Tonight I drew in my gratitude journal instead of writing out my list; I had so many gratitudes, and suddenly I didn’t want to rank-order or even number them. So I drew them as balloons. Fun. Somehow that little exercise just enhanced the feelings I was having, not only of gratitude, but of joy and of hope, too. So here is a question. It’s a life question, but also (for me) a business kind of question too. I view art, artistry, creative expression as essential. And when I say essential, Lord, I mean absolutely necessary for a full life. Just as our bodies have to have air, and have to have water, and have to have nourishment, and in that order, I think our souls have to have artistry. And not just our own expressions, but appreciation of others’ artistry too. Is that why drawing out the balloons made me feel more deeply?
You were more aware of your feelings, drawing them, because writing comes more naturally to you. As a writer and as a speaker/storyteller, you turn to words first and often. Drawing is not your natural first means of expression, so you were actually paying more attention drawing than you might have paid, writing.
But it wasn’t artsy, Lord — more cartoonish than anything. Like a very young child might do.
Exactly! “Like a very young child might do.” That is the whole point for you now, to connect with Eve-as-very-young-child. You are unlearning much from those years, and we will be replacing your unlearning with new learning, and new freedoms of expression you may not have enjoyed when very young. When did you quit drawing?
Gosh, I started to quit in early grade school. My pictures weren’t good enough. They were graded poorly–I mean, I got poor grades on them. I either didn’t fill up the paper or the proportions were all wrong. I learned early that I couldn’t draw, that I couldn’t be an artist. Then when I was just a little older, but still elementary school, I tried to paint the birds in my favorite bird book, and my mom’s art teacher found a lot to criticize in them. And she was partly correct; I mean, looking back at them later, I saw right away the flaws she had pointed out to my mother. But I never heard how to fix those flaws and pretty soon I just gave up. It was about that time that words took over, I think. I began to write more and eventually I never drew again, not really.
Until…
Until I tried, at various times in adulthood, sometimes on my own, sometimes under the guidance of real artists! What I finally realized is that if I wanted to truly hone my skills at drawing, I could. I did have some innate ability, but what I lacked at that point was time. Rather than spending time learning how to draw, and then beyond that, perhaps to learn how to paint, I chose to spend that time, or that percentage of time let’s say, outside, camera in hand. I don’t regret that choice. I love the outdoors and photography gives me the means to get out there.
But despite the evidence from your adulthood that you can, in fact, learn to draw and that you do, in fact, have some ability in that area, you still see yourself and name yourself as someone who can’t draw. The picture we form of ourselves as young children often persists despite evidence, sometimes overwhelming evidence, to the contrary.
Lord, why are You so interested in these vignettes from my childhood? Why do we keep going back there?
Because your stress, anxiety and fear responses all have roots there. You think you are reacting to stimuli in your present, but I tell you, you are responding to old, old triggers. If you can let Me gently remove the layers hiding those old triggers, they will, one by one, lose their power in your life.
Gosh, God, that would be wonderful. Even though the thought is just a little scary.
Don’t be afraid. That is why I said “gently.” We will never move at a pace beyond what you can absorb and find healing. The idea here is restoration and renewal, and in some cases, transformation, not more stress or anxiety. We will only move as fast as healing allows. So be patient with the process and patient with yourself. And let yourself have fun with this, as you did tonight, drawing out your gratitudes. Pay attention to every prompt or impulse, no matter how small it may seem–or how silly. This is actually going to be a wonderful and wondrous journey for you. And the end result will free your Storyteller, too. Ah, that made you smile!
Good grief, yes. I would love that. So my Storyteller is constricted by…
How can you write for children when you won’t let yourself play? Think about that a while. I have so much still I long to show you. Wonder will be the Door.
Thank You, Lord. Again.