Creativity's life

Margaret Feinberg wrote Discovering Joy in Your Creativity, in which she talks about monarch butterflies as miniature works of art.  Sometimes in San Antonio, I encounter a cloud of butterflies fluttering across a road, and it’s hard not to be intrigued.  I ponder the fact that some live only a year or less, which seems so short.  Plenty of museums spend big money to preserve works of art for years beyond the lifetime of the artist.  Yet God, the master artist, knew these butterflies would wither so quickly, and He still created them.  He imposed their design, having no constraints on their creation.  He had purpose for their short life.  Hence the question, would I spend time creating something if I knew it wouldn’t last long?  I do know that contemplating a complicated dinner recipe can exhaust my brain, usually leading me to opt for something simple.  And I do know after hearing my mom talk about the delicate measures of her cheesecake recipe, which might be my favorite in the world, I’d much rather eat her cheesecake than make it myself.  However, I’ve immensely enjoyed playing with kids and lots of wooden blocks and building them into whole cities and stacking them into tall towers that I knew would soon tumble to the ground.  And I look back to my school-teaching days, specifically to one year I lost a job.  Great strides in learning took place, both academically and spiritually, with many fun ideas incorporated into class, yet the door closed.  It was the culmination of many wonderful experiences that were clearly well worth the effort.  Would I have spent all those long hours "creating" if I’d known ahead I’d be there only a short time?  I’ll never know.  Who’s to say a longer time is always better?

Not nice & neat

Christianity is not nice and neat.  It’s about people’s lives changing and people realizing their need for Jesus.  Often we have to become pained and uncomfortable in order to see our need.  Take the disruptive child who’s starved for attention and makes his occasions unbearable for everyone.  All you want to do is have your kid nice and neat in church choir, and here’s this thorny scenario causing you to dread one rehearsal to the next. Then take the guy who monopolizes the adult study group, and you catch yourself hoping he’s absent next Sunday.  And you’d been so happy to finally be part of Bible study, until he showed up.  What about the time I’d been reading about generosity in 2 Corinthians 8, and the Lord put beside me on the bus a lady whose wonderful generosity challenged me?  Those words in Corinthians weren’t meant to stay nice and neat on the page.  They’re for real life, and the lady with the salsa was the Lord’s way of opening my eyes and stretching me into action.  Following the Lord certainly keeps us from stirring ourselves some additional problems, but sometimes He Himself has reason to stretch us beyond our comfort.  One time my husband and I taught a kindergarten class with a rambunctious little boy who we thought never listened, yet later his mom told us how carefully he recited at home the details of our Sunday class, well within earshot of a dad who didn’t attend church.  Suddenly we're so happy for the family's sake, and our classroom frustration didn't seem to matter.  Another time I remember listening to KLOVE radio and contemplating a financial donation, asking the Lord to prompt the same idea out of my husband’s mouth if we were supposed to give.  Shortly thereafter we’re in the car when the radio station again mentions their pledge campaign, and my husband says, “Maybe we should donate to KLOVE.”  Sometimes I hold onto money too tightly, but this time I saw the Lord leading, so we found joy in pulling out the checkbook and putting the envelope in the mail.  When the Lord stretches us, it’s the perfect exercise.  Maybe not our idea of nice and neat, maybe causing us to go cross-eyed in pain, maybe for reason we can't see right then, but still perfect.

A gracious identity

Fill in this blank: “I am a __________.”  For me, I know only one workable word that would tell all about me.  The word Christian speaks for my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow.  It speaks for where I’ve traveled and where I’m headed.  It acknowledges my intentions and my actuality.  It explains why I laugh and why I cry and why I jump for joy.  Best of all, the word Christian points to Christ.  In Him, I find my whole identity.  It’s interesting that on TV game shows when the emcee asks the contestant to tell about himself or herself, we usually hear about the contestant’s occupation.  “I’m an electrician.”  “I’m a stay-at-home mom.”  “I’m a student.”  Yet these identifiers are incomplete and only temporary.  Students become teachers, subordinates change into managers, and sometimes company presidents lose their jobs and relocate as entry-level employees.  We are more than the sum of our work.  I am so thankful that the Lord’s grace lifts me out of the mire of sin and into a refreshed life of forgiveness.  Our identity lasts humbly in Him.  I am a Christian.  Amen.

Tattooed with compassion

The words of Gregory Boyle have gathered my interest.  A friend pointed me to Boyle's book Tattoos on the Heart: the Power of Boundless Compassion, which wonderfully carries forth the notion that no single life matters less than another.  While some would contend that of course we’re all on equal footing and for anyone to think otherwise is ludicrous, even when media news blasts tend to be quite partial, Boyle’s stories still make me think.  He tells of his experiences as a Jesuit priest stationed within Los Angeles’s heaviest gang territory.  He tells of a boy called George, whose ceremony of baptism contained an especially difficult component in that immediately afterward Boyle would need to tell George about his brother’s death in the streets.  Yet the occasion presented a wonderful view of the Lord at work.  Whereas reaction to death there had always included rage and promises to avenge, this time 17-year-old George appeared different.  Boyle says George’s grief more resembled the heartbreak of God, in that George’s previously hardened gang posture had changed into quiet sobs and tender weeping clutched in his open palms.  Here I see the love of Jesus pouring through a priest whose compassion had room for everybody—gangster and nongangster alike.  Matthew 9:36 says Jesus had compassion on those who were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.  That's all of us.

Jehoshaphat's way

Do you know King Jehoshaphat? He’s the guy in 2 Chronicles 20 whose approach to battle is quite interesting. Upon learning a vast army was coming against his land of Judah, his first move was to inquire of the Lord. Jehoshaphat did hear from the Lord and bowed face-down to the ground, leading his people to worship in the same way. Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and praise Him as they led the army to their battle positions. In the end, on Jehoshaphat’s behalf, the Lord won the battle by setting ambushes against the enemy and even causing them to stir in self-destruction. Upon victory, Jehoshaphat did not forget the Lord, for he led his men to rejoice in the temple. Verse 32 says, “…he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord.” What an amazing mode of operation that doesn’t need to end as strictly history. What would it look like today for entire militaries to sing to the Lord? What if each soldier praised Him in preparation for the battle ahead? What if we supporters praised the Lord faithfully on behalf of our soldiers? And what if we sang in our homes and on our streets for the many inner struggles we face? May we learn from Jehoshaphat.

Mysterious & musical

It was a meandering path that began with a piano lesson. A friend came to the house and during his lesson asked for names of pianists to whose music he might enjoy listening. Because piano players are not always piano listeners, I couldn’t think of too many names to suit his listening, but as I talked later to another friend, she gave me the name Fernando Ortega. I ordered Ortega’s Hymns of Worship CD from the library and discovered some wonderful tunes, though I noticed more his whole musical arrangements than specifically his piano. Meanwhile I listened to another artist on a different CD whose one piano track was followed by an oboe piece that encouraged me to reopen my oboe case that had been sitting idle on the coffee table for several months. Returning to piano, in the course of renewing the Ortega CD at the library, my husband and I continued listening to it and began toying with a guitar/oboe/voice version of “Creation Song.” The more I listened to Ortega’s music, the more I did become curious specifically about his piano. And here I sit today very much blessed to play the piano accompaniment to “Sing to Jesus” because my husband gave me an Ortega songbook for Christmas. That’s an interesting series of steps, all rooted in someone else’s piano inquiry that’s yielding wonderful blessings to me. Once again, the Lord’s mysteries I do love.