I'm sometimes asked how long it takes for me to write a book. In my mind I'm thinking, "Years." My standard answer is, "Usually longer than I think it will." It can be tempting to "skip to the end." In other words, only appreciating the end product. A beautiful cover, engaging back-cover copy and an endorsement from a talented writer. The final outcome is hours and hours and hours and hours invested over an unknown timeframe. It isn't healthy to dwell on outcomes. They are best released. Far better to concentrate on consistency as one pursues any creative endeavor. When can I grab a few minutes to write a paragraph or a few measures of music? It is difficult to find large swaths of time to create for most of us. We are working full-time, taking care of children or elderly parents. We are commuting an hour to work, then over an hour to get back home. NIghtmare traffic. We have birthdays to attend, bills to pay. We must get to the gym. Where do we find any time to pursue art? Is it even possible? "I won't think about playing my violin until I retire." "I'll pull the Julia Child cookbook out when the kids are in school." "It's too much trouble to get to that theatre production. I'll have to find parking." I know. I say those things too. "I'll just watch one more re-run of The Big Bang Theory instead of writing a few sentences about the sunset I witnessed on my walk. I'm tired. Who really cares anyway?" Perhaps no one will care. But eventually I will feel worse that I didn't shut the television off and pull out my journal. Just writing a few lines can rejuvenate my tired mind and body. Art does that.
We need encouragement to pursue our creative endeavors. Here are a few validating messages from Julia Cameron (taken from her book, Finding Water, The Art of Perseverance):
~Many of us expect our creativity to be dramatic. This is seldom the case. Very occasionally, we will have a flash of insight or intuition but more often we will experience a slow and steady course. Our creativity resembles sunlight more than lightning. Even in dark times, this is true.
~When artists are working regularly, they are spiritually centered. The act of making art is a spiritual act and our daily exposure to this realm does have an impact on our personality. It does not matter what language we use to describe it. Art puts us in touch with a power greater than ourselves. This conscious contact brings us a sense of optimism and grace. As we sense that there is a benevolent Something inclined toward helping us and our work, we begin to feel a sense of companionship. Higher forces are at our side. We are not alone.
~As artists, we need to work through many kinds of weather. It is lovely when we have a day of halcyon weather, when we wake up eager to work and have a day stretching out ahead of us filled with space and time. More often, we will feel resistant. We will move grudgingly and under half steam. Some of our best work is done under the least favorable conditions. We grab twenty minutes to write, telling ourselves it is barely worth the attempt and our sentences come flying to the page with winged feet. We go to the easel knowing we are going to be grabbing a few quick strokes before another interruption looms, but with those quick strokes we execute a tricky part of the portrait. It is done before we know it.
It was not a "halcyon weather" writing day. I had to stay several hours later at work than I usually do--a patient in distress. Intervention needed. When I got home, all I wanted to do was flop down on the sofa and turn on the TV. Yet I couldn't resist looking out the window. I stood on the porch and witnessed the sunset. I pulled out my journal...
The sky sings, breathing colors. Layers of orchid and blue, laced with light. Tree branches frame patches of persimmon and gold. Here I am embraced, surrounded, drenched in creation's hymn.
Mysteries, Yes
Truly we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the scars of damage, to the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say "Look!" and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads. ~Mary Oliver
What will I pack this time? My ninth trip across the ocean to my husband's homeland. Italy. In the past, I've packed too much. Too many pairs of shoes. Clothes I never wore. Freighted. Weighted down. "This time will be different," I say to myself. I look at my new suitcase, the color of eggplant. I place a few garments and some tolietries inside. A hat. My journal. I lift the small bag. If I had to, I could carry the luggage for miles, it's so lightweight. The "mystery" of "less is more."
Packing for the trip makes me think, too, of "life luggage." What are the issues and attitudes that weigh me down as I move forward in life? Could I not be just as selective, carrying only the things that bring lightness to my life? Giovanni and I were checking-out at Walmart this morning. The woman overseeing the DIY checkout service exhibited impatience and arrogance. She was bossy and controlling. She frowned incessantly. I thought to myself, "Why are you even at work today with such a deplorable attitude? You're acting like helping us is the last thing you want to do. Why are you even here?" I could feel my anger rising. My judgment spilling over. I caught myself. It wasn't worth it. How could I know what was going on for her? Why would I let a person I didn't even know ruin my day? Why would I hang on to angry, judgmental attitudes? "God, help her. Give her a better day. Give her a better life." Such a simple thing--deciding not to carry things that aren't mine--that I don't need. The mystery of "letting go." The joy of traveling lighter.
One year ago, I lay in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery to remove a cancerous tumor. Today, I placed my wigs on stands, covered them in plastic and put them away with some reverance. They acted as my friends on all those vulnerable days when I was bald. Now I have a head crowned with silver. One more mystery, yes. These days I look in the mirror and say "Look!" I laugh in astonishment and bow my head.
The conference room was too small--all of us sitting just slightly too close together. My introverted self rebelled at not having enough personal space. I gripped my coffee cup, thankful for its comforting warmth. I attended a development day with my colleagues to determine how we would handle changes coming our way with the expansion of our program. I looked down at the day's agenda outlined on the handout devised by the program manager. Small print. Thin margins. My anxiety increased. How would we ever get through all the details? How would I ever be able to cope with the work set before me? These changes appeared to imply longer work hours. Increased stress. I was a tight rope walker looking down at a yawning canyon with no net in sight.
The day ended, and I breathed a sigh relief, grateful to be released from the small enclosure, and left wondering how I would ever be able to accomplish the tasks expected of me. I wanted to give up. I wanted to quit. I wanted to explore how I might retire earlier than planned. The work load seemed too much. It was too much. Impossible.
This medley of impossibilities left me pondering and asking questions. "How would I view these challenges in a way that counteracted dread in my life?" "What would my coping style look like?"
I believe living days in a state of "dread" is a depressing way to approach life. I would wrap my days in gratefulness, thanking God for opportunites to learn in the difficulties, expecting His provision, His supply, His joy, HIs wisdom, His grace. I would explore the possibility of encountering His rest amidst the chaos and uncertainty--a counterintuitive thought process--the expectation of the net at the bottom of the canyon. I would fall. I would make mistakes. But the net would be there to break the falls. Increase my confidence. Keep me up on the wire, so to speak.
And coping?
One day at a time. Working hard. Leaving the worksite on time. "Easy does it."
Walks in nature. Movement.
Times with loved ones.
Pursue my book project.
Go on vacation with my husband (This one is challenging--few people at the worksite take time off. I have to fight hard against guilt, even though I have hundreds of hours of time off on the books.)
Listening to podcasts that inspire me. Make me laugh.
Going to the library and losing myself amidst the shelves. Finding books. Reading.
I sensed God say to me that He often uses impossible situations to allow me to experience His movement in my life. I sensed He is encouraging me to utilize and receive more of His abundant supply--to increase my intimacy with Him--so that I master the tight rope. He desires me to be skillful in the impossibilities He has called me to. "God, my toe is poised, my arms outstretched. My gaze is forward. I am not looking down. I am up high. Unafraid. Thankful for your net."
And let the loveliness of our Lord, our God, rest on us, confirming the work that we do. Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!~Psalm 90:17 (The Message)
Oz never gave nothin' to the tin man that he didn't already have.~Lyrics from Tin Man by America
"This is my last day at work," he said. "Really? What's going on for you? Do you have another job?" I asked. Andrew swiped the bangs from his forehead and looked at me directly. His blue eyes glittered with excitement. "Well, Priscilla, I guess you could say I'm going to another job. I'm moving to Houston to play with my band full-time. I leave tomorrow. We've got quite a few gigs. We're going on tour, and I'm totally psyched about it--a little scared too." "Wow," I answered. "Congratulations. I'll miss you. All best, Andrew. I've enjoyed working with you. I had no idea you were part of a band." "I know," he said. "I had to take a 'real job' to pay bills. I'm taking a risk, but it's now or never."
I couldn't stop thinking about my encounter with Andrew. Part of me was envious--jealous of his bold decision to follow his heart. I wanted to get up and leave my frantic pace behind as well--find a more relaxed rhythm for my life. "Oh, Priscilla. Stop it. That's something you can't do. That's not realistic." That statement didn't ring quite true. The more accurate statement: "Your heart already tells you many of the things you want. Simple things that you only allow yourself in measure. What could you do each day to increase delight? You don't need to move anywhere to begin doing this."
That very afternoon, on my way to the bank, I rolled down all my windows in the car and cranked up seventies music. That's my decade. I love the music of Carole King, The Bee Gees, The Carpenters. America. The cool air washed over my face, the freedom of singing in the car seemed to release the tension of the day. I was back in my brown 1977 Camaro again belting out Tin Man, my heart revived. Something as simple as a fresh breeze and a song conjured the beauty of youth. I wasn't young anymore, but that carefree girl was still a part of me. What else, I wondered. What else could I do to increase my delight in life withough picking up and moving to Houston?
I made a list:
Browse for as long as I want at the library.
Take walks at different places around town--engage with my city.
Throw out worn out shoes and clothes, dusty rugs.
Indulge my love of fragrance and buy my favorite perfume.
Stop denying myself solitude and enjoy my own company, the gift of silence.
Read an entire book at one sitting, underlining all my favorite passages.
Revel in my quotes collection.
Sleep in
I'm convinced that God placed a craving for delight in all our hearts. And a good father is delighted when His children experience delight. The world can be gray at times. Murky. Filled with responsibility. And these responsibilities are necessary. Even Andrew will face the management of travel and finances as he goes on tour with his band. God knows we have these life duties and tasks. He helps us with them. He also desires for our hearts to be alive, growing, delighted. What brings you delight? Create your own list. Do one thing on the list this week. What might happen?
I pulled the string on the blinds, like unzipping the day, the sky milky, a few raindrops falling on the windowpane. A lone bird sang--its melody piercing the dreary day. I wanted to be that bird--to have a song on my lips. Yet inside all I could think about was all I had to do. Get to the filing stacked in the corner, falling over and spilling onto the floor. Wasn't staying organized on the computer supposed to stop the paper pile up? My mind raced...laundry, take a walk, help my husband with yardwork, write emails, devise menus for the week, clean the bathroom, sign up for conference, work on taxes, practice language, verb drills, banking. I had the day off. Surely the time didn't have to consist solely of "to-dos." Surely there could be something more appealing than the list I'd stored up in my mind. I snapped the blind shut and whispered, "Stop. Don't do this to yourself. Surely, this non-stop flurry in your brain is not what God would have for you this day." I asked a question then. "God, what would you have for me today?" Then He posed this question to me: "What part of your kingdom inheritance do you want most this day?" "I want to be unpressured. I want peace. I want to feel unhurried," I said. "You possess those things in me. Take them. Sit down. Rest."
I opened the blinds again. I could see the little bird now. He perched on a thin tree branch, gusts of wind making the limb bob up and down. But still he sang, his eyes shiny black beads. He seemed to be encouraging me to come outside with his sweet warbling. I donned my rain jacket and headed out to the tidal creek. I prayed as I walked. "God I want to learn to rest, let go, inside this beautiful, chaotic world, but sometimes I don't know what this means for me--what would you have me do?"
"It's not about 'doing,'" He seemed to say. "Living is not about your self-effort, but rather my life lived through you. And it's not meant to be difficult, though I know what it's like living in the world. I did it too. Remember my admonition, "I have told you these things so that in me you might have peace. In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world." (John 16:33). I looked out over the creek waters. The rain had stopped, and the sun shone through the pale sky. Ducks swam fluidly down the current. A pelican sat on a dock ramp, unruffled and peaceful. Often I hurry away when I'm at the creek. "Things to do, things to do," I say to myself. This day I thought, "I don't want to leave. I will receive being 'unhurried.'" I sat down under the big oak there at the creek's edge, even though the earth was slightly wet. I prayed. "Thank you, God, for your peace. Thank you that the pressure I placed on myself has eased away. Thank you that I don't have to hurry. That I can slow my pace and all will be well. Thank you that you teach me through your creation--the birds, the flowing waters, the sun and sky, the ancient oak."
I believe I chose the braver thing. A paradox. It can seem more courageous in my thinking to take on the identity of the rugged individualtist--"I'm going to make this happen, if it's the last thing I do." Yet receiving kingdom inheritance is more like, "God show me what's next. I receive your wisdom, your favor, your emotional stability, your mental equilibrium, your psychological buoyancy." Rest is marbilized within this paradox--the list accomplished inside the beauty of being unpressured, peaceful, unhurried.