It seems that every season of healing in my life has been accompanied by a desire to create. Usually, to paint.
In my struggle, I desperately need art.
In the middle of pain and nonsensical wondering,
I need beauty.
And I need it desperately.
I need flowers. And long walks. I need to see colors that bring me joy. And dresses that make me feel beautiful. And poems and space. And quiet. Room to breathe. And time.
When all is unsure, I can look to a painting and say,
"It is well. That is beauty."
Beauty invites rest.
Creating invites healing.
Creating... brings hope.
If I can create something beautiful from nothing, then surely something beautiful can come of the nothingness that I find myself in.
Creation declares somethings out of nothings.
That is the hope that art provides.
And so the healing comes.
Day by day. Moment by moment.
Stroke by stroke.
It can't be ushered on.
Beautiful creations always start as nothing...
The idea gives hope. Strength grows. Passion ignites. Hope is fanned by a desire to take part in change. And the canvas starts filling.
Suddenly, instead of sitting wondering, waiting, motionless...
I find that I'm stronger than I thought. That I do still have something to offer in even a season of struggle.
And so I just let it come.
Hope can't be forced.
It's something that comes when you need it desperately. It surprises you but not in a way that you can really take hold of it. When I try to grasp it, I feel powerless to create hope.
Instead, I have to open my hands and just let it come.
Then a stroke.
And eventually it will become.
Unforced, but oh so desperately wanted.