On Art

I hate the term Christian artist.  Am I an artist who is Christian or a Christian who is an artist?  Why must we be labeled?  And why, in our society, does that label provoke people to think then that our art is lesser than?  Why have we opened the door to that being true a lot of the time?

I am a passionate woman, a follower of Jesus, wife, mother, dancer, writer, lover of people and beautiful things.  Being a Christian is who I am.  It is inseparable with what I create.  Being an artist is what I do.  I don’t think about trying to craft Christian art…I simply open myself up to create.  What comes out is the manifestation of God in me, communicating through me.  I can’t take God out of me, and therefore can’t take God out of my art, whether or not I intend for it to be inherently “Christian.”  Most of the time, it’s just a smattering of bits and pieces of my story, mixed with movement and emotion and truth, sprinkled with grace.  I offer it (or not) and God does what He will with it.  Sometimes, it’s surprising.  The things you think aren’t your greatest work often impact people the most - maybe that’s just because I finally got out of the way and let God. 

But please don’t label me.  I am an artist - for God, with God, by God, through God.  I am an artist.  I see the world magnified.  I feel deeply the in-betweens and the underneaths.  I long to interpret and make sense of this world.  Dance is simply my medium, my body is my instrument, and being Christian, well, that’s just understood.  

Twyla Tharp wrote, “– Without passion, all the skill in the world won’t lift you above craft.  Without skill, all the passion in the world will leave you eager but floundering.  Combining the two is the essence of the creative life.”  

I’d like to replace the word passion with God, if you will, Twyla.  It would then read, “– Without [God], all the skill in the world won’t lift you above craft.  Without skill, all the [God] in the world will leave you eager but floundering.  Combining the two is the essence of the creative life.”  

We must have both.  Artists of God, we must have both…or else we risk being labeled or stigmatized.  And then, our art tends to be blocked from reaching the very people who need it most.  Be salt and light.  Be dancers.  Be writers.  Be painters.  Be free to explore your faith, free to worship, or free to just move.  Be impactful.  Be inspirational.  Be artists.

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lasts

Pippa fell asleep in my arms last night.  After a scorcher of a day, her upstairs room felt more sauna than nursery, and we sweated together as she drank her bottle and I rocked her.  She rarely is asleep before I put her in the crib, but last night her little eyes grew heavy in the heat and she drifted off.  I was hot.  She was hot.  But I didn't want to let this moment pass.  I wanted to savor it.  Every day she's a little bit older.

With my first two kids, I was so aware of their firsts.  First time sitting up, first time crawling, first word.  With her, I'm more aware of her lasts.  Last time nursing, last time sleeping in her bassinet, last time falling asleep in my arms.  The tricky thing about a last, though, is you often don't know it happened until after it passed.  There's often not a cheering contingent like there is on those first steps.  It drifts by silently, unseen by most.  Unseen even by me until I look back and think, when was the last time I carried my six-year old on my hip?  I have no idea, but I know that she certainly doesn't fit there anymore.  When was the last time I carried her that way?  When was the last time I spoon fed my son or rocked him to sleep?

When my oldest was a baby, I felt like it would never end.  I was wrapped up in this whole transition to motherhood with a colicky baby, and the days ticked by ever so slowly.  That season felt endless and I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Then one day, I woke up and that season was over.  One day, she stopped crying and one day, she started sleeping, and one day, she became a little girl.  I think we have to go through that with our firsts, to understand that while it seems like it will never end, it does.  It changes.  For good, for bad.  It changes.  And especially, just when you feel like you've got it figured out.  It changes.

Normally, at bedtime, our goal is to get kids into bed as quickly as possible.  Sure we read to them and pray with them, and maybe even snuggle them a little if they ask, but in my head I'm usually ticking time down and thinking about those dishes that need to be done or how badly I just want to sit on the couch and veg out after a long day in front of a tv show.  So, I keep a running tally, score, if you will, as each one makes his or her way into dreamland.  Pippa's down!  1-0.  Leif's down! 2-0  Scout's not down!  2-1.  One more glass of water.  One more tuck in.  Finally Scout's down 3-0!  And the crowd goes wild!!!

Last night though, I wasn't keeping score.  I felt the enormity of her little soul snuggled in my arms, and I didn't want it to end.  Soon enough, my arms won't encircle her entire body and I won't be her everything.  So, I must remember to slow down.  To stop.  To breath in her sweet smell and these sweet moments when I can.  Moments where time stops and I can really see and feel and smell and taste how good my life is.  Last night was one of those.  Beautiful sleeping baby in my arms.

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learning to ski and other things

A few years ago, we decided that we wanted to really value time together as a family and place high priority on having time for just the 5 of us to connect and have fun together, away from our normal lives.

As part of that commitment, we recently went skiing for a week over spring break.   I have long had this vision of our family all skiing together one day when the kids are older, and cultivating a fun, outdoors, athletic, and bonding thing we can as a family.

My husband grew up skiing.  I did not.  You should know that before this week, I'd been skiing exactly 2 times: one day in 2000 and one day in 2010.  You should also know that I do not like to do things that I do not do well.  I'm a perfectionist in the worst way, and if I know that I'm not going to be the best at something, I don't even want to attempt it.  Hence, as an adult, I do not like to try new things.  I abhor it.  I want to stick with what I know and not go through the pain or (ahem) embarrassment of being a beginner.

Unfortunately, though, following through on my vision means I have to learn something new.  The thought of sharing this experience as a family and with my kids trumps any pride or insecurity I have about learning a new skill.  I have to overcome my fear of falling, of failing, of people all around me knowing that I have no freaking clue what I'm doing.

I was able to ski three days that week, and while Ryan was with me the whole time, I spend a lot of time swimming around in my own head as I made my way down the mountain.  I literally had a running internal voice saying, "Weight on your upper edges, shift your weight, turn!, edges, shift your weight, don't fall down, I'm out of control, stay up, stay up!, don't run into me, my knees hurt, don't hit that woman, you can go faster, you can do this, ouch, get back up, snow down my shirt!!, keep going, watch that bump, which way?, I made it!"  Yes, literally.  Audible voice in my head saying all this stuff.  Someone ring the crazy gong.

On day two, I had improved about 300 percent from day one, and there were actually times that I was having fun and not having to work so hard.  We stuck mostly to green runs, and I could feel myself relaxing as I mastered more technique and could enjoy what I was doing and take in the beautiful scenery.  And then I did what I always do.  I mentally pressed myself.  "Greens are not good enough.  When will you master blues?  When will you be an amazing skier and conquer black diamonds?"

Wait.  Stop.  When did skiing become something to conquer instead of something to enjoy? 

Then the thought came to me that skiing green runs was not failure or something I should be ashamed of.  That maybe learning to ski for me was more a lesson of learning to enjoy myself and accepting where that falls.  Of being satisfied with fun and easy and not feeling the need to push and push and push and then quit because mastering a black diamond seems so out of reach.  Why does a black diamond have to be the ultimate goal here?   Why can't skiing a green and loving the heck out of that be the ultimate goal?  Why can't just having fun be the ultimate goal?

I want to find pleasure in something by simply doing it, without comparison or self-sabotage.  To be so ok with simply being ok at something.  This is new for me and it feels weird and rebellious in a refreshing kind of way.  

I learned to ski.  But really, I learned so much more than that.

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chapter books to read with 4-7 year olds

I have long since been an avid reader.  I loved our frequent trips to the library when I was a child.  I could stay there forever, and even now one of my favorite things is getting lost in a book store and wanting to read All. The. Books.  Memories of middle school include carrying a huge stack of text books (because back packs were apparently uncool at that time?) with a novel on top.  Every minute in between classes or while waiting for a ride after school, I read.  I loved a good story...still do...though my time for reading has decreased in proportion to my increase in kids.

My husband and I are firm believers that reading to our kids is one of the most important things we can do.  The time spent reading with them is time invested in our relationship and bond with them.  They also get a boost in language skills, vocabulary, communication, and concentration, which is never a bad thing.  We hope to instill in them a love of reading, and ultimately a love of learning in general.  So, we make reading to our kids a priority, even if it means a later bedtime, and refuse to use taking away reading time before bed as a discipline tactic or bribe.  That time is untouchable, no matter what.

Around age 4, Scout showed interest in reading longer and longer stories, so we started reading some chapter books to her.  She loved hearing more intricate stories with characters and an actual plot line, and she did an amazing job transitioning from looking at pictures in the books to imagining her own.

I will add the caveat that sometimes I do censor certain words or paragraphs.  For example, in James and the Giant Peach, James has two aunts that are particularly mean to him and call him terrible names.  I may have skipped part of this or altered some of the names, because the last thing I want to do is inadvertently give my kids ideas of negative names to call their unsuspecting friends and/or me! 

In the past few years, we've read quite a few chapter books with her, and since more than one person has asked what books we've read, I thought I'd share here.  

Thus far (as far as my memory serves me), in no particular order but listed under author's name, we've read...

Beverly Cleary

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

Runaway Ralph

Henry and Ribsy

Henry and the Paper Route

Ribsy

Ramona the Pest

Ramona the Brave

Ramona and Her Father

Ramona Forever

Ramona's World

Roald Dahl

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator

James and the Giant Peach 

Danny the Champion of the World

Fantastic Mr. Fox

George's Marvelous Medicine

Laura Ingalls Wilder

Little House in the Big Woods

Little House on the Prairie

Little Town on the Prairie

Astrid Lindgren

The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking

Um, obviously we stick with authors we like for a while.  Hoping to read some Chronicles of Narnia next.

Also, I feel its important to add that we heavily utilize our public library.  The branch we frequent has a large children's section, and I often will put the next book in a series on hold so it's ready for us when we are.  We have found that having a separate basket at home exclusively used for holding library books helps us keep track of them as we often have a lot checked out at one time between both kids.  I can't say enough for using the library!

I love that we are at this stage with Scout.  I enjoy reading books with her and hearing her laugh at funny parts and watch her emotions and reactions to the story come alive across her face.  When she begs for one more chapter, I almost always give in.  It's good for both of us.

I promise to check back in later with a new list of what we've read in a few months.  In the meantime, feel free to leave some of your favorites for this age range in the comments.  We are always looking for new ideas!

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live and love

The sun has recently come out here in Seattle.  After the wettest rainy season in Seattle's recorded history, it's safe to say we are all letting out a sigh of relief.  It's amazing what a little sunshine and vitamin D will do for your soul.  I feel infused with life and hope.  Thankful that seasons change as all things do.  Thankful for new growth and the miracle of flowers pushing up through the soil and unfurling their colorful faces to bask in the sun as well.

I'm struck by the overflow of gratitude in my heart for things made new.  Struck by how much greater that gratitude is because darkness and rain covered us for months and months.  The light is brightest coming out of the dark.

Yesterday, we opened our windows and our back door, played in the backyard, barbecued dinner.  These simple acts reminding me that it is here that we live and love.  We blow bubbles and jump rope and laugh and eat berries and it is sweet balm to our spirits.

Those two words live and love.  They are interconnected.  You can't do one without the other.  If you are living, love abounds.  And if you are loving, life abounds.  Profound yet simple.

Whenever, I type the word love on my phone, it autocorrects to the word live.  This used to annoy me until I started thinking, "What if that were true?"

I love sunshine.
I live sunshine.

I love my kids.
I live my kids.

I love Jesus.
I live Jesus.

If I'm loving something, am I living it out?  Am I fully present?  Do I give it my all?  Soak it in?Breathe gratitude?

And alternatively, if I'm living something, am I loving?  Do I look for opportunities to engage and to encourage?  Do I find the good and joy and focus on that as I live my days, hours, moments?

It's amazing how the tilt of the earth, the parting of clouds, and the promise of all things made new coming to fruition in front of my eyes changes perspective.

So, go out today and live and love.  Love and live.  Blur the lines between the two and see what happens.