As I sit here at the computer, my fingers hovered over the keys, I feel the weight of the silence pushing me from all sides. In a house full of children, silence is golden, right? Maybe. Or maybe not.
Those golden moments are precious, and I soak them up. But in the soaking, I want also to be productive. I’ve found that I better serve my family in the bustle. Cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, straightening up rooms here and there – all of these tasks are more enjoyable to me as I float them in with the every day noise.
But the silence? I want to bottle it up.
I long to use these whispered minutes of my day to create, to feed the writerly part of my soul. And yet recently, when the quiet comes I find myself paralyzed, all the words bottling up instead of spilling out.
It feels forced right now. I’m pushing out the stories because I need to, and yes I want to, but the inspiration is lacking. I watch the clock tick away the silence, and I know the noise is coming back, and I want to make my fingers dance so that I can capture the words before they thunder through me.
But there is no thunder, and that is the problem.
Some call this writer’s block, and maybe it’s a touch of what I have. But more than that, it’s a paralysis of creative power. Because I’m so hell bent on writing words that matter, stories that resonate, characters that sing, and blog posts that people want to read that I’ve stripped myself of all inspiration.
And so I stare at a blank screen and will the words to come. The good words. Meaningful words that people could share. Instead, my eyes get tired, and I shut it down and stare into the silence until a baby’s cry slices through it.
I don’t quite know anymore how to write a book that will sell. I can’t figure out what publishers want, and I scratch ideas onto a pad of paper, then scribble through them because they sound contrived. Nothing is fresh, but rather my muddled mind screams IT’S ALL BEEN WRITTEN!
It’s true. The publishing industry acknowledges that “there’s nothing new under the sun,” and so we writers simply try to give a new spin on an old tale.
And the blogging. Oh, the blogging. So many words already written, and so many of them are good. They’re really, really good. I read the words and I wonder what else there is to say. So my fingers keep hovering.
But then there’s a little spark. Yesterday I passed a man on the side of the road. I pass him frequently, because he’s always in the same place. Sloan sat beside me and pointed him out. “I wonder why he’s always there,” he said. “What’s his story? He’s always standing in that same spot with his bicycle, just watching the cars go by.”
Just like that, a character was born, and my imagination felt a jolt. It was a small buzz, the kind that zaps you for a moment, then immediately stops. But it was enough to make my heart flutter, because it means there are still stories in there.
And in the fluttering, I remember that this time three years ago I was preparing to board a plane to Tanzania where I would tell, perhaps, some of the most meaningful stories of my career. I typed words that mattered, and I know that there are still stories waiting to be told.
Maybe I just need to be patient.
So I’ll keep hovering in the silence, waiting for the inspiration. And sometimes I’ll force the words, because deadlines dictate that I do so, but I’ll also keep watching in the noisy moments. There are words that want to be written. It’s just a matter of waiting.
So, writer friends, tell me: Do you ever feel a similar paralysis? How do you move past that feeling so that you can catch the waiting words?
When I graduated college, I really believed that I was on the path to a huge career. Early on in our marriage, Lee and I sat down and wrote out a list of 100 dreams – because those are things you do when you’re young and married and feel certain that the world is yours for the taking.
My list included such items as:
“Backpack across Europe with Lee” (should’ve taken care of that one before kids came along…)
“Go on an Alaskan Cruise” (should’ve done that when we had income to spare, and practically no bills, and no kids…)
“Own a boat” (we’ve learned it’s much better to be friends with people who own boats…)
“Have 4 kids” (hey look! dreams do come true!)
There were also a lot of ridiculous things on the list – things like, “Be in a commercial, live in the Bahamas for a year, and own an island.” You know, like I actually wanted to buy an island.
Ah, youth.
It’s actually really hard to come up with 100 dreams if you think about it, and for good reason.
This life is so much more than simply living out our wildest dreams. That’s not to say I’m against dreaming. But when you set a task for yourself to write down 100 dreams?
You’re bound to let yourself down.
My career dreams were even more ambitious than my life dreams. I wanted to write and publish ten books and be on the New York Times Bestseller List before age 30 (again, I may have wanted to edit this list when kids started showing up at age 25).
I was going to do all this with my perfect, angelic children by my side. And somehow my life would be spotless and easy throughout the process.
In short, I believed the biggest lie sold to women of my generation – the lie that said we could do, and have, it all.
I watched this video today, and I found myself nodding so ferociously that I thought I would get whiplash. It’s time more women stood up and acknowledged that having it all is just a myth.
I loved when Ally said, “You may have it all, but it will be in different season.”
YES!
Ladies – Moms – Life is messy beautiful. Motherhood is messy beautiful. Careers are messy beautiful. Marriage is messy beautiful. But you know what? Dreams are simply beautiful.
When we dream, we don’t see the messy. We only see the beautiful. And then the messy shows up, and the dream gets muddy, and we miss the beauty, and we wonder why it’s so hard to do all the things we dream of doing.
That’s because we can’t do it all – not all at the same time.
Everything we do – every choice we make – will require sacrifice. Motherhood will require a sacrifice of time, of brain power, of focus, of sanity. In the early seasons of motherhood, that sacrifice will be huge. But as your children grow, the sacrifice lessens to a degree, leaving space for new experiences.
Chasing a career will require sacrifice. It will require a sacrifice of time, of brain power, of the freedom to get up and go. And if you’re pursuing a career with young children at home, that sacrifice will be greater for a time. But as your children grow, the sacrifice lessens to a degree.
Do you see a pattern?
We can’t have it all at once, ladies. And if someone tries to convince you that you can, you should kick her in the shins and flee.
Make no mistake, that woman you’re watching – the one that you think has it all and balances it so perfectly – is making a sacrifice. She is sacrificing something, and that’s okay. We can’t judge one another, because we’re all doing it. We’re all sacrificing in some area of life so that we can provide in another area of life.
That’s what makes womanhood, motherhood, life in general, so beautiful. And so very messy.
So can you have it all? No, you simply can’t. Not all at the same time. But string the years together and walk faithfully toward the things set before you in each moment, and you just might be surprised when you get to the end and look back and see that you had a great many things.
You may even see that dreams you never dared to dream came true.
He walked up to me after church and grabbed my hand.
“I would really like to sing with you,” he said. He looked at me with kind eyes, and his hand trembled slightly inside of mine. “My wife and I are moving in a couple of weeks. Can we make this happen soon?”
Of course, I immediately said yes. Mr. David has been a kind, gentle presence inside our church home since our family first began attending. Always quick with a crooked smile, and a wink of the eye, I’d been immediately drawn to his tender spirit.
Parkinson’s Disease has slowed Mr. David down in recent years. But it has not weakened his spirit, nor has it diminished his love of music.
When I readily agreed, Mr. David smiled. “Good. I’d like to sing ‘I’ve Just Seen Jesus.’ Have you heard it?”
In that moment, my heart skipped a beat, because yes, of course I’ve heard the song. I’m a child of the ’80’s, after all. I grew up on Sandi Patty, singing my heart out in the passenger seat, while my mom tried not to cringe behind the wheel.
I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I could pretty much nail ‘Via Dolorosa’ as a nine year old. I was all over it.
But my heart didn’t skip a beat with excitement at the suggestion of this song, but rather trepidation. See, I’m older now, and I’m more aware of the fact that I am not Sandi Patty. I thought of the notes that she hits at the end of that song, and I felt like I might be a little sick. Immediately, fear took hold of me as I imagined myself trying to croak out those high notes into a microphone, and watching everyone seated in front of me cringe the way my mom did behind the wheel of our Buick.
Last Sunday morning, Mr. David and I met early to practice. Again, I felt my heart flutter with nervousness, because I was so focused on the last half of the song – the part where the female vocal is supposed to climb into the rafters and hang out for awhile.
As we ran through the song, though, I found myself less focused on my own short comings (namely that my name isn’t Sandi Patty), and more on the remarkable task that Mr. David faced. Parkinson’s has robbed him of a lot of physical capabilities, and getting the words out quickly enough was a challenge. But the one thing Parkinson’s has not taken from him is his voice. For all my concern about my ability to hit the high notes, I never once doubted his ability to do it.
In the moments leading up to the song, I felt the Lord begin to whisper. It was the gentle, kind admonition that my heart needed.
This morning isn’t about you. It’s not about whether or not you can hit those notes. It’s not about presenting a perfect song to a listening audience.
This morning is about laying your gifts and talents before me in an offering of praise.
Give your voice to me.
I’ve got this.
I heard these words almost as if they’d been spoken audibly, and when it came time to stand in front, the tremor in my spirit was gone. No longer focused on my own shortcomings, I was able to instead focus on the truly remarkable gift that Mr. David shared with all of us.
He stood up there, and despite the physical challenges that threatened to derail him, he opened his mouth and he let the praise bubble out. The words were warbled at times, but it didn’t matter, because his heart was fully present.
By the end of the song, everyone was standing and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Because when we are willing to share our gifts in an act of humble praise, no matter how imperfect they may be, people cannot help but be moved.
I learned something last Sunday. When we offer back our gifts and talents, it’s not about the end result. It’s not about presenting a finished product that is perfectly polished, because perfection doesn’t guarantee impact.
But when we’re willing to offer up our broken praise simply out of a passion for the art, and for the Maker, that is when the greatest offering of praise is presented.
I’ll forever be thankful to Mr. David for teaching me that lesson.
And for fulfilling the secret dream of my 1987 nine-year-old self, which was to be Sandi Patty for a day.
When I first began blogging, I made it a habit to try and post every day. Given that my subject matter was raising children, and I had three children under the age of four in my midst, I was rarely wanting for post ideas.
Then my subjects grew up and became aware of what I do, and suddenly finding things to write about became more of a challenge.
Add to that the fact that blogging changed, and the day to day storytelling that was my niche became a bit archaic, and my job as a blogger became even more difficult.
When I began this blog, I gave myself the freedom to post less often. If I’m going to write, I want to have something to say that’s worth your time to click over.
It turns out that posting less comes with it’s own unique set of challenges. In hoping to only post when I have something to say, I find myself feeling completely unoriginal in all that I write. Oftentimes, I sit down, stare at the blank screen, and my brain starts screaming THERE’S NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN!
Then I shut the computer and eat a cookie.
Feeling unoriginal is bad for my blog and my waistline, unfortunately.
The thing about blogging is that originality doesn’t have to look completely different. Because we’re all unique, and we all have unique stories and backgrounds and world views, we can be original to the people within our circle of influence.
What I have to say may not be completely ground breaking when you look at the grand scale, but inside my circle of influence? It may be just what people need to hear.
I don’t want to live in paralysis, constantly in fear of being unoriginal. I simply want to enjoy the gift that I’ve been given – this love of words that leaves me feeling relaxed and whole.
And you should do the same.
Don’t get stuck in fear that you have nothing to contribute to the world around you. Instead, simply embrace your own creativity for what it is – a gift to be shared and given away.
Your words matter. Your paintings matter. Your photographs matter. Your art matters. What you do is unique to you, and it is, therefore, completely and totally original.
Four years ago, I got on a plane and headed West. My friend and writing cohort suggested a weekend away to focus on our crafts, and it sounded like exactly the thing I needed to jump start a few projects. That was the birth place of our Creative Retreat.
There is no substitute for the power of like-mindedness. As females, we crave relationships. Conversation with others is the Yin to our Yang. We thrive on those deep seeded moments of connection.
While this is true for all women to some degree, for creative women, relationship is almost like oxygen. As Creatives, we are known to have ALL THE FEELINGS! We see life in a unique way, and by unique I mean totally different from our more realistic, left-brained peers.
Let’s just say we might still believe in unicorns and fairies.
When Creatives come together, the days suddenly feel a little more sparkly. Tuck Creatives away in a beautiful place with inspiring scenery, and a bit of magic happens. Imagination takes flight when a group of creative women comes together, because as we share ALL THE FEELINGS, and we dream the dreams, we see that perhaps this thing that we do, this creating, isn’t such a strange thing after all.
There is comfort to be found in a room full of women who agree that they’ll forgo cleaning the bathroom/kitchen/house in order to write a few more paragraphs, or edit that last batch of photos, or simply read a book. There is beauty seen when we stumble out into the early morning sunlight together because we couldn’t sleep, all the visions and stories calling us out of bed.
A Creative Retreat extends a hand out and says, “You’re not alone. I get you. Let’s do this together.”
What makes a Creative Retreat?
Wendy gave some excellent tips on what makes up a successful gathering for the creative minds. But more than anything, a Creative Retreat is simply a place where you come together, and you enjoy designated, un-interrupted, guilt-free hours specifically on your craft.
A Creative Retreat is a getaway that allows you not only to escape your day to day home life, but also to escape fully into the gifts that let your soul breath a little bit easier.
Why Is a Creative Retreat Important?
In the four years since Wendy and I began planning these Creative Retreats, we’ve seen the women who join us grow in their talents. The photographers, both already phenomenal in their own right, have gotten more confident in their abilities, and in their callings. The teacher has found that the time away fills her soul, preparing her to return home to pour back into both her students and her children. The writers have each expanded their reach and platform, and have accomplished project goals.
A Creative Retreat is not only fulfilling to the creative heart, but it also allows you to set and achieve goals. Concentrated time focused solely on your project can yield amazing results.
Three years ago, I wrote 50 pages in my novel in just three days. All I needed was the space and time.
If you’re a creative who’s looking for space to breath and stretch your creative wings, I would urge you to look for a retreat that you can attend that will meet that need. And if you can’t find one?
I crawled out of bed early this morning. Not by choice, of course. My covers were warm, and after spending three nights on a rickety pull out couch in a hotel, I wanted to stay nestled on my cottony mattress forever.
Forever and ever.
But the seven year old had nightmares, and just as I drifted back to sleep the baby woke up demanding food, and it became apparent that more sleep was a luxury I would not be afforded.
So I made my way to the coffee pot, and now I sit here in front of my computer. It’s so quiet, and it’s still dark outside. It feels like the entire world is still. As much as I wanted a couple more hours of sleep, I must confess – this is my happy place.
This is the place where the Lord meets me – where He whispers peace in my always swirling heart.
This is the place when words wash over me, and sometimes they even flow out of me.
This is the place where I chase my goals – where I chip away at a dream just a little bit more.
There are a lot of stories out there of people who find success almost by accident. They were blogging for fun, or to get through a difficult time, and they were noticed and suddenly there was a book deal that they never asked for!
It seems like my Facebook feed has been filled with such stories lately, and they’re good stories. I like to read them. And yet…
There’s a part of me that wonders if maybe I’ve just wanted this too much. Maybe if I just quit wanting it so bad, then the publishing contracts would roll in. Because aren’t accidental success stories so fun to read?
“I didn’t want this. I wasn’t looking for it or pursuing it!” People say these things and I smile because I’m excited for them. But also, my heart cringes a little because I do want this. It’s why I’m working so hard.
This is why the quiet spaces are so important, because it’s here in the quiet when I’m reminded that the toil is a gift, and the wanting is okay.
“He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one’s lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor—it is the gift of God.” Ecclesiastes 3:11-13
There is good to be found in the discipline of rising early to toil away at your goals and dreams. In the quiet dark, while the house is still, your hands move and your heart sings because this is your time. This is the gift.
Friends, the message is simply this: The time spent working and laboring, creeping your way toward a goal, is a good thing. You do not labor in vain, and the difficulty is a gift.
It’s okay to dream, and it’s okay to chase those dreams. Your story isn’t diminished by years of toil. Though it sounds romantic and poetic to somehow accidentally stumble into success, the truth is there is so much beauty in the toil.
Are you working toward a goal? Do you feel like you’re laboring in vain? I assure you, you’re not. It’s okay to want to see the fruition of your hard work. It’s okay to chase after your dream, whatever that may look like for you. It’s okay to want it.
