the cat with the tiny face.

I've been really homesick lately... But, I'm dealing with it... 

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In other news, I've really been feeling spiritually riled up about creativity again. I think its mostly because here in Miami, away from all of my supplies and a lot of my creations, I feel a bit creatively stifled. And I've been reminded of just how creative I am, whether I like it or not. And what that really means to me.

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Mom decided to homeschool us kids, which gave her the opportunity to enroll us in every lesson possible: Piano, Violin, Saxophone, Voice and/or Choir, Visual Art, Horseback Riding, Guitar, Drums, Gymnastics (I recently realized I had repressed memories from Gymnastics lessons, having completely forgotten I had even taken them. I was so bad), Sewing, Spanish, Quilting, and Creative Writing are most of them, though I'm sure I've forgotten some. My least favorite of these was probably Visual Art. The only redeeming factor was that my best friend was in my class. But, so was my little sister, Courtney. Courtney was, and is, an incredible artist; She is truly a left-handed creative to her core! Sure, I could sing, sew and ride better than her, and our creative writing teacher's children picked my children's book as their favorite, but oh! If only I could draw, shade and paint like her! We were both the epitome of little girls, drawing mainly flowers, horses (me) and cats (Courtney). I had books and books of wonky roses and horses with apostrophes for nostrils or banana-shaped ears. Courtney only had pages of life-like petals and perfectly conjured cats. Kittens with long fluffy tails, eyes sparkling. These paintings were the bane of my existence some days. Looking back, Court applied herself WAY more than I did, but in the moment, I felt like I was trying JUST as hard, and my art STILL didn't look like hers!

Flash forward to a year or two ago. Courtney and I are hanging out in our parents basement and we start focusing on a painting of a cat that is hanging on the wall:

It, like at least 5 other paintings hanging in our parents house, was painted by Courtney. But for some reason, probably 10 years after this painting was done, we realize how bad it was... I mean, it looks like a white cat, which is what it's supposed to be. But its FACE! It's SO TINY!!! And I think Court and I laughed for like, 30 minutes about how funny the cat with the tiny face was. When I texted her to get a picture of it for this post, I started laughing all over again.

But anyway, my point here is that this funny-looking cat painting is FRAMED, hanging in my parents house. My mom didn't see that it was funny looking. She may have seen how much the 4 art lessons it took to complete cost. But what I know she saw was her daughter. And when she saw that, she swelled with pride. "That's my baby's painting!" That's why parents hang their toddler's scribbles on the fridge, isn't it? It's not because its the most accurate depiction of whatever the toddler was attempting to draw. Its not because the doodle is a symbol of how much the toddler loves and appreciates their parent, or how hard their child works to be the best son or daughter they can be. Parents hang those clumsy drawings on their fridge because they love their child. Their child might not be a toddler... Maybe they're 10, and incredibly self-concscious about their art, like I was. My mom never hung any of my pictures, probably because she knew I wouldn't be able to handle being compared to Courtney so blatantly by everyone, and most importantly myself. Well, and Court was such a little ham when she was a kid. But, you bet she still has all of my disproportionate horse paintings all in order in the basement. Because she loves me. Because as many flaws as I see in them, she only sees me.

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In the end, I've stopped trying to be holy. I've stopped trying to be righteous. I've stopped trying to be everything except the person I feel myself being drawn to become. I asked God to mold me into His likeness, expecting songs glorifying Him to be written from my heart, paintings showing His wonder to be painted by my hands, my knitting and sewing to connect me with people who need to know the love I live in, my heart to be more broken to the broken. But instead of looking more perfect in His sight in the sight of others, I've only found myself to be more creative. Because I am made in the image of the Creator. To be more like Him is to encompass his passion for creating and recreating anew. I've stopped trying to make my creativity to comply with how I think God wants me to use it for Him. I've just become more creative. So creative  that I can't explain how it points to Him. It doesn't blatantly point to Him. There are no crosses or fish in my works. I don't have any scriptures that have inspired amazing pieces. I just work from my soul and spirit. Everything I do, not because I love Him, but because I am loved by Him. I no longer struggle (as much) with the haunting imperfections I see in my work. I no longer wallow in self-pity when I have a bad show, or sale, or piece. I no longer let a big commission or a flawless prototype be the highlight of my year. I am no longer an artist. I am a child. He sees me and my creative heart and says, "There she is! Look at her! That's my baby girl!" And He hangs my tiny-faced cats on His fridge.

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Suggested reading for everyone? Pursuing Christ. Creating Art: Exploring Life at the Intersection of Faith and Creativity by Gary A. Molander

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**side-note: If you read this and feel left out, because you aren't a creative... I'm pretty sure you actually are a creative and just don't recognize it in yourself yet. Maybe its because you've been hurt because of it, maybes its because you don't think it fits the conventional idea of creativity. But, if you have a brain, you probably have some creativity floating around in there... Explore that.