Dear Becky, Two Halves of the Same Heart...

Dear Becky, 

Hey you!  We haven’t talked in soooo long. I’d apologize for that, but then you’d tell me not to. You’d remind me that friendship goes both ways and that you haven’t written in a while too.  Thank you for that. 

Anyhow, I had some thoughts about the new year whirling around for some time now and I haven’t really known how to tell you. I have some big things on the horizon, but it’s probably not what you’re thinking. So here goes…

Have you ever prayed for a theme word or words for the year ahead?  Do you take the time to reflect on where you’ve been in order to set new goals for where you’re going? This has been a yearly practice for me since I became a business owner. This annual practice has been quite the centering force and it’s always fascinating to see what bubbles to the surface.  I often find that my goals surprise me and if I may be so vulnerable to share what’s been on my heart for the new year--it’s the word reconciliation. 

Have you ever felt like your heart was divided?  Like there are two parts of the same heart diametrically opposed to one another?  It’s problematic.  You see, by giving your full attention to one side, you wrestle with imbalance and the feeling that you’re missing out on something else—possibly great. I have two loves, Becky...two oppositional career aspirations. I have never understood how these two parts fit together and it has been a great source of frustration for me. Until recently…

Let me tell you a story, Becky.  It’s one you’ve heard before, but I’ve discovered a surprise ending.

Do you remember the night in high school when  my oldest brother finally invited me hang out with him and his friends?  It was the first time I'd been granted the “cool enough” card as the baby sister.  What an unexpected thrill! It turned out to be one of the most memorable nights of my life, but for reasons we never expected.  You know how the story goes, Becky.  You remember how even though my ride and I left the restaurant first, my brother and the rest of his friends made it home before us.  You know the part about the phone call that came in from a bystander informing them that there had been an accident.  You’ve heard it told of the horror my mother felt not knowing if I was dead or alive or what hospital I’d be transported to.  You know how my family raced around North Dallas searching multiple hospitals before finding me at Parkland—the nearest fully equipped trauma unit at the time. You know that I’d taken the brunt of a side impact collision at high speeds and that I sustained head trauma, broken bones, and plenty of bruises and scars I still wear today. You’ve heard me speak of the confusion after waking in the back of an ambulance, not knowing my own name, and how I slipped in and out of consciousness. You’ve heard me tell of the vulnerability I felt when my gasoline soaked clothing was cut off my broken body in the back of an ambulance with only a thin white sheet shielding my nakedness from what felt like the world. I lost my favorite Lilith Fair shirt that night. But I don’t need to remind you. 

You also know how grateful I was for the quality of care and reassurance I received from the two medics that night in spite of the garden hose they called an IV needle and the pain of the C-Collar resting on my broken bones. You know how my fragmented memories of that night became a source of inspiration as I recognized a need for a female presence, in a male dominated profession. You’ve heard me recount the stories. You were there during my fire department internship and through my EMT certification the following year.  You were there when I went off to Texas Tech University to study nursing. I wanted to be a flight nurse, Becky. But something happened—the pull of the Art building I walked by every day became more than I could bear.  I remember our late night debates about how crazy/exciting/foolish it might be to change my major and explore fine art. You stood by me when I took the plunge, but I’m not sure I’ve ever told you how much I missed emergency medicine.  I was good at it, Becky! I think everyone assumed that I’d divorced it and never looked back. I didn’t.  The truth is, I secretly asked that life to wait for me. I found my love of first responding at such a young age and I threw myself at it, but I’d never given myself the chance to explore other avenues.  I needed time and it graciously provided until my pursuits of family-life took me so far away that it seemed impossible to go back. It was like two halves of my heart had been severed permanently.

It wasn’t until recently, that I realized it was possible to pursue both--possible to be an EMT and a Fine Art Photographer—possible to still prioritize family above all else. Not only is it possible, but I’ve come to believe it is necessary! Becky, I’m renewing my EMT certification in the beginning of 2021. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and maybe some concerns. I do too. But here is what I know:

Living through a pandemic is tough.  Homeschooling kids is tough! Keeping a fine art career afloat is exeedingly tough! Turns out people don’t really visit art galleries, attend many workshops, or purhcase a lot of prints during a pandemic. You might wonder if this is me giving up, it’s not. Yes, this year threatened to ruin me creatively-speaking. However, the constant uphill battle of a fine art career coupled with the strain of unforseen circumstances has shown me that sometimes it’s not healthy or beneficial to place financial responsibility on your creativity. There are seasons when creativity needs more support than your audience can provide—and that is OKAY!

In September, I found myself in the back of an ambulance for the first time in nearly 20 years and it awakened something in me. So when I tell you this, please know that this is me pursuing reconciliation with part of myself that has been dormant—part of me that is poised and ready to take the yoke of financial responsibility off of my creativity. I want to see what my creativity looks like when it’s untethered from monetary restraints. This is me fighting for art—fanning its flame when 2020 threatened to snuff it out. But even more than that, this is a step toward reconciling two halves of the same heart—a heart that longs to meet people in their brokenness and offer care and support both practically and spiritually. This is me refusing to accept the cultural expectation that a career must be a singular pursuit and for the first time in my adult life these two parts of me finally make sense together.

This is me, Becky. 

All the best in 2021, 

-Lauren

Dear Becky, A Basket of Breadcrumbs and a Dirk...

Dear Becky,

It’s been a crazy couple of months around here. So far we’ve had a plague, murder hornets, and now a very recent series of grievous unjust killings of people of color.  We’ve had protests and we’ve had riots.  The climate around here resembles a powder keg and our president seems more interested in his appearance for the upcoming election than what is happening around him. It’s scary, Friend.

It’s been tense closer to home too.  As it turns out, Becky, it’s incredibly hard to work from home while the kids are out of school.  I have struggled more than usual and my typical enneagram 7, moving-towards-others-personality has had a ridiculously hard time putting to words just what it is that has been so difficult.  I must admit that when the “shelter in place” order came, I didn’t think much would change for us, because The Weatherman has been working from home for 2-3 years now.  It was more like summer just came early than anything else.  However, all these prior plans and commitments I’d intended to wrap up before the kids came home. Needless to say that didn’t happen. To say I’ve been feeling the weight of it would be and understatement. I can hear you snicker as you read this because you know that this is one of those times when my sometimes unrealistic optimism sets me up for a fall.  And I can see you shaking your head because you think I should know better.  I’m sorry to say that I don’t. 

I had another dream, Becky. It came in two parts.  In the first, I was a part of a theater company and we were set to perform a large production. But the director sent me away before the play was supposed to start. I wasn’t given any knowledge about where I was to go, just that I was to get on this one particular windy road and follow it. I could see a dark, ominous, storm on the horizon ahead and I didn’t want to go. I was flooded with all sorts of emotions because I thought I was being stripped of my part in the production.  But out of obedience, I went.  As I drove down the road, it was like swimming into dark murky waters. Uncertainty threatened me. The feeling of loneliness was heavy on my chest.  As the intensity of the dark and heavy rain beat down on my windshield, I pulled off to a rest stop to shelter.  As I sought refuge, I found two other individuals sheltering there as well, and although unfamiliar with these strangers, we huddled together.  The discomfort of huddling with strangers quickly gave way to an odd sort of comradery as we came together for a common cause….safety from the storm. I remember expressing to these individuals my gratitude to have found them and the sentiment of wondering how many times I had avoided connection with strangers due to fear. Then the dream shifted in the way dreams do, offering no sensible explanation, and these individuals and I were back at the theater company.  All I remember was arriving back at the theater and being confronted with my grief over missing the production. However, the director arrived to inform me that the acceptance of the mission she’d sent me on had in fact provided me the privilege of my choice of parts in the delayed production.  The show had waited for me.  I remember all my questions giving way to intense gratitude, before the dream took one last shift. 

In this last segment of the dream, Becky, the perspective of the dream shifted to a more abstract presentation.  In this part, I saw a table with a basket of bread crumbs, a knife resembling a scottish dirk, and a grinding stone.  I leaned in reaching for the basket but it was moved just out of my reach,  though it remained within sight.  The dirk was then put to the grinding stone for sharpening. Then I heard a voice say that the basket of crumbs were my aspirations being moved just to the side for a time of re-sharpening, but only for a time. 

I must confess, Becky, that I’ve been dealing with a lot of anger.  I know it won’t surprise you that I didn’t immediately know where it was coming from. All these years and all this work and I still can’t read myself well.  I’m discouraged, Becky. I’m frustrated.  I have felt as if I cannot have a career unless my children are in school. The reality of that simple notion brings a myriad of complicated and ugly implications that I wish did not exist for me.  I had prepared my plans for 2020 with the intent to have all my biggest commitments cleared away for summer, so that I could simply be the mom that I usually love to be! But summer came early this year and I wasn’t ready put my work in the back seat just yet. I have to remind myself that I chose this profession for its flexibility, but circumstances have asked me to bend before I was prepared to. It’s been hard.  I have even wrestled with guilt over my internal (and external) tantrums. But it seems I must accept that it is time for me to reorganize my priorities and remember that my primary aspiration is that of “Mom”.  This doesn’t mean I'm not pursuing my work, Becky, it simply means that it’s my kids’ turn to ride shotgun for now. 

“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. ”

— Psalm 23

All my blessings, Friend!

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Bring Back the Music...

Dear Becky,

Hey, Friend, something has happened and we never saw it coming. Don’t worry, we are all currently safe, but… we’re a little stir crazy.

I know you don’t watch the news much, so you probably don’t know this, but the world as you know it is going to come to a screeching halt. I know it’s hard to fathom, but it’s coming.  You’ll be asked to stay home, avoid public places, homeschool your kids, and wash your hands like there’s a plague….because, well….there’s a plague.

I’m not really writing to you as a warning so much as just to offer some advice, and I’m going to sound a little nuts. Maybe I am a little. I mean, I’ve been in quarantine for over a month now and there is no end currently in sight.  We have big concerns about the economy, the healthcare system, and the mental stability of the tiny dancer (the isolation is wearing on her), but again, that’s not why I’m writing to you.

Here’s the deal.  You’re a creative. You are a jack of all trades (though you feel like you’ve mastered none).  You are incredibly adaptive and innovative when it comes to solving problems both big and small.  I cannot remember a time you didn’t have some project or new thing on the horizon! You most likely won’t believe me when I say this, but eventually you’re going to fall in love with an artistic medium and you will build a career around it.  Don’t be fooled, my friend, it won’t be easy! You will struggle. You’ll have many an existential crisis, but you will have tapped into something bigger than you. And all of that will seemingly halt too. 

A plague is coming. 

Our world will suddenly stop and everything will go quiet.  The creativity that flows freely will be wiped away...or so it will seem for a time. You will feel like your brain and your life have been hijacked.  You’ll be asked to take on responsibilities you didn’t plan for and the things you spent so much time building will seemingly vanish overnight. You will experience great sadness when this happens and you will grieve.  It’s okay to grieve! By the time this happens, you’ll know that already.  

You’ll know that grief is valuable.  You’ll know that avoidance in general, only cuts off the growth that the Giver longs for you to experience. You’ll be well acquainted with pain and discomfort, and even though you still fear both, you’ll know that when you surrender, they make way for a deeper more tangible experience with the one called Yahweh.  You will have discovered that joy and sadness are not mutually exclusive emotions; there is a symbiotic relationship between them that makes the hard things more bearable and the joyful things more joyful when you allow yourself to experience them fully. It’s not comfortable to feel things so intensely, but it is good.

But when the world stops, and it will, everything will go quiet. Just like the streets outside your door, so will be the hum of your bustling creativity—silent.  You will feel as though you’ve been thrust into a vacuum. A formless void. You will watch others carry on as normal, but for you, the ground you stood on will disappear under your feet.  It will feel like spinning out of control, further and further from the footing you once relied upon. When this happens...remember this word…

Music.  

Turn on the music, Becky. 

You will have forgotten to.  You will not have noticed the silence you experience is self-imposed. 

Trust me on this, will you?   

I must admit I don’t fully understand why or how important this seemingly simple action is to you--to us. But it is.  Music will usher the presence of the wind again and with it will return form to your empty spaces. And although you may not know when or how you will carve out space for the things you toiled for previously, you will rest knowing that your vein of creativity has not left you...it has only shifted. It will look different during this strange season. 

What will it look like, you ask? Oh, Becky, you know I don’t give up my secrets that easily!—that’s a letter for another day. :)

Wash your hands, Friend!

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Waiting is Hard...

Dear Becky, 

Hey friend, how are the kids?  Does your little one still spit-shine the floor for fun?  I know that drives you absolutely crazy in the moment, but friend, pause.  Give yourself permission to laugh about it. Because one day she will discover that intrigue has left for other, more complicated places.

Last night I had another vivid dream.  

This time the details were a little fuzzy, but it went like this:

A round object reminiscent of an over-stretched t shirt had fallen on my floor.  As I bent over to pick it up, I realized I could see the refracted and rippling appearance of another world or dimension through it as if peering at a city at the bottom of a dark pool of water. Curious.  

I reached inside and could feel the cool moist atmosphere of some other place wash over my hand and up my arm.  Not like reaching into a body of water. No. More like reaching into the cool damp drizzle of a heavy fog. It beckoned me to dive in, to explore, or else escape. Looking closer, I realized I knew of this place on the other side. It had a name, though I cannot remember. 

Knowing I could not yet dive in--I would not go without the ones I love--I wondered if I would lose this opportunity if I chose to wait.  Would the magic dissipate if I picked up the shirt? Could I save it for another, more appropriate time? I would never know unless I tried.  

And so I did.  

I picked it up and cast it down again.  It worked! 

This time in a different place.  The feeling as I submerged my hand into the rippling atmosphere of this other land. This place also had a familiar name, though I cannot remember it now. I had been there before. But still, it was not right to go.

I picked up the shirt and stowed it away, hoping the possibility would exist again when I was ready. When we were ready. 

Later on I decided to show The Weatherman my discovery.  With great excitement I cast the round shirt-like object on the ground.  As it fell, the portal opened. But it wasn’t right. I cast again. And this time it was perfect. I grasped the hand of The Weatherman as he peered inside.  Again, the time was still not right for full submersion, but perhaps just a taste. As we knelt down together, with our hands intertwined, we dangled our feet into the cold misty atmosphere. I could feel gusting wind across the lower half of my legs and feet. Looking down to see where this wind was coming from,  I realized we were dangling over the top of the Empire State Building at night. It was magical. I couldn’t believe I had the chance to experience New York City from such great heights! I wondered about the purpose of it all. Why is this happening? I had no answers--only curiosities and a sense of adventure ahead. The Weatherman and I marveled at the experience of this aerial view as some time passed. It was sweet.  It was peaceful.

The dream ended with a knowing of sorts that these things--these portals--were gifts.—an inheritance of sorts stored up for when the time is right.

But waiting is hard, Becky.

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Can Dry Bones Live?

Dear Becky,

Hey Girl, it’s been a hot minute hasn’t it? First it was thanksgiving, next it was Christmas, then my solo show, and now I’m preparing for a whole list of events this spring. I have felt a smidge flooded. Would you believe I even photographed an image with video and it’s been two weeks and I haven’t even laid the groundwork for completion? These are busy days, but momentum is building and it feels good. 

At any rate, while I was picking up a print in OKC and made an interesting observation while at a stop light. As I sat there my eyes wandered to a 50-something woman hobbling back and forth, with a cane, carrying a sign that said “Family in need, anything helps”. It’s funny the things you notice when you choose to be present. First I observed how she hobbled, carrying a cane.  It looked painful. But then I noticed how clean her clothes and hair looked. I thanked God that whatever circumstances had brought her to this point, she still had access to clean clothes. I also noticed another woman across the intersection, slightly younger and likely related because she had similar build and clothing. I wondered again what sequence of events would lead these two individuals to choose to beg for handouts on a street corner? 

You know me well, Becky, so you must have guessed that I would try to put myself in their shoes; that I opened my mind and heart to the voice of God as I inquired what He might be whispering at that moment. Were these circumstances truly out of their control? Was it a result of their own poor choices? Was it laziness or entitlement? Could it be poor health? You know--all the things —fair or not—that go through the head of a middle-class white woman, who’s never known the sort of circumstance these two were facing. A million thoughts filled my head as I tried to stretch my mind to understand. I could think of at least a thousand things I would choose before coming to a street corner, but is that privilege talking? What cascade of events would drive a person to the point of deciding that panhandling was the best option? I found myself asking if there could be a better way. Granted this is not a profound question—and I am in no way profound for asking. But, if I were to spring into action, what would that look like? What could I possibly have to offer this woman, or any other person for that matter, that might help for more than just a day? That’s when I heard a whisper. What if I could teach her some practical skill, craft, or form of creativity that she could put in the service of others?  What if I could provide a platform for apprenticeships for needy individuals that could turn their products into income? Something that would bend and flex to their particular needs or limitations? Something they might perhaps enjoy? The only thing I really have to give is creativity!--and at first glance might seem to fall desperately short, but does it? Does it really?

For me creativity has been a life sustaining force.  It has offered me an avenue to push past my self-imposed boundaries and explore the wilderness spaces both inside and out.  It has granted me connection and community. Most importantly, the practice of creativity has allowed me to encounter the most tangible, inextricable, and experiential encounter with who I call Jesus.   

Do you follow me, Becky?

Creativity is breath. It is life. It gives purpose. We were all born with it--in the image of it. It is only circumstance and misunderstanding that steals it from us little by little, day by day, until we are left destitute and driven to... panhandle maybe? 

When we are prevented from using our creativity, we forget who we were made to be, Becky! Don’t you see??? Imagination and creativity are the language of the Spirit—that’s why art is universal. By reminding this woman what she was born with and helping her cultivate what’s already inside her, could her dry bones live again? Could flesh and sinews be reformed into lucrative purpose? I wonder what she could bring to the table that this world is desperately lacking? 

I don’t know, Becky. I just don’t know. But by asking these questions, I felt the breath of inspiration wash over me like a bucket of ice cold water. Had an idea just taken hold of me? I think so. Who knows if it's viable, practical, or possible.  I don't even know where to begin. But I know now what I have to give and it's one of the most valuable things I possess.

Creativity.

All my blessings, Becky!

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Swim...

Dear Becky,

Last night I had a dream that I was walking down an old dock toward a beautiful mountain lake.  There was a vehicle at the far end of the dock and the weight of it was pushing the dock down into the water.  It felt very unstable under my feet. As I took a few more steps, the boards began to fall apart beneath my feet. Knowing I couldn’t escape what was coming next, I surrendered to the sinking without fear of the deep.  At that moment, I reached back for my youngest child’s hand, understanding her fear would overtake her if I did not intervene; still reaching, I succumbed to the water. Once the dock had dissipated into the deep blue, I clung to her and pulled her close.  In that moment, a glimpse of another caught my peripheral but I could not make out a face. With my fading breath, I grasped for all I could see and managed a fist full of hair before swimming to the surface. I had saved them both. But who was the other person?

Becky, I’ve had a lot of dreams recently.  Some intriguing, some encouraging, some feel like warnings. But in all of them, I can feel the voice of the spirit.  I tell you this because I know you have crazy dreams too. The problem is, they are a language I am not fluent in.  How can I learn to listen better and decipher the code? I wish you could tell me, Becky.

In my primitive attempt at understanding,  I can’t help but wonder if this dream is trying to remind me not to fear the shaking.  It felt like purpose—reminding me of who I am and that I have never feared deep waters—only murky ones. The sensation of water overtaking me wasn’t scary, but serene. Like the unspoken understanding that I would regain my equilibrium if only to surrender to the sinking. But what of my daughter and the desperate but successful attempt to save all I could grab hold of. What of the fist full of hair? And the identity kept in secret?

I have always been a strong swimmer, you know. It’s hard to make sense of it all, Becky. Maybe we should just get scuba certified…Ha!

At any rate, Becky, thank you for being you. I appreciate how you always take the time with these nonsensical writings.  They feed the lake. 

All the magic and wonder, 

Lauren

Dear Becky, Remember the Unicorns...

Dear Becky,

I was thinking this morning how enamored with unicorns you use to be.  Do you remember? Do you remember those purple unicorn sheets you had as a kid?  Those were the softest sheets! I remember how you used to stare at those unicorns and let your mind wander to magical places as you drifted off to sleep.  I wonder now what adventures you must have been on.  

I remember a few years back when you said you had started to see unicorns everywhere and how it made life feel like a scavenger hunt for the magical.  You used to tell me stories about how you’d lose things around the house, and you’d say you found a unicorn when you happened upon them. I always thought you were a little ridiculous, but I appreciated how you infused the day to day with your whimsy.  You were so childlike in the best of ways back then. 

When did you stop looking for the unicorns?

When did you let the magic slip through your fingers? Listen,  I don’t mean to overstep. And I’m sorry if my questions make you uncomfortable.  It’s just that you used to be relentless in the hunt for spiritual magic...and now...well, you just seem tired. When did the unicorns disappear?   

Remember how you loved the movie The Last Unicorn when you were little, but then when you watched it as an adult you were shocked by how dark it was?  You weren’t sure you wanted your children to see it. But do you remember how none of that bothered you when you were small? Do you ever ask yourself why?

I was talking about music with a friend recently. I mentioned really liking a certain musical artist that I relate a lot to.  My friend cringed saying that artist was “too dark”. I laughed. However if I’m honest, it made me angry. I wasn’t mad because they rejected my choice; choices are subject to taste.  No, I was mad because it seemed like a rejection of the reality that sometimes life is dark. I was that way too once--playing like an ostrich to anything uncomfortable. But eventually it became too much to turn a blind eye to and I’m so glad it did.  Sure, life can be relentlessly ugly at times. And sure, it was easier to pretend it’s not. But if we’re honest with ourselves, Becky, you and I both know life isn’t always rainbows; invalidating the hard with a spiritual spin only leads to disillusionment down the road.  But here’s the thing, Becky: when life gets really foggy, sometimes you have to lean into the darkness to find where the light is coming from.

Am I giving you permission to cast off restraint?  No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. What I’m saying, Becky, is that sometimes we are called to walk through darkness and we aren’t doing anyone any favors by trying to pull a Jonah.  You can spend your whole life trying to avoid it, but eventually it will swallow you whole. 

Here’s the thing:  It is impossible to experience the fullness of joy without choosing to be vulnerable to disappointment or pain. Vulnerability takes courage, Becky. I know it’s scary.  Having courage doesn’t mean that you’re not scared any more than it is a promise that you won’t get hurt. No, courage is being scared, accepting the risk, and doing it anyway.  Sure, vulnerability is uncomfortable when it leads you to sit on someone’s couch and cry so hard you can’t breath. Or how about when vulnerability looks like the awkward silence while you fall apart on the phone. But sometimes it’s more lighthearted than that and it remains to be true that the best of friendships are forged in the uncomfortable spaces. 

I have so much more I could say, Becky, but it all really comes down to this… Unicorns walk the woods.  And I suspect you quit looking when the hunt led you to the edge of the wilderness; I suspect you walked the perimeter before giving up for fear of what you’d find in the dark…or maybe what you’d lose. There’s no shame, friend, but you were born of the light keepers--you carry it inside you. It goes where you go.  Just like you weren’t afraid of a dark and creepy movie as a child, because you knew that you’d see the magical glow of the sparkly unicorn in the end. The magic of finding Jesus in the darkest places is that of finding your unicorns again. Those who are familiar with darkness know the truth-- that light is easiest to find there.

Remember the unicorns, Becky!  

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Linger Longer...

Dear Becky, 

How are you today?  I know getting the kids out the door can feel like a war zone with the Greatest Showman soundtrack in the background, but you’re doing great!  Did you know you don’t have to be perfect? Do you know that showing your children your imperfections and shortcomings while also showing them your humility and love can teach them more in one moment than all your moments of perfection combined?  Ponder that for a moment...and then cut yourself some slack and rock that 3 day old messy bun, Girl!

Anyhow, as I was working this week, I did a funny thing.  I gave myself verbal permission to rework a piece I’d already labelled complete.  I actually spoke it out loud. I needed to hear it with my ears so that it might reach my heart.  Laugh if you want--I love when you laugh. But here’s the really funny part: there wasn’t a single thing I didn’t like about that previous image.  Not one. In fact, the image made me more satisfied than I’ve been in a long while. Why? Because I was scared to make it and I did it anyway. I don’t know that anyone else really knows how much of a weenie I truly am, but you do. You know, Becky.  You know how my internal dialogue says that all these wacky off-the-wall ideas that float around in my head are not fit to show the world. You know that my head is filled with all sorts of lies and shame about these nonsensical oddities I think up. And you know that I have to wrestle them back with every image I create. But when this image popped into my head, I committed to it with my whole heart.  And I’m so glad I did. Like many of my artworks, I labored over it for longer than I wanted to--wondering if I was even going the right direction. But it sure came together, didn’t it? Actually, it was even better than I saw it in my imagination! But now it was asking me to be reborn.  

You see, my process usually starts with some odd fascination begging to be explored.  However, sometimes after working these fascinations into an image, the image will ask for my attention again.  Seems kind of funny, right? I agree, but don’t be afraid to work it through a second or third time. I challenge you to think of these early inspirations as more than just fascinations, Becky.  They are invitations--invitations to linger longer and process the groaning of your heart and work on a spiritual level. Even with the most satisfying of images, I am frequently invited back into that space to explore further or even just rework them as an exercise in creative expression.  These repetitions should not be overlooked or dismissed as pointless or redundant. Do you know how many times Claude Monet painted his waterlilies? 250 times. I’ll say that again. 250 times...that we know of! These fascinations strengthen and solidify your skills and help you develop new ones.  In the same way a blank canvas presents an endless challenge to tell a new story in the same space, let those explorations challenge you to deepen the well in which you draw from. I believe this sort of repetition is vital to the training of the mind as well as the skill and cultivation of greater creativity.  For in each session, you train yourself to trust and stretch your creative instincts, and by doing so you stamp new pathways to the secret place. This my thin space, Becky. The “thin space” is a term Celtic Mystics use to describe a narrowing distance between the Holy and the human. Have you experienced this, Becky?  I challenge you to trust your creative instincts. Allow them to lead you to the secret place and then thin space. After all, you will never know where they come from or what they mean unless you are willing to linger longer. 

Your Friend,

Lauren

Dear Becky, Art is Currency...

Hey Becky,

How are you today?  How are you really? It’s been a busy few days with all the things, but you really seem like you’ve got a lot on the horizon and that excites me for you!  Friend, you’re 10 months into this year and I know you haven’t met half of the goals you set out for yourself just yet, but look at all that has happened. We should celebrate!

Anyhow, I heard your car is in the shop again and it’s bad this time.  It’s a shame those Instagram likes aren’t dollars! Listen Friend, making a living as an artist is HARD. You can’t always see the progress being made or the impact you’re making, but please keep going!  What you’re building is so much more than just numbers and I know it doesn’t seem like much right now while little so translates monetarily. But take heart, I have so much hope that all you’ve been working for will pay off.  Here is a thought--Have you ever considered art as currency? I know that sounds a little cavalier, but hear me out. I was talking to our mutual friend the other day and he mentioned some work that he’d done in exchange for a substantial credit from that business; he went on to tell some pretty crazy stories of other things he’s bartered for.  So I wondered if this is something you’ve considered? What areas in your community could you leverage a trade for your time, skill, or art to mutually benefit yourself and your community? As an artist in the modern world, it can be extremely difficult to source a regular paycheck because art is a luxury that many cannot afford. You and I both know that, don’t we?!  But while many business owners, patrons, young collectors, etc may not have the expendable income to pay actual dollars, perhaps you can negotiate exchanges that would satisfy both the need and want? Finding liquidity for art in the marketplace has been a challenge since the decline in patronage, but what if you could circumvent that altogether? You and I talk a lot about how the market is ripe for innovative disruptions.  With the declining gallery model, perhaps this idea of art as currency is creative way that artists can source more efficient support for their craft. Put your mind to that for a minute. I have no doubt you’ll come up with something innovative!

Be encouraged, Becky!  It takes time to influence the culture, especially in the arts, but the collective influence is strengthening. How do I know?  Because I can see it. Our country was founded on principles of the post art world...a rejection of the abuses seen in patronage gone wrong.  And then came industrialization. No doubt it’s been a recipe for a radical decline in art appreciation on a foundational level, but there is a shift taking place in the market and it’s moving the tide away from the industrialized. People have a growing distaste for the mass produced. Their appetites desire something meaningful to fill their spaces with. Their eyes are being opened to art that speaks instead of the dead art we’ve been swallowing for decades.  Isn’t that a funny thought?--even art has its counterfeit. Seems like confirmation of my previous postulation that art can be currency--maybe? 

Lastly, when I heard your voice quiver on the phone I just wanted to wrap my arms around you and remind you that the hard days pass.  Not every day carries the same weight. I don’t expect you to believe me right now, but I still think you need to hear it. Even if you have to take on a second job. Even if you have to pull back on commitments.  Even if, even if, even if... God keeps his promises. Hold onto the dream, my friend! Don’t lose heart...and don’t be afraid to ask if you need someone to carry the dream for you…even just for a little while.

You’ve got this, Becky!  

-Lauren

Dear Becky, Ask Hard Questions...

Dear Becky,

Hey friend!  How are you? How are you really?  I know people ask you that question and we both know most of them aren’t looking for the real answer, but I am.  I really want to know. Anyhow, it was great to run into you today. You look good in spite of your failing thyroid.  And those glasses...girl, when did you get those? You is cuuuute!

Anyhow.  

When I saw you, it looked like you where having a rough go this morning. Parenthood can make a girl feel like a modern day Nehemiah, amirite?!  At any rate, you looked a little ragged and I had a few things I was too scared to say to you in the moment. I thought maybe if I wrote them out, perhaps I’d have more courage to send it. So here goes…

I see you, Friend. Adulting is hard.  Hell...everyday the hits just keep coming. Do you know that you don’t have to tackle everything at once? One thing at a time is good enough.  And that weight you carry when your kids where acting a fool...lay it down, Friend. I know you sometimes you think other families don’t have the same struggles, but they do.  Stop letting false pretenses get to you. Stop worrying about the way things “should be” and just be. 

 You may have forgotten, but I sat in the mommy groups too. I did the parenting workshops, read the books, and listened to it all paint pictures of how to do better/be better, but guess what?... Chaos still abides in my house too.  As helpful these resources can be, sometimes they can do more harm that good, you know? Friend, be careful not to let those resources reinforce your idealized images. No book or expert can tell you what your life “should” look like.  It’s the way you make space for God in the mess is that makes your life beautiful. You see, I’m walking through the wilderness too. Money is tight. Shit keeps breaking. You know. You’re living it too. 

But here’s what I really wanted to say but was too scared...

I know you wake every morning to the sound of your soul groaning--turning flips within you for something more than this! You’re thirsty for authenticity, aren’t you?  I know because I am too. And every time you darken the door of a church, you walk away wrestling with the truth you’ve known intertwined with false pretenses. What do you do with that? Truth is, friend, I don’t know.  I wish I had the answers for you. All I can say is this. Don’t give up. Ask the hard questions. Real truth is neither shaken, nor threatened by your all your wrestling. No...real truth encourages it, because it knows that once you’ve been touched by it, you’ll never walk the same. Be watchful for false truths, though,  they can be really convincing, but trust me….when the storm hits they’ll fold.  

Lastly, don’t forget, I’m here for you.  You can ask me all the questions. I can listen...and I won’t get bored. I won’t stop being friends if you decide to change churches or stop going altogether.  I will stick with you through your questions, your doubts, and when we don’t see eye to eye. We can walk this out together...in community. Isn’t that what’s really missing?  Could it be that the model of “church” we’ve always known is shifting? Maybe that’s why so little of life is felt there now?...perhaps. Whatever the case, keep your eyes on the horizon friend.  And if no one else tells you today...You’re kicking some major ass whether you feel like it or not! I’m sure I’ll have more to say, but for now...just know I’m with you.

Thick as Thieves, Becky!

-Lauren