2017: Year of Creativity

While lying in bed this morning, nursing Aidan and mindlessly swiping through Instagram posts, God spoke. God can speak through Instagram. I really believe that.

I'd been percolating about my New Year's goals. Trying to find a more palatable way to present the goal I always have: write more.

Write more. 

Write more. 

Write more.

That phrase is a chorus I mumble half-heartedly. It's become more of an echo of defeat than a spark of desire.Yet, deep down, I want to write more. I need to write more. I am most fully alive when I am writing. I'm wired that way.So when a friend posted about Coffee + Crumbs' Year of Creativity --a writing challenge and community for mothers--I knew God was speaking to me. Inviting me into something new. Something much needed.I've never been a big fan of "Mommy blogs." I have an (albeit unfounded) perception of "Mommy blogs" as pages filled with stories of poop and snot and crying-it-out and a space to bemoan that "it goes so fast."But for the mothers I know who actually blog, Michelle, Jordan, Lauren, that's not the case.  Sure, their kids make an appearance on their blogs, but what makes their blogs universally appealing is their vulnerability. They write about life and God and what they're learning, which may or may not include reflections on parenting and their wee ones.My goal in writing is vulnerability as well. Being honest with myself. Inviting others into the mess, the questions, and the joy. When you're vulnerable about any part of your life, there's a chance it will touch someone else who can say "me too."And that's what happened to me this morning. I clicked to learn more about the Year of Creativity and read,

"What would it look like if you gave yourself permission to be inspired by motherhood?What would it look like if you gave yourself a little bit of time and a little bit of space to stretch your creative muscles instead of plopping on the couch with Netflix every night?If you have a desire to:Make creativity a regular part of your self-careRediscover a love of writingConnect with other creative mothers...you belong here."

I read those goals and my heart resounded ME TOO! (and my eyes filled with tears)That's just the re-framing I needed. I don't want to simply write more this year. I want to enjoy writing more. I want to be excited to write more. I want to love writing more.I want to LOVE writing AGAIN.And I believe the Year of Creativity can help me get there.I am the queen of re-naming things. I spent a whole year calling God "Love" because the term "God" held too much baggage.Instead of a New Year's "goal" or "resolution," my New Year's desire is to fall in love with writing again.  To learn to connect with myself, with others, with God again through this medium.I'm hopeful--excited even--to get started, to get writing, to get creating. To be a person who creates--creates meaning, creates memories, creates connections. That's what I want-need-crave-desire for the next year. I want to be a mom-a person-who is fully alive, fully connected, and fully creating.Here's to 2017: Year of Creativity!***What are your desires for the New Year?Any moms out there want to join me in the Year of Creativity? The Year of Creativity is an online e-course that you can do at your own pace, with monthly themes and writing prompts, articles and podcasts for inspiration and a private group to share, motivate and ultimately encourage YOU as mom, a creative and a writer. Find out more here and sign up before January 1 to receive the early bird discount. 

Losing Words and Finding Friends

The pictures and brief bios of the moms I tutorat Camino Seguro.

For the last five-ish years I've written grant proposals and emails and newsletters and appeals and blog posts on behalf of people halfway around the world that I have never met on a weekly basis.

Last year at Plant With Purpose, in my office alcove, I longed to meet the people whose stories I told.  I longed to get a fuller glimpse into their life than a two sentence testimony or a Flickr photo description.

I moved to Guatemala with a heart open for stories. For people. Hungry for connection and confirmation that I’m where I’m supposed to be.

New people and new experiences offer themselves to me every day in this foreign country. I work with mothers who are learning to read for the first time and kids who live in squatter settlements near the Guatemala City garbage dump.

I get to see them, speak with them, laugh with them, and do long division with them three times a week. I've been given a much fuller glimpse into their lives than an emailed testimony, yet when it comes time to write about them, to share a bit of their lives so that you may be compelled to give to the life-changing work of Camino Seguro or to be encouraged by the dedicated people working in a marginalized corner of Guatemala, my words fall flat. Empty.

I can extrapolate a two page report or a $50,000 proposal from a two sentence testimony from “the field,” but when I’m actually living and working in “the field,” silence wins.

I only know that I don’t really know them.

I know facts, yes. Bits and pieces, but they seem insufficient, incomplete.

For example, I know that most of the moms I tutor at Camino Seguro work difficult jobs with long hours—like sorting through trash in the garbage dump or rising in the darkness of the early morning to make and sell tortillas on a street corner bus rides away from where they live, where the money is. I know they live in a dangerous area with an astronomical crime rate. I know most of them are single mothers, have likely suffered domestic abuse, and would do absolutely anything for their children. They've sacrificed to send their kids to Camino Seguro, to enroll themselves in primary school this late in life, and to make education a priority for themselves and their children.

Dona Paula and Camino Seguro board member

I know that Doña Paula’s hair usually hangs in a thick, black braid down her back. I know Doña Bonifacia wears pink reading glasses that are broken at the bridge of her nose and she refuses to switch to a new, unbroken pair. I know which moms struggle with multiplication and which moms need an extra push to get going on their work.

I've shared two months with them, and yet it feels like I don’t know them at all. I become reluctant to write anything about them.

And perhaps that’s a good thing.

When I write about a friend or family member on this blog, I exercise an exponentially greater amount of thought and care when writing the post than I do when sharing my own thoughts and stories. I read the draft over and over.  I imagine what it would feel like to read those words about myself.

When I fundraise and advocate for people I don’t know, it’s easy to orient my words in a compelling manner without giving it much thought. With words I can befriend them in my mind. I don’t have to fumble with Spanish conjugations or admit I don’t remember any short cuts for long division.

Three of the moms at the recent graduationfrom 6th grade.

Making friends in real life takes a lot longer than rounding out a blog post or tacking on a Donate Now button to my sidebar.

The people I've met and have worked with in Guatemala are people, not a cause or an ideal or blog material. They’re potential new friends. And I have to admit I’m slow at making friends, at establishing trust, at sharing my own story with others, even when language and culture isn't a barrier. But as I build trust, build friendship, hope to find myself a home here, I also want to write. It’s what I do.

And so hope you’ll be patient with me as I learn to put the amount of care and thought and time into sharing about my new friends here as I would about my dear friends back home. And I hope I’ll learn to be patient with me, too.

***

Just as I was beginning to articulate these thoughts for myself, I came across this excellent post by D.L. Mayfield on the role and responsibility of a writer or artist in sharing others' stories. I highly recommend taking a gander at her post, War Photographers, and getting cozy with her blog where she writes about living in the upside-down kingdom.

Keeping it Tight with a Timely Tale

Excerpt taken from Madeleine L'Engle's delightful book, Walking On Water: Reflections on Faith and Art:

"There's a story of a small village (about the size of the village near Crosswicks) where lived an old clockmaker and repairer. When anything was wrong with any of the clocks or watches in the village, he was able to fix them, to get them working properly again. When he died, leaving no children and no apprentice, there was no one left in the village who could fix clocks. Soon various clocks and watches began to break down. Those which continued to run often lost or gained time, so they were of little use. A clock might strike midnight at three in the afternoon. So many of the villagers abandoned their timepieces.  

One day a renowned clockmaker and repairer came through the village, and the people crowded around him and begged him to fix their broken clocks and watches. He spent many hours looking at all the faulty timepieces, and at last he announced that he could repair only those whose owners had kept them wound, because they were the only ones which would be able to remember how to keep time.  

So we must daily keep things wound: that is, we pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our hearts are heavy, when our bodies are in pain. 

We may not always be able to make our "clock" run correctly, but at least we can keep it wound so that it will not forget."

As Christian artists, Madeleine posits, we pray and we write. We write and we pray. And we're supposed to do it everyday.

I've been doing the writing part. If not everyday, then at least every other day.

The best lesson I learned as a creative writing student was to spend 20 minutes a day with my butt in a chair and a blank screen in front of my face. Even if I just stare at the screen. Even if all I write is "I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write" for twenty whole minutes.

Because even on the days the "clock" isn't working properly, it's a way of keeping it wound for the days when inspiration strikes. For the days the clockmaker returns with his tools and his tinkering.

On the writing front, I understand this. It's been drilled into me since Freshman Comp. Even in the midst of burnout. In the midst of "hating" all work and all writing, I still couldn't help but write. Couldn't help but keep my own sort of time.

But on the praying front I've had a harder time with discipline. I've whined and I've cried, "God why haven't you healed me? Why haven't you shown up?" before taking the time to ask for healing or to invite His presence into my life.

I make time to write. Why shouldn't I make time to pray?

I believe that God speaks to me. That God can speak to all of us in different ways. This week he used a friend to remind me how desperately He wants to spend time with me, to pour out out his love on me.

What if I took time to just "sit with God?" In short, to pray?

20 minutes a day. My butt in a chair. My heart open to the One who loves me.
No notes, no writing--although writing is spiritual for me, this is different from my writing time--just chatting with God. Sitting with a friend. Even if I don't want to. Even if I don't feel his presence or can't hear him speak. I will sit there in anticipation. I will keep the clock wound.