Often, I have faced solitude with despair, and usually more so, when I am most inspired. One might wonder why, and the best answer I can give is it makes my inspirations, aspirations and hopes seem pointless, and that in and of itself (that feeling of despair I mean) reminds me of something I think many of us face at some point, especially in the arts. Why pointless, because there is no one to share in anything, not the process, not the end product (if any) and much less the growth of everything that comes after. What is it that I think we all face? A sense of worthlessness, especially with things we make and create, because with no value of the means and depreciation of the ends (meaning a lack of appreciation) and even less support to justify the whole process, our creations, our self, tends to find a sense of being discarded, or replaceable, less-than etc. Beyond all this, when I sit long enough with my thoughts they eat me alive.
I know I am my Maker’s child, but with Him I was promised a body, a family, the answer to solitude. Since I have seen more compassion outside the body and wonder how “non-believers” cope, but moreover… There’s an issue when your thoughts are yours alone. When there is nowhere to share your point of view, your fears, your dreams, we construct our biggest enemies, or fall prey to him. Day after day I spend a life of silence with my dreams, observations, fears, failures, pains, outrage, joy and sorrow. Yes, He hears me; the very whispers of my heart are in His hands, whether I am aware or unaware, but honestly, alone for an extended amount of time, I find darkness.
I don’t mean to say or think that He is not a constant rock, a strong tower, the only eternal being of the cosmos, of course, can be trusted with my inner workings, but is it right to keep it secret? Would I not be guilty of egocentrism? Darkness only breeds, despair, lies, fallacies, the list goes on, and I feel that we were given very clear roads to guide our thoughts into fresh air, into light, with proper filters, but we rarely take these roads. Instead we live with our thoughts shrouded, even the word can be misinterpreted when one is alone, (I don’t mean to negate the Holy Spirit) when it comes to sharing and taking those steps into light there is always a hierarchy, as we are now.
What is intelligent, beautiful, or of worth is appraised, assessed, balanced by society not the Dream Giver, not the One who inspires us (to live, breathe, create) not by those we (should) feel free to trust. For instance I cannot share without first evaluating, is it a waste of someone’s time, is it worthy to be experienced, is it enough? These things paralyze freedom, creativity and unity, three things I see as part of being human, and God given gifts for community (to be shared, refined, nurtured and tided into our body as that of Christ). Why have I not heard the beauty of my brothers and sisters? What about their deepest hurts, darkest fears, greatest wishes, largest ideas, little spurts of creativity or inspiration, or ingenuity for revolution or life, what about those stories?
We have constantly listened only one way of thinking, feeling, or acting and not from God but from one of His creations instead, not Jesus in flesh. One story is told and misses the insight of many others about the same plot. A man I admire as an inspired and inspiring leader said it best, “The greatest man who ever lived, trusts us to tell His story,” yet we do not tell it. Yes, this man was referring to the Gospels, the stories of those who knew Jesus in the flesh, but each story of Christ is its own. Christ promised us greater things through His Spirit, that it would not be contained to one man, one place, one time, one nation of people, each of us can know, does know a piece, a facet of His story, best told from our own point of view. Yet, we forfeit our stories to whoever is considered most cunning, learned, intelligent, or over-reachingly connected. Giving room to the little ones, and to the way God made them to share His story should be second nature, we should long to hear of His works eager to find another face of a tremendously endless Creator.
A friend of mine tells me how she longs to share a journey with another, a journey of growth, refining, of polishing, and I believe these are the stories we neglect most. If one sees God most through dance, with its failures, aches, triumphs and perseverance and cannot tell another about Him through those same means if is our fault, perhaps we never knew to look. Moreover, we only await the finale, the recital, the final master piece when it comes to all the arts. Consider song, if it were one singing about the trenches, and valleys yet we only eagerly await to listen and enjoy the mistrals who sing of the summits and the elations is it not our folly to reject their whole heart, is that not wasting every tear that was shed, every moment that was shaping a heart? Again, let us muse upon something that is of a whole different nature, perhaps not even considered to be, by many, a form or art, yet it has all the same aspects. Do we dare to belittle how a young woman might toil, train and patiently learn the ways of a gentle and mighty animal, a horse, by then only valuing the prizes, money or glory one can get in a race, or show, which puts much less value on the relationship of a horse and her girl, something only a horsewoman can explain? If we say these all are nothing, if there is no room for a breath of fresh air, there is even greater sin in our midst. The silence is deafening, what have we forgotten about our own walks if we cannot value every step in between the highlights and climaxes?
I want to hear, see, feel and taste these love stories, and I want more than a stage for them to be played out. I want to share a life, and have a life to be shared, as my friend put it so eloquently, a journey. I want to know my Maker’s creations and find Him there, and be found, remembering He is there, through the good, the bad, and the ugly, beyond the beautiful, the tainted, the broken and even the undone, the forgotten, and the unfinished. These are the veins of His body. Look into the eyes of the least of these and one will find His heart, we will find Him. So in the end, this is why I hate solitude, this has been my question for years when contemplating friendship, craftsmanship and the unity of the body of Christ. I hate solitude, the kind that robs peace and tranquility, the kind that makes me dream for only myself, and my benefit. I also believe that the Arts are a gift from the Creator that allows us to communicate, the same way He sometimes does, in mysterious beauty, beyond words (even when they are used), beyond the physical senses, and not only the express love of Him, to Him, for Him, but also on another, as He called us to love the Lord your God, with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love one another and He loved us. As a friend of mine said when another friend asked, “what’s the point, why do I do this?” speaking of her drawings and paintings, my other friend said to her, two souls connect and find each other through beauty, and its deeper than the pretty things on a paper. How else do we guide our thoughts and hearts into light, with confession to one another and giving them to God, yet how many times do we need to communicate something that has no words, thoughts, of ideas, a deeper part of us that the Spirit sees and knows how it is killing us silently? Then I wonder about those of us who have scorned and belittled those with less privilege, knowledge, and training, and silenced them while they are probably the most honest and unveiled, unclouded by sophistication. I once heard a man who loved God sing with his whole heart, and his whole soul while I writhed and squirmed, as probably most any musician I know would, because his voice was not polished, or sophisticated. In fact, when I think of his voice it is probably damaged and aching, tired, and dehydrated because of a rough life of pain and poverty, yet until the Spirit quieted my pride, arrogance, and brain washing enough for me to hear this man’s heart and feel his spirit’s joy I was a judgmental silencer, ready to throw him off a very humble and loving stage.
The truth is, we are unfinished, unpolished, and untrained in the ways of the Kingdom, and the man we call Jesus the Christ. We are imperfect and stained, yet we are given grace, love, and a chance to grow into a beautiful tree that bares fruit that is sweet to eat and pleasing to the eye and stomach. We have a chance to be seen as polished, sophisticated and elegant despite our past, present or future faults. We must love the unfinished, and give room for their beauty to shine, that is all of us, growing.
I want to hear, see, feel and taste these love stories, and I want more than a stage for them to be played out. I want to share a life, and have a life to be shared, as my friend put it so eloquently, a journey. I want to know my Maker’s creations and find Him there, and be found, remembering He is there, through the good, the bad, and the ugly, beyond the beautiful, the tainted, the broken and even the undone, the forgotten, and the unfinished. These are the veins of His body. Look into the eyes of the least of these and one will find His heart, we will find Him. So in the end, this is why I hate solitude, this has been my question for years when contemplating friendship, craftsmanship and the unity of the body of Christ. I hate solitude, the kind that robs peace and tranquility, the kind that makes me dream for only myself, and my benefit. I also believe that the Arts are a gift from the Creator that allows us to communicate, the same way He sometimes does, in mysterious beauty, beyond words (even when they are used), beyond the physical senses, and not only the express love of Him, to Him, for Him, but also on another, as He called us to love the Lord your God, with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love one another and He loved us. As a friend of mine said when another friend asked, “what’s the point, why do I do this?” speaking of her drawings and paintings, my other friend said to her, two souls connect and find each other through beauty, and its deeper than the pretty things on a paper. How else do we guide our thoughts and hearts into light, with confession to one another and giving them to God, yet how many times do we need to communicate something that has no words, thoughts, of ideas, a deeper part of us that the Spirit sees and knows how it is killing us silently? Then I wonder about those of us who have scorned and belittled those with less privilege, knowledge, and training, and silenced them while they are probably the most honest and unveiled, unclouded by sophistication. I once heard a man who loved God sing with his whole heart, and his whole soul while I writhed and squirmed, as probably most any musician I know would, because his voice was not polished, or sophisticated. In fact, when I think of his voice it is probably damaged and aching, tired, and dehydrated because of a rough life of pain and poverty, yet until the Spirit quieted my pride, arrogance, and brain washing enough for me to hear this man’s heart and feel his spirit’s joy I was a judgmental silencer, ready to throw him off a very humble and loving stage.
The truth is, we are unfinished, unpolished, and untrained in the ways of the Kingdom, and the man we call Jesus the Christ. We are imperfect and stained, yet we are given grace, love, and a chance to grow into a beautiful tree that bares fruit that is sweet to eat and pleasing to the eye and stomach. We have a chance to be seen as polished, sophisticated and elegant despite our past, present or future faults. We must love the unfinished, and give room for their beauty to shine, that is all of us, growing.
