Finding the artist's way

“If you've never stared off into the distance, then your life is a shame.”  Counting Crows

Forty years ago, I pulled a book down from a friend’s shelf. The title, The Artist’s Way, stirred that part of me that longed to be an artist. I was a chaplain at a school in England and knew the spring within me was drying up. It turned out the book would change my life forever.

The memory is far from me now, but it came for a visit when I bought another copy and committed to working through its twelve-week creativity course. “But you’re already creative,” I could hear people say, but creativity, like spirituality, is a life-long journey. The book hasn’t changed in forty years, but I have. I’m sure this journey will be unlike any other.

I share this to invite you to consider trying something you’ve done before. Maybe you read a book you loved in college, climb a familiar trail, or try a sport you used to love. Whatever you choose, the important thing is to experience something as if for the first time. Yes, you might remember what you loved long ago, but you also may notice changes within you since your last encounter.

“Every child is an artist,” Picasso once said. “The problem is how to remain an artist once he (she) grows up.” Ted Lasso would remind us to be curious. I would say, always feed your sense of wonder. However you describe it, 2024 offers us the chance to try old things in new ways, to stare off in the distance and dream outlandish dreams, to be the child you’ve always been.

Who knows what you’ll find, but I’m pretty sure you’ll have fun along the way.

Window Cleaning

The two homes sat side by side, each with a front-row view of the sea. In the morning, each basked in the same captivating sunrise. In the evening, each had a glimpse of the same colorful sunset. But the houses were not the same, or, I should say, those who lived in them were not the same.

One was meticulous about his house. He kept the paint fresh, shudders secure, and cleaned the windows every day. The other preferred to enjoy his home and let the house take care of itself. In time, paint pealed, shudders loosened, and windows became caked with salt.  It got so bad that he could barely see the waves of the sea or clouds in the sky. Nothing outside had changed; it was the same beautiful ocean and glorious sky, he just couldn’t see them like his neighbor.

* * *

Sitting at a table during a spiritual retreat, I looked longingly at those around me. They seemed to have a relationship with God that was vibrant and electric. In what they said and how they worshipped, it was as if they knew God personally - like they could see and hear him clearly. I, on the other hand, have always felt like I knew God at a distance. It was as if I was given only glimpses and faint whispers. Rather than celebrate what my neighbors had, I resented what I didn’t.

Then I realized that God was no closer to them than to me. He was just as mighty, just as concerned, just as loving. The problem was that those around me had maintained their homes. They’d kept their paint fresh, shudders secure and, most important, windows clean. When the film came and blurred the view, they got rags and Windex out and removed the film. They didn’t do this once, but on an on-going basis. They awakened early, read scripture, prayed and meditated, and did the tough soul-searching that identifies all kinds of salty film.

The work is tiring, and I’m sure they’re often tempted to sit back and enjoy whatever view they have, but they’ve learned the view gets lost if one sits back and does nothing. So, they stay busy.

It’s time for me to follow their example.

Signals

Signals

I can’t tell you how many times I have put “Improve my relationship with God” on my list of hopes for the new year. I have searched for the latest devotional, bought the newest book, and even set up the most intimate meditation space in my home, as if I could somehow manufacture the relationship. Rarely has any of it had lasting effect. Like so many new year intentions, my efforts felt like duties, obligations, and, I hate to say it, burdens. As you might imagine, they never lasted.

Recently, a friend gave me a completely new way of looking at things, and I want to try and share it with you in a way that might help you on your spiritual journey. Instead of beginning with devotionals, books, or disciplines, she suggested I focus on the “god within.” By that she didn’t mean I was somehow God, but there’s a part of God within me and I should focus on that part, nurture it, and let it come out and “play,” (my words not hers). That’s how the relationship deepens and grows. It’s already there; we just need to use what’s been given.

It's like God sends signals out into the world like a radio station, she said. We have built-in antennae to receive the signals (an antenna installed by the creator) and when we use it, we feel a stirring within and ideas come out of the blue. Of course, we have a choice to listen and act on that signal or not, but when we respond to what we receive, our hearts swell and we feel a connection not only to the world around us but the one who created it all. Like ET’s heart light at the end of his finger, that God-part of us lights up when the connection between the sender and receiver is made. You can feel it when you go search for someone who’s lost, say something encouraging to someone who’s struggling, or forgive someone who’s messed up. (So, too, you can feel it dim when you say or do something unkind, dishonest, or think only of yourself.)

Things like devotionals, books, church, and times of meditation and prayer are the ways we keep our antennae tuned to the right station, but they do not provide the signal. They improve our ability to receive the signal that’s always been there. The bible says we’re created in God’s image. I think it’s referring to the God part that dwells within us. It’s what connects us to God. It’s what leads us to say and do (and don’t say and don’t do) things that look and sound like God. The connection is remarkable and indescribable. 

If we listen and respond, our relationship with God improves in ways no resolution can manufacture, no outside source can provide. All we have to do is use what we have already been given.