The Art of Lonely Artists & Paper Airplanes

The Art of Lonely Artists & Paper Airplanes

[Back story: On Friday the 2nd I was processing life and loneliness, the draw to create and how it breaks me. God, as usual, was being a wonderful sounding board for all my confusion and hurt. Ultimately though, I have a hard time believing Him when He says He loves when I create and fling it out into the world. And all my questions boiled down to: Then why doesn’t my art catch? Why is it not good enough-why am I not good enough- for it to be caught? What good is a half-hearted, or rather, a not-quite-good-enough, creative to Him? How can it do Him, or the world, any good if the words are spoken, the art created, and left unheard, unseen? I realized creating is the only way I know how to communicate and I angrily asked Him why He made me this way, “But why? It’s so lonely. I’m so lonely over here. I want to be heard. Creating is not fun for me, it’s heart-wrenchingly painful. It’s not a hobby, it’s a lifeline.”
The picture that popped in my mind left me sobbing. I saw it all like a movie, and seeing as I can’t animate it for you, I’ll have to roughly jot it down, and hope you’ll be able to see it too:]

Art, words, pictures, poems, folded carefully into perfect little paper airplanes.
There’s a chasm and on the other side it is bustling with crowds and friends and towns.
The artist sits alone, creating then folding.
A line of pegs sit at the edge to the chasm with strings that connect to each plane. Many of the threads lead straight down into the chasm where the plane was lost. Others bridge the gap but the planes lay motionless on the other side, either trampled, neglected, or unseen. Those strings remain attached to their pegs, little feelers flung across the gap, left in silent hope. The threads hanging into the chasm with their fallen planes are eventually cut off at the peg, but only when the artist has enough heart left for a proper eulogy and grief.

She falls asleep each night on the ground facing the stakes watching with weary eyes for a twitch.

Supplies are replenished when needed; coffee brought in the morning and late into the night. Blankets are draped over her shoulders in the cold and they’re straightened as she sleeps. Shade is provided when the sun blazes or when the sky cries her tears.
And the artist creates on. Her blood compels her and her bones would snap under the weight of her heart were she to keep it all in.
So she keeps on.
Create, fold, tie, fling.
Create, fold, tie, fling.
Create, fold, tie, fling.
Grieve, cut.
Watch, wait.
Cut, cut, cut, break.
Cry, scream, straighten, breath.
Create, fold, tie, fling.
Fling.
Fling.
Fling.
Fling.

 

 

twitch-

 

twitch-

 

taut.

Caught.

Advertisements

In Winter’s Battlefield [Poem-a-Day: 30]

In Winter’s Battlefield [Poem-a-Day: 30]

Blue white mist rises
from the creek bed on the horizon.
It softly drifts to hush the brandy grasses,
that blow and shake in fear as Winter approaches.

The trees stand stately,
on the hill they refuse to acknowledge
the rains have left them bare and dripping still
from their postpartum, babes ripped from their arms.

Yet in all of this ache
the sky has not remembered the time of mourning.
It stretches and spreads, free of the clouds
that had confined its piercing blue.

In seeming act of rebellion,
the sky screams forth in radiant light,
letting out its purest tune in hues
that dare the cold to come and try it.

And here I find myself,
at home amidst the contradiction,
breathing courage o’er the grasses, grieving
with the trees, and spread my soul wide with the sky.

I thrive among the strife
of living in the two worlds at one time.
And although I ache and hope for this embrace made tangible,
Light fighting back darkness sets a fire in my eyes.

How the Sun Loves a Home [Poem-a-Day: 27]

How the Sun Loves a Home [Poem-a-Day: 27]

Houses I see, but they aren’t home to me.
In my mind they house another family.
Some that I visit, and in which I stay,
But to live there forever just is not my way.

I like to see them from afar,
meet them on the porch where they are,
and talk for a while, enjoy a dinner or tea,
maybe stay for the night to wake with the morn
and watch how the sun loves their home.

Oh, I love how the sun loves a home,
how it fills it with light from morning ’til night,
and how the shadows dance round in return.

But then after I see, its the road left for me;
not to stay but to wander and roam,
to be in one place and then move to another,
all the while tracking the sun.

The forest feels deep enough to let me be free,
and the sky in the desert is home.
The mossy, green knolls all laugh as they roll,
and I laugh in the joy they’ve become.

Because oh how I love,
the way the Son loves a home.

Election Day Prayer [Poem-a-Day: 8]

God, heal our land,
the land of our souls.
Remind us evermore,
of our Eternal Home.

If We Were in Heaven [Poem-a-Day: 1]

If We Were in Heaven [Poem-a-Day: 1]

I hope they will have lattes there,
In Heaven, I mean.
And if there are, I hope they have
The kind you always liked.
Pumpkin spice was our thing, remember?
It didn’t matter if I didn’t like them,
They were so much better
shared together.

If we were in Heaven
We wouldn’t have to wait in line
We’d stroll right up and order
Anytime.
If we were in Heaven
We’d walk in laughing.
Our lattes would be waiting,
Because we’re fully known.
We’d find the coziest pair of chairs,
With just the right temperature.
We’d cuddle up,
Warm ours hands on our mugs,
And talk.
We’d have so much to say,
And all the time to say it.
There’d be no need to shed a tear,
But healing ones would flow.

If we were in Heaven,
We’d have lattes together.
Jesus would sit with us,
He always did here too.

ἔρημος explained

ἔρημος explained

Alright, it’s been a week. I owe you guys at least some explanation for my post last friday.
As I recounted to someone all that occurred, I realized just how hard it is to put such a deep thing into words. I probably could do it, but not in a way that transports you to that time and place and lets you feel what I felt. It just won’t do. It was my dear sweet time with my Lord and I’m afraid the words are lacking for me to share it with you in entirety and depth. But, as He provides, I think I can share a piece of it with you.

The beginning of this story was mentioned back in this post, when I recognized the need to go out in nature to meet with God but didn’t necessarily know why, and then I was so completely crippled by caution that I wasn’t even able to get there. Then God showed me why, and it was the source of my raving to Paul as we climbed a mountain (recounted in this post).
So here goes the full story. Most of my life I’ve met with God in the comfort of my home or in the familiarity of a coffee shop. Journal, Bible, and pen in hand, I met with my Lord. We talked about life and He taught me more of Himself. These times are now familiar and routine, providing slow, steady growth. Then there were times sprinkled throughout my path where I met God unconventionally: outdoors in the woods, by myself in a prairie, or lost on a road in the country. These times were different. I couldn’t just say, “I was reading Galatians ___ and God showed me ____ and I realized I am ___ and He is ___.” Walking away from these times in nature I was just different, and putting any explanation to why seemed futile. “I was watching these bluebirds and it was just.. wow,” doesn’t really communicate some huge spiritual revelation. And yet, it really was a huge revelation. It’s like our time out in Creation seeps down into our bones and transforms us from the inside out. We don’t come away with a new lesson to apply to our mental libraries. Instead, we are a different person, who views the world and the people around them with completely new eyes.
I thought maybe this was just a coincidence, or an odd incident, but I decided to look it up. I remembered that over and over again in the Bible it says that Jesus withdrew to the wilderness to pray. ἔρημος is the word for ‘wilderness’ in greek. Unlike our idea of wilderness, it doesn’t mean a desert or a place devoid of life. ἔρημος can be a very lush forest, it just means there are no people. Specifically, no ability for aid or protection from people. (Ah, see? This is why the first time I went out to meet God in What Came With the Morning I couldn’t seem to. I was so wrapped up in caution that I couldn’t be with Him because I wasn’t really being. I wasn’t letting ἔρημος happen because I was trying to control the wilderness and make it safe. It doesn’t work that way.) When I realized that Jesus chose the wilderness when He needed time to deeply connect with the Father (even though He was God and could communicate with Him anywhere), I realized ἔρημος must have some value in itself. In fact, just before Jesus rode into Jerusalem for His crucifixion, He withdrew to the wilderness with His disciples to just go be. Nothing is recorded of their time there, but some people believe that they were there for almost 3 months. In a 3 year ministry, 3 months is a substantial amount of time to “waste” alone with His disciples doing who knows what. But Jesus didn’t see it as a waste. He knew the value of ἔρημος, and if He or His disciples were going to weather the tumultuous storm that lay ahead of them, ἔρημος was the best place to prepare.
So there. Going out to be in the wilderness, a place away from people and aid/protection, must be important because Jesus did it over and over. And when He calls me out, really out, it has always been transforming.. so the stories must be true. 🙂
And, like He does, He finally redeemed my miserable ἔρημος fail of April 28th with my time this last Friday. I was out, and when I came back I was completely different. All the struggles and brokenness of my prior post, Codependency, Metaphors, and Maybe’s, seemed faded off behind. Eeyore went up the mountain, and a new creation came back down. I’m still unfurling my wings that were cramped in my cocoon, but it looks like it is going to be a beautiful flight.

ἔρημος

ἔρημος

Wilderness.. Wild, wonderful, and free.

I just had the most wonderful time out in the wilderness with God, and my heart seems too full to tell you about it and do it justice. I wish I had the words.. Maybe I will soon. 

For now know that our God is among us and for us. Our souls cry out with all of creation for deliverance, and He answers “soon.” 

The mountains made me cry.

The trees clapped their hands.

Surely our God walks among us, and He has made us His home.