade piano lessons? The daydream you had when you were sixteen about piloting an airplane? What about the idea in early adulthood to preach the gospel in the inner city?

Are they really loose ends that God won’t do anything with? Or will God yet use them in unexpected ways? Will he soon sew together previously useless objects into a container that will carry his glory into the world?

Father, you are the master Creator. Help us believe that you will yet mold the useless parts of our lives into patterns that you will fill with your glory. 

Comments { 0 }