Tag Archives: Creativity

On Tiptoe

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child on tiptoe

When my daughter was a toddler, she would stand on tiptoe beside the kitchen counter. Eyes twinkling with expectation and chubby fingers gripping the edge, she would strain to see what culinary adventure was unfolding. Her habit developed through time. It was reinforced with every loaf of bread kneaded, cake baked, and carrot chopped. She didn’t want to miss out on the action. Or the leftover cake batter on the beater.

Time passed, and the plump toddler legs grew long and thin. Words were spoken more clearly. Clumsy waddles were replaced by graceful pirouettes. One bright spring day, I was preparing dinner and felt a warm arm wrap around my waist. Beside me stood my girl. Tall enough to easily see the surface of the counter, yet still standing on tiptoe. The gesture had become habit. Expectation had become a posture.

Next week, our brood will be making the journey to Duke to attend Engaging Eliot: Four Quartets in Word, Sound, and Color. The exhibition will be a combination of music, art, and poetry – a perfect storm of the best kind. I’ve been a fan of T.S. Eliot since high school and have more recently become an admirer of the writings and artwork of Makoto Fujimura.  Despite my anticipation of the event, I’m very aware that I’ll be in a bit “over my head.” My degree is in business, not English. My experience of fine art was one of dancing on stage, not of painting on canvas. Although I’ve been reading The Art of T.S. Eliot with a group of folks, I’m probably in the bottom quarter of the class in regard to poetic experience and knowledge.  Or more likely the remedial group. Yet I look forward to gleaning what I can during the exhibition – even if it’s a stretch for me. You might say I’m standing on my tiptoes.

Just as the evening will stretch me, it is even more true for my children. They will most likely “understand” only a fraction of what they will see and hear – just a sliver of the goodness that will be present. Yet a sliver of beauty refracts as it passes through the eyes and finds its way to the human soul. It may seem foolish to take those so young to an evening that is “out of their reach.” But they are learning to stand on their tiptoes. To strain and catch a glimpse of something wonderful and worthy of experiencing. My deep hope is that through time, the gesture of standing on tiptoe will become more deeply ingrained. That the gesture of expectation will become a more permanent posture.

Beauty and truth surround us. At times, we see it clearly without effort.

But if we’re willing to stretch,
To live with an expectant and teachable heart,
To believe that more goodness exists than that which is directly in front of us,

We may be surprised
By the joy discovered
While living life on tiptoe.

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In discussing the exhibition with my children, I found myself struggling to convey the beauty and power of collaboration between the artists, musician, and (unbeknownst to him) poet. I floundered while attempting to describe the complementary nature of abstract and realistic art.  On a whim, I asked the children to listen to one of my favorite pieces of music and paint in response. The only parameter given was that they were to paint what they felt. What stirred in their imaginations and emotions. More abstract and less concrete. I was asking them to stretch beyond their comfort zone.

Last Train Home by Pat Metheny

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No doubt,
We’ll be surprised
By the joy discovered
While living life on tiptoe.


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Sketchings

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sketching monticello

This piece was originally posted in Story Warren, a project in which I’m delighted to play a small part. Drop by and visit. They’re great folks.

– — –

It had been a long day. We were exhausted. But we had traveled a long way, and the trip wouldn’t be complete until we found it.

In the prior week, our family had roamed the fields at Gettysburg, floated down the Charles River, cycled the picturesque trails of Nantucket, and skipped stones across Walden Pond.  We had endured long-winded tour guides on the Freedom Trail, haunted the House of Seven Gables, and foraged through Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in search of Alcott, Emerson and Thoreau. Our family had gorged on history with the zeal of Templeton at the fair. I was full.

But not my daughter. She was on a mission. With quickened step and unshakable resolve, she scanned the horizon searching for her destination. No, not toward the crimson dappled Virginian mountains. No, not behind the gardens where slaves had toiled for decades. Where could it be?

Suddenly, she stopped. Her pause was not due to uncertainty or confusion, rather it resulted from her being absorbed in a moment of delight. Her gaze was fixed beyond the flowerbeds at the end of the meandering brick path.  There it was. The Reflecting Pool. She sprinted with abandon toward this, her final destination. Knowing the significance of her discovery, I dug the camera from my bag and prepared to capture the moment. “Not there,” I was instructed. “You have to take it from the other side – where the house is reflected in the pond.” The angle had to be just right. We were finally at her pond. It was perfect.

In preparation for our trip to New England, my children sketched landmarks which were included on our itinerary. They had taken a great deal of time and effort in selecting and recreating their building (or pond) of choice. A clever tactic, I thought. They would have exposure to the historical icons prior to experiencing them. We would optimize our time and financial investment in the trip.

The goal was indeed achieved. They did learn much about American history. Yet I was unaware of a deeper working in their hearts. What had started as a simple sketch had taken on dimension. As my daughter had considered angle, perspective, depth and shading of the Reflecting Pool, she had grown in attachment to it. She became intimately aware of each curve, shadow, and line. Through each stroke of pen on paper, the picture in her mind became more clear. As we roamed the grounds of that stately home, she knew exactly what she was looking for.  A similar pond wouldn’t do. She longed to see the real thing.

When our children experience goodness, glimpses of eternity are etched onto their hearts.

Each great story engraves lines of truth.
Each work of art imprints ultimate beauty.
Each symphony resonates loveliness.

They all leave their mark, their imprints reflecting the image of the Master Artist. Their effect, to woo His children to himself.

Our children’s lives will be full of adventure, detours, landmark moments and wrong turns. They will travel long distances and lose their way. I can think of no greater honor than to present a rich array of goodness from which they can choose. Goodness that will find its place in their souls. Goodness that will mark the way toward Home.

 

Monticello


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The Year in Review: Top Ten Books of 2012

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books

This is so fun – I feel like I’m introducing you to dear friends.

Here are my favorite books of 2012 (in no particular order):

Refractions by Makoto Fujimura
Through a series of essays, Fujimura makes a compelling case for the crucial role of creativity in the midst of a dehumanizing culture. The thread running throughout Refractions is one of hope. Life is full of challenge, disappointment, and at times, great tragedy. Yet we can choose to bring light into darkness, create beauty from ashes, and bring order to chaos. This is an important book with a timely message. I can’t remember reading the same book twice in one year. Until Refractions.

You can find more of Mako’s writing (including additional Refractions essays) at his site here. If you missed reading Refractions with our reading group, I hope to have a reading guide posted on this site in the next few months.

Surprised by Joy/The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis
Surprised by Joy tells the compelling story of Lewis’s early years. I was struck by the pivotal role that disappointment and hardship played in his spiritual formation. Already an admirer of Lewis’s intellect and faith, this book gave me a glimpse of his humanity. The Friendship essay in The Four Loves explores the nature of friendship in a way that was challenging and insightful. It made me think. About why we choose the friends that we do. About the role that friendship plays in society. About what binds us together.

Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing by Sally Lloyd-Jones
This a devotional packed with deep truths about our Maker and way in which he sees his children.  I continue to be amazed at Sally Lloyd-Jones’s ability to take the most significant, poignant truths and distill them down to a limited number of words. Her writing is the case-in-point for Lewis’s quote, “No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.” This book is the perfect present for everyone – from the newborn to the grandparent.

Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl by N.D. Wilson
N.D. Wilson’s writing has taken permanent residence in our home this year. My son, who is quite a discriminating reader, raved about Wilson’s 100 Cupboard series. After having read Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl, I wasn’t surprised. I can honestly say that Tilt-A-Whirl has had a significant impact on the choices made and life lived out in our home. Here’s a taste:

“This world is beautiful but badly broken . . . I love it as it is, because it is a story, and it isn’t stuck in one place. It is full of conflict and darkness like every good story, a world of surprises and questions to explore. And there’s someone behind it; there are uncomfortable answers to the hows and whys and whats. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through Him were all things made… Welcome to His poem. His play. His novel. Let the pages flick your thumbs.”

I’ve never read anything quite like it.

The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge
Often cited as J.K. Rowling’s favorite book from childhood, The Little White Horse is a children’s fantasy novel full of rich characters, longing, delight, self-sacrifice and redemption. Goudge is a master at weaving beauty and truth throughout her stories.

 

Fiddler’s Gun by A.S. Peterson
What’s not to love about an orphan’s adventure with pirates during the American Revolution? Fiddler’s Gun is a delight to read. The story is fast-paced, yet lyrical. The characters are well-developed and highly relatable. It’s a story about choices, consequences, and ultimately grace, yet doesn’t moralize.  Beware – this is one of those books that will keep you up late at night as you have to read “one more chapter.” The sequel, Fiddler’s Green, is on my list to read in 2013.

Culture Making by Andy Crouch
A provocative book to say the least. Culture Making successfully defines  and discusses an ambiguous, but incredibly important, concept. Culture. What is it? How is it made? What is our role and why does it matter? In particular, I was intrigued by Crouch’s observations of the ways in which we examine and interact with our culture (his section on “postures and gestures”). Culture Making is an artful blend of sociology, theology, and philosophy. It inspires and challenges us all to breathe life and goodness into the world in which we live.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
I’m not sure how I missed this one in high school. No wonder Lee won the Pulitzer Prize. If you missed it as well, now’s the time.

Telling the Truth by Frederick Buechner
This short book by Buechner offers a unique perspective of the gospel – as tragedy, comedy, and fairy tale. It challenges and encourages us to take an honest look at life. “What is the kingdom of God?… He suggests rather than spells out. He evokes rather than explains. He catches by surprise. He doesn’t let the homiletic seams show. he is sometimes cryptic, sometimes obscure, sometimes irreverent, always provocative. He tells stories.” I’m a Buechner fan, and this may be my favorite of his books.

Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers
This was the first book on the list for our reading group, and I’m not sure that I would have made it through (very effectively) without the insights and camaraderie of the other folks. That being said, it has become one of the most influential books that I’ve read. Sayers redefines the call and boundaries of creativity, walks through an amazing explanation of the nature of evil, and builds a framework through which the creative process can be understood. For our group’s written responses to specific chapters, you can visit here (this is the first week, with links to the following weeks found at the bottom of the page). The Mind of the Maker is well worth the time and energy invested. Highly recommended.

A Tree for Peter by Kate Seredy
A beautiful, thoughtful book illustrating that even the smallest light can push back the darkness. A Tree for Peter has at its core the principles found in Refractions, Mind of the Maker, and Culture Making, yet all wrapped in a beautiful story that was written for children. It is outstanding. You can read more here.

 Real Love for Real Life: The Art and Work of Caring by Andi Ashworth
In a society where efficiency and technology are held in highest esteem, we find ourselves busy and productive. Yet we are also more lonely and dehumanized as a result. Real Love for Real Life reminds us that at our core, we have all been created to care well for one another. A balanced blend of the philosophical and practical, this book is food for the soul of a people hungry for connection.

For you detail-oriented folks, yes, that was twelve. It’s been a good year.

If you’d like to join the Greener Trees Reading Group, we’ll be starting with The Art of T.S. Eliot by Helen Gardner the week of January 7th.  Consider joining us!

What were your favorite books of the year? 

Happy New Year and happy reading to you!


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Back to School: Poetry 101

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My alma mater. Where my soul and mind were well fed.

I’m going back to school.  Wanna come?

Don’t you remember the excitement of the new year?  A legion of sharpened pencils.  A carefully-selected notebook with neatly arranged folders.  A stark calendar awaiting the scribbled adornment of activities, assignments, and football games. But at the heart of all the frenzy is the promise of a new beginning.  A fresh start. The potential of the unknown.

As we grow older, the line between seasons begins to blur. The workplace rarely closes for summer vacation, and new starts are far less definitive.  We become pragmatic and resolved.  Too often, we trade in curiosity and imagination for practicality and security.  We deny an invaluable portion of our inheritance – the part of our souls that was designed to create.  Why?

“Children are more creative (than are adults) and are natural inventors.  Their worldview is incomplete and demands discovery. They prosper because they embrace their ignorance instead of ignoring it. And they are willing to explore, investigate, and put their ideas to the test because they are willing to fail.” (Sam McNerney. Killing Creativity: Why Kids Draw Pictures of Monsters & Adults Don’t )

 

We’re too busy.  Our schedules are packed with “have-tos” and we rarely venture to consider the “dream-ofs.”  I’d suggest, however, that under the emperor’s fine purple garments of busy schedules often exists the exposing, naked reality of our own fear. Fear of failure.  Fear of looking silly or impractical.  Or fear of wanting more.

My friend, John, is a gifted therapist who spends his days talking with folks as they struggle to make sense of the hard things in life.  John recently discovered that he has quite a talent for sculpting.  In writing about his journey, John notes that “Sometimes, the riskiest thing for us to do is to trust and try.”

So how about it?  You don’t have to step on the yellow school bus or move into a college dorm this fall in order to try something new.  If you could go back to school, what classes would you take that you missed the first time around?  What activities?  Why not trust and try?

I’ve always been a lover of the well-written word.  I enjoy discovering and reading poetry with my children, and have a special place in my heart for the prose of Emily Dickinson and T.S. Eliot. I dabbled in poetry in high school and college, yet I’ve settled comfortably into the role of a distanced appreciator.

This fall, Chris Yokel (who you may remember from Redeeming the Fall) will be offering two 4-week sessions for folks who have limited or no experience with poetry, but who’d like to learn more.  In a nutshell:

The Basics of Poetry (Sept.17 – Oct. 7): Basic literary elements of poetry.  Teaching videos will be posted on Youtube.

Poetry Writing Workshop (Oct. 15 – Nov.11): Poetry workshop including exercises to help challenge and prod you along.

The class has been designed for those who need flexibility and can commit varying degrees of time. You can find out more detail and sign up for the class at chrisyokel.com.

Whether it’s daring to venture into a poetry class or a pottery studio, exploring a new genre of music or learning the art of cooking Thai cuisine, take a chance. Excitement is drifting through the early autumn air. Breathe in deeply. Let it inspire you.

And if you’re afraid of trying something new, well, I’ll embarrass myself first on the world wide web, so whatever you choose to do may feel a bit less vulnerable. Here goes my first, timid, awkward attempt at haiku:

no more excuses
keyboard strokes dash through veiled pride
to create brings life

 
Shared with…


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Time Flies

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time flies

Let me tell you about my 2-year-old. He loves life. He wakes early in the morning, eager for the adventures of the day. He is inquisitive about the way things work. He transforms long-forgotten remnants of this and that into tools, and he builds wood-block cities where the good guys decimate the bad guys on an hourly basis. He has a kind, generous heart and notices everything extraordinary that adults religiously dismiss. He has a sense of wonder and whimsy for which I yearn. He exudes the very essence of life.

I love my 2-year-old. But the thing is, he just turned 13. It happened when I blinked. As my eyes refocus on this newer version of my boy, I’m acutely aware that so much has changed. He has almost matched me in height.  He is the one recommending books to me, and I learn as much from our conversations (or more) than does he.  He is closer to a man than a boy, and the rate of change is just getting kicked into high gear.

Yet when I consider the best part of that 2-year-old, the truest, most human, most alive part of his soul, it is still just as present eleven years later.  The best part of my son is that which is eternal.  It doesn’t slip away with years, although I’ve been granted the privilege to see it grow and develop.  His joy, his compassion, his curiosity for life, his kindness and his creativity.  Those things remain. They were formed from a substance more foundational than atoms.  They are not bound (or marred) by the passage of time. The best part of my vibrant son, of my elderly grandmother, of you, and of me, won’t vanish with the years. It can’t be ended by a milestone birthday. Or even by a funeral.

Most of us have felt the twinge (or gut-wrenching) sadness that accompanies the milestones commemorated in our photo albums. We sigh, and with a mix of melancholy, nostalgia, sadness and yearning, we chant the parental mantra, “Time flies.”  Yet take heart.

Yes, time flies.

But I don’t want to stop it.  I want to climb on its back and soak up every inch of the scenery. I want to drink in the laughter, the tears, the soccer games, the visits to the ER, the blues skies and the torrential rains that this world has to offer. For when the cosmic clock is finally grounded, I will climb off its back, grateful for the wild and wonderful (full-of-wonder) ride.

So enjoy your toddlers, your teenagers, your grandchildren. Don’t miss one bit of the ride due to fear or regret. For the day is coming when the tarnish of time will be removed  from us all.  And underneath will be revealed the beauty, the creativity, the wonder, the whimsy, and the perfected love that was imprinted on our souls from the very foundations of the universe.

 

 


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Join Us – Refractions by Makoto Fujimura

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Please consider joining a group of like-hearted folks as we read Makoto Fujimura’s Refractions.  Mako is an internationally acclaimed artist, speaker, and writer, and is the founder of the International Arts Movement.  For more on his life and works, you can visit his website.

Through a series of essays, Mako makes a compelling case for the crucial role of creativity in a culture that is consistently dehumanizing.  He is leading a revolution of reconciliation in the midst of a hostile world.  The thread running throughout the essays in Refractions is one of hope:

“We need to see ways to be not just ‘peacekeepers’ but to be ‘engaged peacekeepers.’ In such a definition, peace (or the Hebrew word shalom) is not simply an absence of war but a thriving of our lives, where God uses our creativity as a vehicle to create the world that ought to be.”  Makoto Fujimura

 

Regardless of our education, occupation, or prior experience with the arts, we all have much to gain from reading Refractions.  We have an opportunity to help shift the climate of this generation from one of “Culture Wars” to one of “Culture Care.”

“The goal of arts education is not to create artists, although that is a fine by-product: the goal of arts education is to create better doctors, engineers, politicians, teachers, fathers and mothers.”   Dana Gioia, Former Chairman of the National Endowment of the Arts

The Schedule:

Week of August 20th: Introduction, Chp 1-3
Week of August 27th: Chp 4-8
Week of September 3rd: Chp 9-12
Week of September 10th: Chp 13-16
Week of September 17th: Chp 17-20
Week of September 24th: Chp 21-23

Refractions is available for purchase in book form, or you can find the individual essays here. For many of us, the fall brings with it increased demands on our schedules. The reading plan allows for flexibility.  Each chapter is only a few pages long and can stand alone. If your week is particularly busy and you’re only able to read one essay, you’ll still be able to join in the discussion.

The Plan:

For those on Facebook, we have formed a private Greener Trees Reads group for all who are interested.  I’ll be posting an invitation, and you just need to request approval to join.  Once you’re a member, you’re welcome to invite and approve your friends.

For those who are in Charlotte, we will offer an opportunity to meet and discuss in person sometime in September or October.

For those of you who just want to read along, consider asking a friend to join you so you can discuss.

I won’t be hijacking the blog for the fall as I did with The Mind of the Maker, but the reading and subsequent churning of ideas will undoubtedly seep through into whatever I share.  The impact of Mako’s vision has permeated much of my everyday life – my view of family and friendships, how we spend our time, the value of the seemingly mundane, and the privilege and responsibility with which we have been entrusted.  I am grateful.

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Our reading group just finished a rich conversation about Dorothy Sayers’s book The Mind of the Maker.  Many of her insights are directly applicable to the ideas found in Refractions.  For pieces written in response to The Mind of the Maker, you can read:

DNA
Hope Restored
On Limitations and Lemonade Stands, Free Will and Miracle
Redeeming the Fall
An Unfinished Work
And It Was Good


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And It Was Good

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It’s an honor to share this guest post, written by Emily Cottrill, with you.  Emily is an oil painter, avid reader, and daily cow-milker. She teaches art and is the author of the Simply Charlotte Mason Picture Study Portfolios (of which I’m a big fan).  Emily and her mother run Living Books Library, a private lending library with thousands of out-of-print living books on their fledgling farm in southwest Virginia.

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In today’s culture, we have easy access to all kinds of images, information, words, music. In what seems like a constant bombardment of media we can lose sight of an objective criteria to help us sift through the bad and mediocre to find the worthy. Have you ever seen a stunning piece of art, read a wonderful story, heard an exquisite piece of music, had a flash of insight while listening to a gifted teacher, and said, that is Good? Genesis 1 GOOD?

A favorite encounter with this kind of Good work in my life, at least in the world of literature, was one I met with in the pages of a children’s book. Perhaps the best I’ve ever read. When I picked up a fairly thin, unassuming beige volume with a green fir tree embossed on the cover, I had no clue what I was in for. I started reading it one night, knowing absolutely nothing about it beforehand, and I couldn’t stop until I had finished the last page. A Tree for Peter by Kate Seredy stopped me in my tracks.

I’m not being overly dramatic to say I cried myself to sleep that night. The story did have some sad elements, but it was hopeful, it was beautiful, it was GOOD. That ache of joy I felt encountering such sorrowful beauty caused me not only to weep but to consider, to mull over, to remember, to share, and to act. The idea of the book, working on me through the right words crafted together and accompanied by hand-drawn sepia-toned illustrations changed me—compelled me to respond.

But what is it that makes a piece of work good? Dorothy Sayers has given us a model of understanding creativity in that it reflects the Holy Trinity with three distinct, yet unified parts—the Idea (the Father), the Material Form (the Son), the Power of Response (the Holy Ghost). When a creative work seems good these three elements are in harmony, perfect balance.

Unfortunately, the state of our fallen world is off-kilter, imbalanced, or, as Sayers says, scalene. The old image of a three legged stool wobbles if one of the legs in the creative trinity is longer than the others. This is not, usually, an insurmountable problem. Slight imbalances still yield good work. But when the three are in complete balance, then something Good results.

A Tree for Peter not only demonstrates to me how an artistic work in itself can exhibit a balanced creative trinity, but the theme of the book itself is illustrative of balanced Idea-Form-Power.

Peter, a small, lame boy, lives in a slum. Spending every day alone as his widowed mother goes out to work—toiling longer than the sun—in a laundry, Peter’s world is full of fear and despair. The buildings decaying around him reflect the hopeless lives of those who seek shelter within their drafty walls. The meager interiors shrink from the light dimmed by broken and grimy glass just as their occupants slink away and return under darkness to hide their shame. Fearful Peter is a lonely shell just like the dilapidated houses around him. Rough boys, a noisy policeman, and wild dogs add to the chaos.

But one day…one day hope finds him in the form of a cheerful tune whistled by a new friend.

With this hope an idea is planted in Peter’s heart, one he doesn’t even know how to name, living as he has for so long in brokenness and ugliness. Hope…that one day this slum could be…beautiful. But Peter knows he needs tools, materials to work with. His ephemeral friend supplies all that is necessary—one small spade.

A toy really, a red spade. And that one tool changed the world.

Working diligently, yet in secret, as a surprise for his mother, Peter clears away debris and begins to prepare a place for a garden. Saying his hope out loud—that he longs for a tree to bring beauty to this barren patch of earth—Peter’s friend promises to bring him one, but he must do the work, get his hands dirty, prepare the soil, and dig the hole. He must work with the materials around him, working in faith, and then his idea will be brought into existence. So he does. Hard as it is for him with his lame leg, his frail frame, Peter toils for months.

And then…a cheerful tune carried through the chinks in the walls by the whistling wind draws Peter and his mother out on a snowy night. There, in the place prepared by the small boy stands a tree, its evergreen branches lit with candles, beckoning not just the lonely pair, but slowly, one by one, all the inhabitants of Shantytown.

For Beauty must be shared.

This work, born as an Idea, manifested in the earthy Material wrought by a small creator, called a community out of their loneliness and shame. They began to have Ideas of their own; through honest, patient work men and women brought beauty back to a place everyone tried to ignore. The work begun by a small boy with one small spade was powerful, evoking response first from those nearest, growing in Power until an entire city was impacted.

This is Good work.

But Peter did not accomplish this work alone. His redemption began when one man spoke Truth into his fearful soul. Hope for a better life blossomed the moment he learned to trust his new friend, someone other men overlooked. This friend taught Peter to see with new eyes, with his new vision our hero was able to embrace the broken, fallen, mess of material reality around him, to see through it, to re-create it into beauty.

We are not perfect Creators yet. Human creators are necessarily skewed to one aspect or another of the trinity, weaker in one and stronger in another. But we are still creators, capable of good work. And we are not left alone without hope. We too have a Friend, one who is constantly interceding for us before the Throne. As Sayers reminds us,

“The son works simultaneously in heaven and on earth, this needs to be unceasingly reaffirmed, artistically as well as theologically. He is in perpetual communion both with the Father-Idea and with all matter. Not just with some particular sort of etherealized and refined matter—with things enskied and sainted—but with all matter; with flesh and blood and lath-and-plaster, as well as with words and thoughts.” (pg. 166)

 

So we must go about our own lives—our daily work, whatever it may be—rooted in the Idea that we are creating, every single day, building a kingdom here on earth that speaks of and brings glory to our Creator. As we craft beauty and order from our earthly Materials we must have faith that the Spirit will work in Power. And the results will be Good.

 

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For more from The Mind of the Maker reading group:

Thoughts from week 1 found here
Thoughts from week 2 found here
Thoughts from week 3 found here
Thoughts from week 4 found here
Thoughts from week 5 found here


 


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An Unfinished Work

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I’m grateful to share this guest post, written by Jen Rose, with you.  Jen is a writer, poet, radio nerd, and hopeless book and music addict. She’s a born and raised Floridian (apparently an endangered species) and has been blogging since she begged an Internet acquaintance for a LiveJournal invite in 2002. Her musings on faith, art, and the writing life can be found at www.jenwritesstuff.com.

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Sometimes I wonder why God would create a beautiful universe with a fatal flaw.

It’s one of those questions good Christians aren’t “supposed” to ask, the kind we’re tempted to shrug off, saying, “well, His ways are higher you know.” But if you think about it long enough, it’s a question that can make the stoutest faith waver, enough to cause you to stumble on a wave just as you were getting the hang of walking on water. Why would an all-knowing, sovereign God design a world that he knew would fall? Why would an all-powerful God not board up Eden’s door before Evil could slither inside?

In Chapter 7 of The Mind of the Maker, Sayers tackles the mystery of evil, reasoning her way to the end “we may redeem the Fall by a creative act.” (p. 107) Through the entire book, she builds an argument for creativity as a central aspect of the image of God, and in Chapter 9, she explores the impetus for any creation: love. Not fuzzy sentimentality or possessive control, but an all-consuming fire.

“A work of creation is a work of love, and that love is the most ruthless of all the passions, sparing neither itself, nor its object, nor the obstacles that stand in its way.” (129)

Sayers writes with the sharp mind of a critic and the heart of a storyteller. As an author of mystery novels, her default concept of creativity is writing: how the author is compelled to tell a story, and how she creates characters out of love and sends them into conflict and even to death. No loving storyteller (or certainly no good one) spares the characters pain or forces them to act contrary to who they are, and even an imperfect writer would tell you that any story needs conflict to have any meaning.

I think of authors who talk about mourning with and for their characters, even though they have full power to snatch their beloved creations away from any danger. In his essay “The Bond Between Creature and Creator,” (http://www.rabbitroom.com/2012/05/the-bond-between-creature-and-creator/) author A.S. Peterson describes writing a character’s tragedy like this:

“I reached a point one night when Fin, my heroine, had come to the lowest point in her life. All her dreams had fallen apart; everything she’d hoped for was gone. She was in total despair and she was crying out to God: Why?

When I heard that cry, I cried. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I sat in my chair and shook. I felt her pain so clearly and so personally, because, of course, she was part of me, wasn’t she? She was my own creation. Created in my own image. To whom was she crying out if not to me?

Why? she cried. And then I realized that I had the answer. My answer was: Because I know the end of the story. “Just wait,” I wanted to tell her. “Just wait!” But of course she couldn’t hear that. She was lost in the cornfield with no idea of what lay over the immense horizon–and no way home.”

The world was good, the world is fallen, and the world will be redeemed. It’s the heart of the Gospel, the lifeblood of a tale that stretches to the beginning, when God spoke worlds into existence, from the most far-flung galaxies to the tiniest organisms in the sea. He breathed a handful of dirt to life, then wiped the dust from his hands and called it good.

And then, as creation is prone to do, it broke his heart. Again and again. When pride told his children they could be like gods, when the first brothers fell victim to the first murder, when the Artist looked upon his beautiful work and, in perhaps the saddest story ever told, said, “I am sorry that I made them.” Even Jesus, the Son of God himself, stood at Lazarus’ tomb and wept, though he knew the power of resurrection was in his hands and the grave would soon be empty. History is a long line of disappointments, failures, death.

And yet, love burns on. What else could keep the broken world running but a passion to see the plot through to the end?

“A passion of this temper does not resign itself to sacrifice, but embraces it, and sweeps the world up in the same embrace… love is the Energy of creation.” (136)

Any artist can agree that in order to finish a work, they must do the work, and sometimes the resistance is so great that we, pale shadows of the Creator that we are, all too often give up. An Idea must flame with Energy, because even as it fights coming to life, a “violent urge” to be born pushes it into the light of day. The Fall set this universe careening into entropy, but the same creation groans and aches to be remade. Every day, it is being remade, even now.

Imagine God bending over the world, painting another magnificent sunset, calling the seasons to turn, and whispering, “Just wait. Just wait.”

Sometimes, I do still wonder what an unfallen world would look like. Perhaps it’s not so helpful to consider though, because in the end, a more glorious thing happened. What was meant for Evil was remade into Good by the grace of God, stepping into frail bones and blood and living in our dirt for a while. Jesus’ sacrifice wasn’t a resigned, self-pitying thing that had to be done. It wasn’t a discreet, sentimental cleanup job. It was accepting mockery, torture, death, and ultimately, taking victory over death.

It was perfect love, all along, crafting a better Story than any literary genius could dream up.

Sayers goes on to say, “The universe is not a finished work.” It’s like a book that the characters live in and read, or a play where the actors are the audience and no one has seen the script, or a film still being edited. No one is allowed to just watch; we all participate, improvising our parts as we go, looking to the Author for clues to the journey’s end.

So maybe, without a Fall, we wouldn’t know the depths of his ruthless love, the fire that consumes us, scars us, and leaves us pure in the end. Maybe the joy and pain of creation wouldn’t have quite the same meaning. It’s impossible to know what could have been.

But knowing the tale is still unfinished and the Maker hasn’t given up on his masterpiece is a comforting thing. In time, the pain will be a memory, and somewhere in eternity, these days will be part of the epic tale written from the beginning, a love story like no other.

~~~~~~~~~~~

For more from The Mind of the Maker reading group:

Thoughts from week 1 found here
Thoughts from week 2 found here
Thoughts from week 3 found here
Thoughts from week 4 found here


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