This semester I’m excited to be participating in a Bible Study at my church on the Sermon on the Mount. For today’s devotions, we focused on the first two verses:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. – Matthew 5:3-4
What was most fascinating to me was the study on what it meant to mourn. The workbook had us look at passages in Joel and James which talk about mourning in the context of repentance and grieving over sin.
“Yet even now,” declares the Lord, “Return to Me with all your heart, And with fasting, weeping and mourning; And rend your heart and not your garments.” Now return to the Lord your God, For He is gracious and compassionate, Slow to anger, abounding in lovingkindness And relenting of evil. – Joel 2:12 – 13
In of itself, that is a powerful image. But this morning I also read from Luke 18 which gives the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican. After giving a very unflattering portrait of the Pharisee’s prayer life, the Publican (ie. the supposed bad guy in the story) is cast in a much different light.
But the tax collector, standing some distance away, was even unwilling to lift up his eyes to heaven, but was beating his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, the sinner!’ – Luke 18:13
Accident it was not that I read both of these passages this morning. While the imagery in Joel is very powerful, it is a bit removed from me, staying in the realm of theory. Where as the passage in Luke tells a story and shows what rending your heart looks like in action. But it does more than that, it shows us how we can think that we are “rending our hearts” when we really aren’t.
The Pharisee stood and was praying this to himself: ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.I fast twice a week; I pay tithes of all that I get.’ – Luke 18:11 – 12
Jesus tells us that it is the Publican (someone who would be considered the worst of Jewish society) and not the Pharisee (someone who would be revered as the best of Jewish society) whose prayer was answered and was justified in the sight of God.
What was helpful to me about reading these passages back to back was the reminder of how often I am like the Pharisee, how I compare myself to others and act like I’m better than everyone else and that God owes me something for my performance. Jesus’ parable in Luke helped me to see how I need to the Lord’s words in Joel seriously. I need to rend my heart and not my garments because Jesus is not interested in showy religion, but a faith that recognizes that I am a sinner and that I need the mercy of God.
It’s so easy to live my life as the Pharisee but I trust that as God continues to reveal to me my tendency towards self-righteousness and arrogance that He is going to shift my heart more and more towards the posture of the Publican who beat his breast and rent his heart.
I’ve been to several different Bible Conferences in my life– French Creek, Pinebrook, Lehigh RUF’s Summer Camp, even England’s Greenbelt– and as impactful those different events have been in my life, I don’t think any conference will ever match the impact of spending a week at America’s Keswick.
It’s not because of the the preaching, although that was very convicting and inspiring. It’s because I’ve never been to a conference that had both the elements of retreat and refreshment for the believer while at the same time practicing the call of Christ to follow after Him and love the least of these.
My experience was a bit unique right off the bat as my Mother smuggled me into the “Young at Heart Conference”, geared towards Christians 50ish and older. While I didn’t get to interact with the other attendees as much as I would have liked, it was such an encouragement to me as a relatively young believer to see a conference filled with believers who had persevered in their faith despite the hardships I know they must have faced. Almost every session started out with jokes about how their bodies were failing, sometimes even laughing in the face of the death which is likely to come in the next few years for many of them.
It sounds like it would be morbid, but it wasn’t, because they knew this life is not all that they have. They put their trust in Jesus, knowing He waits to receive them when they die, so their death not only loses some of it’s terror but also it’s sorrow.
But as encouraging as it was to witness the perseverance of the saints in action, getting to observe, and in a very small way partake in, the way Keswick lives out being the hands and feet of Jesus.
In addition to being a conference and retreat center, America’s Keswick runs a very successful addiction recovery program for men and women. The two branches of the ministry are woven together in having the men and women work on site in different areas assigned to them by their counselors as part of their work therapy. Nearly every session was accompanied by a testimony of either a current member or a graduate of the addiction program. This allowed us as attenders not only to be blessed by hearing about the healing that God was bringing about in their lives but also by having opportunities to interact with them as they helped serve us meals or organized games and activities for us.
The most special part though was Wednesday when the evening session was dedicated to hearing the testimonies of many of the men and singing their favorite hymns. Afterwards, each of the men were matched up with a prayer partner from the conference and ice cream was served.
I don’t know if they do this at the family conferences, so I’m glad I got to attend the Young at Heart where they definitely do it! Seeing a room full of elderly believers sitting down and sharing sundaes and stories with men who are often the outcasts of our society (both Christian and secular) was such an amazing experience. I got to sit with my Mother and the man she had committed to pray for and hear some of his story, which was really awesome too.
But I kept being struck by the mingling of the groups. This is what the Church is supposed to be doing. Ministering to the needs of the lost and loving on them, seeking them out and engaging with them, instead of keeping them outside of our community so that we can maintain our own sense of comfort or entitlement.
It’s hard to describe, but part of what made it so beautiful was that everyone of the staff and the conference attenders were so respectful of the men and women who are at Keswick to seek after freedom from their addictions. There was no haughtiness of the superior spirit, no feeling that these people were just projects, no…they were treated and interacted with on the level playing field all being made in the image of God.
The best part of it for me was this is very conservative Christian ministry, not the group of people you would typically associate with seeking out the broken with such dignity and grace. But they do, all without giving up the tenants of scripture and the call of Jesus to follow after Him and submit every aspect of your life to Him.
It was so encouraging as a young believer who wants to remain in the conservative branches because I believe in the doctrines of it, but I rarely see those truths being lived out in a way that is not at worst judgmental and cruel or at best just kept to oneself, content to talk about reaching the world while at the same time, hiding away from the messiness of the world.
And I am guilty of that as well. I struggle with being judgmental. I struggle with not seeking others and investing the time needed to a build a relationship where another person would feel loved and not preached at by the sharing of the hope I have in Jesus.
I am guilty of what the Church often appears to do: bunker down and try to keep the blessing of Christ to ourselves.
To be at Keswick, to see the attendees, the staff and their children, purposely interacting with and allowing themselves to be ministered to men and women who can be written off in pride because of their addictions and sin, was really encouraging and really challenging to me about how I live my Christian life.
Now, I know that there are many Christians and ministries that are actively walking the talk and ministering to the broken within and outside of the Church. My theatre group raises money each year for ministries that are taking Jesus to the front lines of homelessness, sex-trafficking, and women in crisis and providing refuge for those who are suffering.
But it’s not often that you can see that work in process.
So if you are looking to go to a Bible Conference next summer, or a retreat in the fall or next spring, while I love French Creek and Pinebrook and the others I’ve attended, Keswick is special in giving you a chance to see the Church ministering working hard to restore the broken.
It’s a powerful reminder of how we are to be living our lives and I strongly recommend you going at least once, not only to sit under the teaching of the godly speakers who come, but to be ministered to by the testimonies and service of those who are at Keswick seeking the freedom of Christ from their addictions. Something all of us need to do whether our addiction has a recognized label or not, we all need the freedom that is only found in Jesus.
For more information and to reserve your spot for a retreat or conference check out their website!
(As an aside, it’s a beautiful property to practice photography at…. I wish I could have had more time to just walk around and take pictures.)
It’s been ten years since I first started the Fine Arts Associate program at Northampton Community College. Six years since I took my last class towards the degree.
Finishing my the associate was on my bucket list, something that I thought I would get back to when I was much older. But life throws us in unexpected directions and last week I found myself join the horde of students descending on the main campus to start again.
I’ve got five classes left to take before I complete my degree. This semester I get to take Drawing 3 and Digital Photography, so I’ll be posting a lot more about my art projects and the process. This is only the start of week 2, and my enthusiasm will likely die down some as the work piles up, but right now I am enjoying every minute of being back in the work.
For Drawing 3, we got to explore the woods on the campus and place an object somewhere in it. We then got to choose two compositions to draw with that image. Here is the first one that I am working on.
I love the vines. They remind me a lot of playing up the hill behind my house as a kid and also of something like out of the forests on Middle Earth.
For Digital Photography last week, we got to experiment with our camera’s shutter speeds and apertures…
…and take some selfies….
(It’s an online class, so we used them as part of our introductory Blackboard post. It made sense, but I still found it amusing.)
There is so much for me to learn and I am really grateful that I have this opportunity to start again! Looking forward to what this week brings me.
Responses to this question get me a combination of enthusiastic chants and rolled eyes. Both for the same reason: my students know the answer very well.
Mistakes were first re-framed for me by the amazing Larry Silverberg in his first workbook in “The Sanford Meisner Approach” series.
“THERE ARE NO MISTAKES.”
That was the mantra he set in the first several pages of his book. (And yes, it was in all caps.)
“On stage,” he continues, “there are no mistakes, you must accept and embrace everything that happens!”
This was the first concept from my study of Larry’s work on Meisner that I incorporated into my training at my theatre. Working with young kids and self-conscious teens, the fear of doing something wrong is one of the most common and debilitating block to their enjoyment in acting and growth as actors.
So we started working on viewing mistakes differently — as opportunities!
I’ve found it really helpful to approach mistakes on the stage as a chance for me to have an unexpected new moment to respond to – something fun and exciting, rather than something to be feared.
While I certainly don’t encourage my actors to be flippant about their work and lazily use mistakes as a way of not putting in the effort needed to do their absolute best, I also don’t want their dread of “failing” and “doing it wrong” to immobilize them.
I’ve found that when my actors can embrace the idea that mistakes are opportunities, they are much more relaxed and focused. (And as a byproduct, usually have fewer mishaps as they aren’t stuck in their heads!)
I’ve found that the lesson can be applied to other areas of my life as well.
The above is one of my favorite pieces of work, one that is developing through the mistakes I made on it. It’s not finished. This is merely the first draft. At some point, I will re-create this piece, some of the unintended aspects I will keep, others I will correct.
The piece came about in out a desperate longing to connect with Jesus and thinking about all the ways that C.S. Lewis makes parts of Him accessible through the allegorical character of Aslan.
I didn’t want to draw a picture from the stories (for one reason the illustrations to the series are already so beautiful); instead I worked to draw Narnia as I envisioned it then on that February day. Everything went pretty well, the trees, the lamp post, the snow, until I tried to add the imprint of Aslan to it.
The idea evolved from including a lion relief on the lamp post to making the shadow of the lamp post cast the image of Aslan, as though everything in Narnia is bursting to proclaim the King of Beasts, the one who sang their world into being.
(Even though the lamp post is from our world, I’ve got to think that the many years being in the woods, it has to have come to understand who Aslan is….)
I still am very found of the idea, but the execution…well, that’s where mistake number one and two come in.
#1 – The perspective of the shadow is not right, so it looks more like the black blob is hanging from the lamp post arm. (Or as my one friend described it, “Singing in the Rain meets Narnia”.)
#2 – Even though I watered down the ink, I didn’t water it down enough. It is too dark and looks much more like a distinct creature than a shadow on the snow.
Both of these mistakes ended up being really important for me. #1 confirmed for me that I have a lack of understanding about perspective and how to work with a light direction in a piece. Wanting to be able to avoid such mistakes in the future was part of what lead me to decide to finish my Fine Arts Associates.
Because the “shadow” ended up looking much more like a black blob than a lion, and because there was no way to go in with darker ink to add the detailing of the mane, face, and paws, I had to improvise.
Utilizing my gold paint was my solution. One I really liked.
While part of me wishes I had worked in small, incremental layering and done the shadow in a blueish gray like I did the footprints, I’m glad I didn’t. If I had, I might not have used the gold to make the suggestion of a lion. And I also might not have made mistake number three!
#3 – I was careless in squeezing out my paint, which ended up squirting out a large streak on the page.
At first I was mortified. This was a mistake that I could have so easily avoided if I would have just slowed down and gone through the extra effort of caution. (This is something I really need to work on. I am way to found of cutting corners.) But even the mistake borne from laziness (the worst kind of mistakes in my opinion) brought about something in the piece that I really like: lines of gold darting across the page.
When I get to work on my second draft of this piece, I will keep the gold streaks and detailing on the lion and fix the perspective and coloring of the shadow.
Until then I have it framed in my kitchen, to remember that sometimes you correct mistakes by learning how to avoid making them again, and other times you learn from them by embracing them and incorporating them into your work.
That’s much easier for me to accomplish in my practice of art than it is in my daily life.
Messing up in life causes greater harm, greater embarrassment, and don’t usually offer the chance to do another draft. Whether I make an innocent mistake or a full blown sin, the impact is not easily dealt with.
I think about the ways I have hurt my friends, overspent my money, wasted my time, rebelled against Jesus…I can’t just draw another version of those moments and throw away the reality of what I’ve done.
My shame of sin often gets in the way of my needed repentance and restoration. I’ve had relationships go through long periods of awkwardness or tension because I was so embarrassed by the fact that I had hurt or failed them (thus proving I was not perfect) that I often didn’t want to even face them. This did not help matters.
In the spring, I taught a Meisner class for my younger actors, and we often talked about how mistakes were opportunities. I like to apply as much acting technique to every day life as possible, so as our question and answer routine got hammered into us, I thought a lot about how mistakes provide opportunities in my relationships.
When I realized that my pride prevented me from being able to honestly face the ways I had hurt my friendships with people, I began to see how I needed to practice the humility of admitting I was flawed and to accept their grace and forgiveness.
Much like the first streak of gold that marred my drawing, my sin against others mars them. When I can put aside pride and seek to make amends and they are able to forgive me, that wound can get incorporated into our story in beautiful and amazing way.
The other thing I realized was that my mistakes and sins in my day to day life are opportunities of remembrance. If I can get off my high horse and let go of my pride which insists on trying to prove how perfect I am, I can view my blunders as reminders of how much I need Jesus to save me.
Now, I’m not suggesting we should be flippant about how we hurt others or fail to worship God with all our soul, (The apostle Paul makes it pretty clear in Romans that grace is not a free ticket to do whatever we want) but I have found that in striving to accept the grace that Jesus and others offer when I fail makes it easier for me to actually learn from what I’ve done wrong.
Instead of my horror at my lack of perfection driving me to hide in shame, or trying to seek my own absolution by beating myself up for how terrible I am, I can be more focused on the ways that I have hurt others and Jesus, more concerned about them then any exposure of own imperfections. Accepting that mistakes and sin are opportunities to practice humility, to depend on Christ, make it easier for me to go to people when I have wronged them and be grieved by the wound I’ve caused. All this drives me to Jesus.
It’s tricky to both extol the grace that covers all my sin and at the same time strive to conquer my sin. It’s easy for me to either beat myself up over my mistakes or to view it as not a big deal because Jesus has paid for it all.
The past several months, I’ve struggled a lot with my binge eating again. And for a while, I was so convinced that I was finding something like life in over-eating that I did not want to change. I wanted to just sweep it under the rug because Jesus is so gracious.
But because Jesus is gracious, He began to show me how my binges ended up driving me away from Him. My decision to seek life in food instead of Jesus actual made it really hard for me to experience the grace I told myself I was living under by just eating however I wanted.
I realized that I need to learn from my mistake, my sin, of turning to food instead of Jesus.
Does that mean I’ve stopped bingeing? No. This past week in some ways has been worse than other weeks.
But as I’ve struggled this week with over-eating, sometimes successfully, often not, each time it’s a chance for me to reaffirm that I am not able to save myself. That’s something really needs to sink into my soul. And while I don’t want to purposely to show how desperate I am, God exposes my need of a Savior to me in the aftermath of my sin.
Another area of sin that God is using an opportunity to revel Himself to me in a deeper way is my anger towards Him. I struggle to trust God’s goodness, I doubt that He actually cares about me, and I have spent most of the last sixteen years of my life hurling accusations against Him, while at the same time desperately clinging to His grace and patience.
The last two and half years in particular, my anger and sometimes straight hatred of Him has given stark contrast to the fact that Jesus left the glory and grandeur of heaven to die for me, someone He knew would doubt Him again, and again, and again.
I wish that I had a greater faith in Jesus, that I could trust His goodness even when His sovereignty is hard and confusing. It’s something I pray about often and continually seek to grow in. But as frustrating (and sometimes infuriating) as my struggle with mistrust and suspicion of God is, it has become a reoccurring chance to remember that God is faithful even when I am not.
So as I go through life and seek to live in a way that honors Jesus and blesses others, I am trying to grow in the quick humility that recognizes sin, repents of it quickly, and embraces the reminders of my dependence on grace and God’s faithfulness.
What are mistakes? Opportunities: to learn, change, remember, lean on and magnify Jesus.
First of all, I huge thank you to Athena Katherine who nominated me for the Versatile Blogger award. If you haven’t checked out her blog do so. She is a talented writer and has a lot to offer!
Getting a front row to seeing growth is one of the best things about my job. Last Friday we completed three out of our five summer camps. With each camp, I have gotten the thrill of watching my students (who I often refer to as my kids) working on scripts and characters for one to two weeks and then sharing that work with their family and friends.
With so little time, you’d think that not much gets accomplished. But sometimes growth happens in leaps and bounds. Often it happens unexpectedly. Students who I anticipated would struggle with a part proved me wrong by working hard to over their comfort zone or embarrassment. Kids we couldn’t hear from the front row on the first day could be heard from the back of the auditorium. Actors who have typically played it safe took a small role and ran with it.
Each week I have felt so much pride at their accomplishments, at all that they prove is possible with hard work. There are two more camps to go, and I know there’ll be much more to be proud of!
So thanks to all my kids who do the hard work of growing by leaps and bound and inviting me along for the ride. (And also to the staff and volunteers who make it possible!)
Fear of embarrassment is a like the coin Two-Face flips to determine his victim’s fate. On the side, a proper sense of self-restraint can help you maintain the kind of life you want: good friendships and being a respectable member of a community. (That sounds like something Emma Woodhouse would say….) On the other side, being afraid can lead to a kind of death: one where you are so worried about making a fool of yourself or having people think badly of you that you “kill” the uniqueness of you and blend into the background, so you aren’t labeled as odd or stupid.
Overcoming embarrassment is something I have struggled with for most of my life. Though I have definitely had my share of moments where I could have used a proper dose of being afraid of embarrassment (I’ve said and done plenty of very stupid things), most of the time I’ve been terrified of being considered silly, childish, weak, you name it.
My time in theatre has definitely helped with that. Spending a month doing raw Meisner exercises with a group of people I was still getting to know last year helped a lot with it. But I found the other week that I can still be inhibited by embarrassment.
After my exciting (and rather embarrassing to be truthful) adventure in boxing back in February, I found a new studio to train at which was a better fit for me and involved no hospitalizations. A few weeks ago, I started working with a personal trainer. The first session wasn’t too bad, but the second session, my instructor had me shadow box. (Imagine swinging your arms and legs at the air, trying to look cool.)
I stalled a little, being terrified that my swinging of arms and legs would be far from cool. I did try it–sort of. But I held back. While I was hitting air, the ways I encourage my theatre kids to handle themselves on stage ran through me head: don’t worry about looking silly, let go of self-consciousness and focus on your task, you actually look sillier when you are stuck in your head, etc.
In order to be able to keep pushing my kids to give up embarrassment on stage, I knew I had to work to give up embarrassment in the ring. So I pushed through. Kind of. I kept finding excuses to stop and ask questions or trip myself up, or whatever. Eventually, my trainer had pity on me and we moved on to something else.
We had a drama camp happening that week. The day after that class, I confessed to the students about how I can still get stuck in my head and get paralyzed by fear. I get how hard it is to let go of the fear of looking silly.
But I forgot to mention another realization I had while I was wildly swinging at air, thinking way too much about whether I was doing any of it right: fear of embarrassment makes it so much harder to accomplish your task, be it theatrical or some other kind.
My fear of looking silly made me uptight. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t focus on breathing or on performing the technique of the punches or kicks correctly. All I thought about was whether I was being ridiculous or not.
If I could have let go of that and thrown myself into what the instructor had asked, I probably would have done it completely wrong (I am a beginner after all), but I would have been able to actual mistakes that could be corrected instead of him having to spend the time reminding me not to worry about looking silly.
As unappealing as mess up feels to my ego, (for some reason I need to be perfect at everything, even things I am clearly a beginner at…) it really is better than not making mistakes because of being cautious and reserved. All an instructor can do then is try to push you to loosen up instead of helping you grow in your technique.
I haven’t figured out the secret to giving up all fear of embarrassment, but I am hoping that my awareness of how it held me back in that lesson will help me in future lessons and also in other areas of my life. I like to tell my kids that mistakes are opportunities. Now I might start adding that being willing to make bold mistakes is more beneficial than up-tightly trying to get everything right to avoid the need for correction.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve posted. Life has been full but without providing me with clear things that I wanted to write about. Over the past several weeks, I had been thinking about missing blogging–I find the processing helpful–and wanting to get back into it, but I needed the right inspiration.
This past weekend, I got it with Players of the Stage’s production of “Doubt”.
Now, I could give you a review of how the show went, but that would be rather biased since my amazing sister was the director and had to step in as one of the nuns, and I was involved in many of the aspects of the show. If you want to review you can go here: Lehigh Valley Stage.
Instead, I want to say thank you to all the wonderful people involved in the production. It was such a privilege to get watch the staff and actors grow through working on this piece. There were a lot of stresses and disappointments along the way, but I marveled at how everyone pressed on and fought to do their best.
In my opinion, the hard work more than paid off.
It was also a growing time for our theatre. This was not our normal POTS (Players of the Stage) show. It was our first true *PANS show.
(*If you have a good acronym for this, please let me know. I’ve been trying to come up for one for years. I have yet to think of one, but I just love the idea of having a POTS and a PANS branch of our theatre company)
We got to work in a new place, with some new faces, with a different type of material than we had before. We tried some new ways of doing things; some worked, some we didn’t get to figure out in time.
It was exciting to get to watch audience members, who were used to our family productions, get to taste how powerful theatre can be when it asks, and leaves unanswered, difficult questions, and stand around after the show discussing it, or hearing from them later that they were still thinking about it.
It might be some time before Players of the Stage can put on another PANS production (our next show is a POTS run), but it was a good first stab at it, and it was nice to get to see a little hint of what it can be.
And in addition to the practical life lessons learned, I just loved working with the thematic material of the show and seeing how the different characters grew, or perhaps took a step backwards, in the text.
But my favorite part of the rehearsal process was getting to work on the opening monologue of the play. I just love Father Flynn’s homily on doubt and how it tends to make you feel isolated but in reality you are not alone, even as you struggle. As a follower of Jesus who often struggles with doubt, I loved getting that powerful reminder.
Thank you to the staff, crew, cast, advertisers, Relevant church, and audience members who made “Doubt” possible. I hope it was a growing time for all of us!
Last Monday I got to speak at a homeschool conference about why art, in particular theatre, was important. Since one of the main things theatre has done for me was help me find myself, I wanted to share some of those thoughts here as well.
The impact that theatre has on my life goes way back, twenty years ago, when I was a withdrawn eight-year-old girl.
My older sister, Anna, was very theatrical. She was always acting. One year for a Christmas present, my parents signed both of us up for drama classes. I don’t remember much from that first class, but I do remember the recital.
Our drama instructor had put me in a scene (debating whether cats or dogs were better) and given me an Aesop fable to perform. The scene went fine, but the fable….
It was a lot of words for a shy, dyslexic girl to memorize and speak in front of a crowd of people. So many words in fact, that I wasn’t able to do it. So I performed it with script in hand, not at all disguised by the pretty paper we put on the back of it to look like a book.
Ashamed of my inability to memorize, I ran off stage crying before I had finished reading the fable. No moral for that tale.
After that day, I was certain I would never do theatre again. Obviously, I have since I now help run a theatre company. For one reason or another, I kept returning to it. Through the years of performing, I came out of my shell and found a confidence that I did not have.
Self-confidence is probably one of the most obvious ways that theatre can impact children’s lives.
But there are others. As an adult, when I think about why art is important to me it is not because of the confidence it brings, but because it is a mirror.
In Act 3 of Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark says of acting “the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as ’twere a mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image and the very age and body of the time his form and presence.”
We use mirrors to see ourselves. We can’t get an accurate picture of our face without outside help. Art can be used to reflect a picture of our core being, our soul, our humanity. As I have been exposed to art in its many forms, I have found that can it challenge me, comfort me, affirm me, and give me hope.
I’ll start with a challenging example. I’ve talked about how I am working to change the subtle ways that I struggle with begin racist before. One thing that I did not immediately recognize when I first realized that I needed to repent of that sin was how dismissive I was of the extent of racism that minorities face today. It was easy to buy the line that the “mainstream media” was “exaggerating” things.
I gained a different perspective when I watched the movie “Dear White People”.
(As an aside, I have been upset by the controversy swirling around Netflix’s remake of it. Nothing about that movie was “anti-white”. Personally, I found it to be very fair and balanced. I fear those who feel like the movie was an attack, went in with the goal of being offended.)
The movie was a very eye-opening and disturbing look at how disrespected and diminished minorities are. In watching that movie, I had to wrestle with how easily I dismiss others pain “because I didn’t mean to offend them.” and realized that if I truly value a person, I am going to take their hurt seriously and do my undermost to understand that pain and seek to learn how to interact with them in ways that communicate respect and dignity.
Art can also provide great comfort. I’ve mentioned before how I lost a very good friend to suicide. In the first several months especially, I struggled with so many emotions that I didn’t know what to do with them, and I often pushed them aside and ignored them.
A few months in, I got to watch a one-act based off of a Greek play, “The Trojan Women”. In it, a mother is grieving the loss of her family and home. As I watched the actors go from tears to cold horror to screams of pain, I thought about my loss.
The tragedy of the play took on my tragedy. I found such comfort in seeing the tears that at the time I could not weep reflected back to me.
I found such comfort in seeing the tears that at the time I could not weep reflected back to me.
Art can also be a great affirmation of the beauty and hope that is in the world. The other weekend, I went to see the “Last Days of Judas Iscariot” performed by Northampton Community College. In the final scene, Jesus travels to hell to visit Judas whose appeal for release has been denied. Jesus goes to reassure Judas of His love for him, to offer him a way out if he would only take Jesus’ hands.
But Judas refuses. He instead accuses Jesus of abandoning him to his fate and literally spits on His face, screaming and swearing at Him to leave.
There’s a lot going on there to think about, but as I watched this struggle between the characters, I thought of my own relationship to Jesus and how I often scorn His love and help because I feel that He has abandoned me to my fate. When the character of Jesus was affirming His love for Judas, it reminded me of HIs love for me
When the character of Jesus was affirming His love for Judas, it reminded me of HIs love for me and His continual offer to free me from my doubt and bitterness that I struggle with if I would but accept His love and take His hands.
It was amazing to watch because though it looks different, I betray Jesus all the time. Yet He still loves me. He died for me. And He comes to me in my darkness to rescue me.
The reflective nature of art is why I think it is so important. It is why I wanted to keep my theatre going after my older sister stepped down. I want to invite others to have their own experience of seeing themselves more accurately because of a show, or a drawing. I want to encourage others to wrestle with the beauty and pain of life that we can often push aside.
Art often gets dismissed as unnecessary, an extra activity that can be removed if there is a lack of money or time. I strongly disagree. I know everyone is different, but in my life, art has been one of the most powerful tools to help me bloom into the person God made me, either in giving me confidence or giving me understanding.
Have you had similar experiences with art? What about it is important to you?
“There’s no place like home.” – Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz
I’ve never been a huge fan of The Wizard of Oz, but that statement has always run true for me. I’ve been a homebody all my life. There is something about home. Here I mean more the feeling, the sense of security and belonging, of home than a physical house.
Over the past four months, my idea of home, security, and belonging has shifted. To help process it all, I’ve been compiling a Spotify playlist which acknowledges one or more of the myriad of emotions that I’ve been struggling with. One of those is “Lost at Sea” by Jimmy Needham. There’s one line in particular that I belt out with him.
(The whole verse is so good, I’m going to quote all of it.)
Ride the wave, wave goodbye, by the way did I mention today That I don’t know the way home
So could you take me by the hand and lead me to the dryer land
So I can finally breathe again instead of sinking like a stone
And now I will diligently and not religiously but affectionately come
Before the throne of your grace in this place and seek your face
For all eternity and then some
Sometimes, the home there is earthly; sometimes it is a longing for the heavenly one. Either way, this song captures so well how lost it can feel to navigate a difficult time. The last month I haven’t been able to blog because of the upheaval of my life.
One of my more recent posts was about the process of pruning that sometimes happens in our lives. In the last month, in particular, I have felt that a more accurate description of my life right now would be being uprooted.
Or being uprooted and pruned at the same time.
(I take great pleasure and pride in my ability to be melodramatic.)
As I’ve been trying to settle into my new normal, the idea of putting down roots has been often been on my mind. I think the typical process involves becoming sure in your place, joining a community, and impacting your sphere of influence. For me, I have been realizing the need to put down roots in something more stable and lasting than any of those things.
I need to be rooted in Jesus.
The cynic in me shouts that that is not as simple as typing seven relatively short words.
It’s not. But I believe that it is the only hope I have in this world and the next.
What does it look like to be rooted in Jesus? For me, it is the cross and the empty tomb. Two years ago, when my mentor killed herself, I nearly gave up on following God, but Jesus kept putting the cross in my way.
One of my many struggles as a Christian has been the issue of God’s sovereignty in the face of evil and suffering. I like to describe my relationship to Jesus as a wrestling match because I feel like I am always fighting for the right to run my life my way.
When my friend died, I could not understand how God could abandon her to such a dark place when He said He loved her.
God never really answered that question. Instead, He pointed me to the Cross.
If anyone has been uprooted, it was Jesus. God became man, transplanted from the glories and splendor of heaven to the squalor of grief of earth. God the Son came to bring restoration to the world. The cost of restoration was His death.
On the cross, an innocent man hung in a criminal’s place. More than that, Emmanuel, God with us, died in my place, taking the punishment of my sins.
It is a horrific scene, an evil scene, an unjust scene, a scene that has Jesus calling out “My God, my God, why did you abandon Me?”
(If anyone had the right to ask God the Father that question, it was His Son.)
But the cross is also a beautiful scene, a scene of love, the place where mercy and justice kiss, a scene that allows God to pull us in His embrace.
That moment in history is one of the greatest clashes of all time. Horror and beauty. Evil and love. Justice and mercy.
And God ordained it all. He ordained it so that He could rescue me.
I wish that truth impacted me more emotionally. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I’m still struggling too much with believing in His goodness. But regardless of my emotions, the cross keeps me clinging to Jesus, allowing Him to take me along life’s journey (or even carry or straight up drag me at times.)
If the Trinity had devised a means of saving humanity that did not weave together the allowance of evil and the victory of love, I don’t know if I could even attempt to trust Jesus.
As I look to Good Friday and think about how Jesus was uprooted for me, as I get overwhelmed by the waves that crash around me, as I feel lost and uncertain of where I belong, I take a deep breath and pray “Jesus, restorer of my soul, help me to find my home in You.”
I’ve lost a lot in the last four months. But not as much as Jesus gave up to be able to “prepare a home” for me. Why did God need to make me feel like I was “Lost at Sea”? Only He knows, but I am striving to believe that no matter how dark the situation seems, love is in, underneath, and around all of it.
Some of it is a matter of perspective. Some of it is a matter of trusting that no matter what God might take away from me in this life, I will always have my home in Jesus, and everything else is inconsequential compared to the “surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord”.
Is it easy to believe and trust? I really wish I could say, but that would be a lie. I think sometimes, Christians feel like we have to make it seem like being a Christian is a breeze, but it’s not. At least not in my experience. Paul the apostle compared it to a race, a fight, a war.
I like to compare it to a wrestling match.
One that I know Jesus will win. Because he loves me, even when I don’t love Him. Because He died and rose again and is coming back for me one day to take me Home.
Time for a writing update! In the midst of the difficulties and upheaval of feeling like God is taking sheers to my life and pruning every branch of my life, I’ve been trying to press on in my writing.
I had quite lofty goals: finish the first draft of Mercy and Justice by the end of 2016, polish Chrysalis by February 28th, query Chrysalisin March, in addition to revising my three plays and work on writing a new one.
Sometimes my ambitions are…rather ambitious.
Especially when I am going through a hard season.
I’ve had to drastically scale back my expectations of my writing output. For the past few months it’s been easier to draw than to write, and since I couldn’t get the “correct” word count in per day, I gave up on it entirely for a time.
Until someone encouraged me to do small steps. Instead of expecting to write 1,000 words each day, I bumped it back to 100. I did that for a time and then bumped it up to 400. It’s slow but it’s steady work.
Over the last couple of weeks of writing 400 words, I’ve finally crept past the 90K mark for Mercy and Justice, leaving me with less than 20K words to go. It’s taken a while, but I feel like I can see the finish line.
This would not have happened if I kept pushing myself to do 1,000 words each day. The number was too daunting for where I am right now. I may have written at that word count in the past, but it is not doable for me at this moment.
I’ve learned that even though I’m writing fewer words in a session, I am getting more done by consistently pecking away than I would if I kept trying, and failing, to write more. This way, I don’t burn out, don’t feel guilty, and I enjoy (usually anyway) the 20 – 40 minutes it takes to get the words out.
Somedays 400 words become 900 or even 1,500! Yesterday I didn’t wasn’t able to get the words in, and I was exhausted, so I didn’t push myself to write because I had gotten enough words down on Saturday to make up for it. Today I’m excited to get back to it. Maybe I’ll stop at my quota, maybe I’ll get more down. Either way, I will be 400 words closer to “The End.”
Sometimes, slow and steady is the only way to press on.