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Spacious: More thoughts of the creative journey

May 16, 2013

There are times of insomnia, while I will myself to sleep, that my mind searches for moments of utter rest. Imagining places I’ve never been or experienced are not as peaceful to me as recalling with mind and body those snippets of memory I’ve lived…

Hours following the completion of a big event or project

Day 3 or 4 of a vacation

9:30am on a day with an empty schedule

Post – birth in a hospital bed

Moments I have felt spacious. Tranquil. At rest.

Why are they so few? And how do we purposefully carve out more?

to be kind to our self

to hear and see beneath the clutter

to experience the spiritual blessing of Sabbath… a right-ness with self, God, others, and the world

butterflies

In an effort to rediscover my voice, I have picked up Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way again. I remember working through it a decade ago and recall those days as feeling fully alive.

We were in Turkey then, leading younger grads, and I hosted people in my home constantly. I strived to cook elaborate meals from Turkish ingredients, recreate beauty for our holidays in the absence of store-bought decor, and craft a space for the women of care and vulnerability. That season was one of the most fully-purposed I have ever felt in life and ministry.

Somehow, in unison, my soul dried up with my creativity.

When I noticed it, my husband’s had also. And so, we left Turkey to begin a season of tending the soil, watering and replenishing, studying a different way of growing and producing life. I am ready to harvest.

But to do so requires a spacious soul. And that demands discipline. Or, at the very least, intention. 

So I avoid. Get distracted. Work on my lists first.

Julia Cameron suggests I might be afraid. She says, “Recognize this resistance as a fear of intimacy–  self- intimacy.”

And I know. She is right. I do not fear what I might find, I fear what I won’t.

I fear an absence of any creativity at all.

I fear that when I silence the chatter, I won’t hear anything.

But my soul remembers and it is the memory that keeps inching upward, refusing its dormancy.

 

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