21

Written on November 16, 2010 by emily

If it’s even the slightest bit messy, I begin to panic and freeze up. I’m not talking about my house, mind you. Messy spaces don’t really get me worked up. Neither do messy hearts, I’m good with those. But messy art…more specifically, my messy art, now that is a problem. In one respect, there is no such thing as messy art as it relates to me, because if it’s even borderline messy, I guarantee you haven’t seen it. I probably didn’t even finish it because two minutes in, I didn’t like where it was going and I quit. If it comes by the stroke of my paintbrush or pen or keyboard, perfection is expected at once. I have no mercy for the smudges outside the lines, or the jumbled mess of words that carry my heart but don’t do it the way I want them to. Like I said, I freeze up and the authenticity, the creativity, the truth are prevented from coming out the way they should. The truth is terribly uncomfortable. It might be quick on my tongue but translating it to written words is tough for me. I’ve spent all my life practicing to smooth out the rough edges, even when the edges are not smoothable. But still I try to. It’s just a little more comfortable to write the spiritual things. The wise things. The well-crafted essay. But what about the honest one?

I’m really skilled at hiding. I have a gift for masterfully covering my faults so no one else can see them, and so I can easily forget them or pretend like they are not there. It’s a wonder to me that my art would become a mirror of sorts. A mirror and a frustration. I’ve grown tired of managing my image, so to speak. I’m tired of holding a garden hose in one hand and gripping a kink in the hose with my other. The water ain’t comin’ out if I’m so terribly concerned about what others think of me that I won’t share the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. What’s more, the water won’t come out if I don’t turn on the faucet…which means I have to find a way to actually sit down and write instead of stockpiling the topics that are on my heart and waiting to write about them because I haven’t written on my blog in a while and it doesn’t look great to return to a stale blog without something poignant to write. Confession, that’s what I’ve been doing. Yes, I’m busy too, but not too busy for the truth. Not too busy to learn how to lay myself down so that God can be glorified in me. Not too busy to record the important things He is teaching me in this season of my life. I must do it. So here goes. Look for number 22 very soon.

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