Hesitantly Hoping, the Artisan
One late & sleepless night several years ago, I was scrolling social media and a fellow artist had posted about this book she had found - Creating with the Creator by Ashley Rogers. I knew I had to have it so I immediately opened up the Kindle store on my device and bought it right then while my heart stirred with ideas and questions as to where all of my creativity was going.
No sooner than halfway through the prologue I found myself crying. I felt so...seen. Reading it made me feel like, for one of the first times, a stranger in the middle of the country that I had never even heard of had written about what was in my heart.
As a faith-filled creative I've felt so unaccepted so many times; so misunderstood. There were so many times in the home church I was involved with that I felt like I didn't quite fit the larger body quite right. I felt a little lost, as though I had something to offer, but only if I tweaked it this way or that to fit someone else's purpose - not my purpose.
Now those are all feelings - my feelings - and sometimes feelings aren't accurate. This isn't a blame game, it is just how I felt at the time. Sometimes, though, feelings are real, valid and will be used to propel us into growth.
Some of those feelings did and I've written about some of that journey in another post, The Art of Play: In the Beginning (you can click that later if you'd like to read it). For now, back to reading...
I dried my tears, came downstairs and e-mailed that author - at midnight! - to tell her how deeply her words had reached me. Three years later Ashley is a friend, partner and mentor. Thank God she appreciated my need expressed in my crazy gesture, contacting her like that.
As I've journeyed and continue on this path approaching changes and new opportunities, I felt the need to share her words with you here.
My friend, meet Ashley Rogers. I pray that these words reach into your open heart.
Ashley Rogers, Director Created Ministry, Author of Creating with the Creator
Dear Church,
You hurt me. You didn’t mean to but you did. You didn’t know how deeply it hurt when I was dancing with my whole being and received scolding looks. You didn’t know that my soul was aching and the only way I knew how to express myself was by moving.
I watched singers sing and preachers preach wondering where I fit in. I brought my gifts to you and you didn’t understand them. I saw things as I prayed for you and tried to paint them to help you see what I saw, but it didn’t make sense in your eyes. It was too odd. It didn’t go anywhere. It was too edgy.
My words came out in broken spoken word, but it didn’t reach the masses, just the one hurting in the back. My tattoos scared you, but they told my broken story, and reminded me daily of God’s truths. My painting was too provocative, perhaps convicting, but too real to be appropriate. My song was sung off key so I could not sing with the others.
I didn’t have a seminary degree or training so you didn’t take me seriously. Sometimes you tried. You really did. You wanted to hear my ideas, although they were just a little too out there for your comfort. I saw intense pictures and said the word prophecy and it freaked you out. Trust me, I was too. I didn’t always know what to do with the visions. I couldn’t stop the pictures, the words; they just came!
I learned to shut my mouth; it was just easier. I wish you knew that within my art, my song, my words, my dance is who I really am. I cannot extract “me” from my art. I wish you knew how deeply it hurt when those ideas were quickly dismissed and not valued. It feels like you said my child was ugly.
I feel. Deeply. This often leads to me being easily offended and a little rebellious. I am likely the one who doesn’t like to color in the lines, but I also am the one that feels really free.
Oh, how I wish you would join me sometimes! I wish you would dance with me! I wish you would sing off key with me! I wish you would let me paint for you and see what God has in store. I wish you could see the life that He's breathing over you when these things happen.
But I’m sorry. I got hurt. I didn’t want to come back. I shut the door instead of helping build a bridge. I kept to myself too much. I wanted to structure the creativity exactly how I saw it. I didn’t teach you well; I just expected you to get it.
Forgive me.
Forgive me for holding these gifts back as my own. They aren’t mine. They belong to you. They are for Kingdom purposes designed by the living Creator God to show you in marvelous ways parts of His character, His heart, and His Truth.
He wants to restore you. He wants to restore her. Him. Others. The hurting one, the scared one, the angry one, the rejected one.
Could I help you? Can we join forces and build a bridge that both of us are a little unsure of? I don’t just want to be the crazy creative. I want to help unlock the doors of restoration and healing. I want to visually show you how God loves you. I want to sing new songs that come from places that aren’t always pretty, but that are real and reach the broken and the beautiful alike.
I want to read poetry that makes you feel His power. And I want you to do it too!
Would you like to come paint?!? I can help you learn to create! If you want to write with me, then I will help you express yourself.
Oh Church, it’s not mine. It’s His, He can teach you too! All of you!
I bet you can garden for a widow in your midst. I know you can creatively bake for the angry neighbors next door. I’m sure you can even create a great design for how to connect with our hurting city.
Let’s do it together! I miss you church. The world is pretty accepting of me, but they don’t want the Jesus part. I’m not willing to give that up. I’ve thought about it because it’s lonely out here, but I can’t give up any of me to fit in. I know how much He loves me and loves you. I know you love me, but you just aren’t always sure of me.
Maybe God can yet take two broken worlds and build a bridge that brings the Kingdom of God piercing into the dark.
Hesitantly hoping,The artisan
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