I love to create. And what I love to create varies by the season of life in which I find myself.
When money was tight and Husband-Man and I newly married, I crocheted hats for all of our family’s Christmas presents. These were, however, no ordinary hats. They were designed for each family member. One was a monster with horns and eyes, others were stylish and slouchy, and others still were super functional and warm.
When studying business for a bachelors and masters degree, my art was the perfectly crafted resume or research paper. You may not find art in a visually pleasing and content rich document, but I do. I crafted it with my hands and mind, and it has the possibility to open doors of employment and avocation for many.
When I got sick of all the business writing required of me as a student, I would sing. I sang with chamber and concert choirs, practicing an hour a day and performing at concerts and on tours. I relish the feeling of my voice blending with my neighbors, creating one voice to convey a message of peace, joy, hope, or sadness.
When desperate and tired from illness and work, my art consisted of tear stained words that were sometimes legible, scribbled in a gorgeous leather journal.
This past month, I haven’t been doing my art. And I’ve been miserable.
My wrist still hasn’t healed well. I’m in and out of a brace, preventing me from cutting pieces for sewing, holding a needle to embroider, holding a book of music to sing, crocheting, writing by hand, and sometimes even typing. I’m not in terrible pain, but I’ve been told that rest is the only way my tendons can heal.
I am not good at rest.
I have NEVER been good at rest. I get antsy, and mean. I feel useless and unfulfilled.
And sometimes, I have ignored my doctor’s orders for rest, and in desperation, have tried to create something. And I have been frustrated that my creation has been weak, like my wrist.
What has God been teaching me?
That is hard to say. I’ve spent this entire year waiting, so you’d think that this would be easy. But, my escape has been taken away from me. I can’t feel better by being creative in my normal ways. I can’t escape into a project and forget the world for a while.
So, I have no where left to turn. My art, my creation, is not here to make me feel better, so there’s only one more place to turn.
Even when your wrist is hurt, you can still lift your hands. My voice can still sing, and my mind can still study. It’s back to basics (with a lot of prayer for healing).
Happy December, friends.