I have returned from a twenty-four hour retreat in North Carolina with Ann Voskamp, Christa Wells and Nicole Witt called Image of the Maker. I registered in February and have long anticipated this weekend. Now I am home, and the laundry is on the line, and the meal planning needs doing, and the boys and I have only a couple of chapters left in our read aloud. The current continues, the one in which I walk, and I am back ankle deep in it.
But different, oh, I pray, different.
Before I left, I asked God to break me open if needed, make me ready to receive what He might do with this focused time to consider being a follower of Jesus who creates. For some months, through the loss our family has experienced braided with the continued pace of the living, I’ve felt a hard crust grow. One through which it is hard for photo taking, word shaping, art making, or wholehearted worship to crack.
I asked. And gently, He broke me open that He might come in. Laid bare in talk and song and the silences between all my pieces were there, all the lonely places my frenzied seeking for approval, acceptance, love have only injured and re-injured.
I did not know I could shed so many tears.
What Ann would tell me, what she did tell us in that room, what Christa and Nicole sang to us by that lake, is that our brokenness is what our art is made of, that when we show our wounds, others will reveal theirs and in that authentic space, art is made where a wounded Savior is revealed.
And by His Wounds, we are all healed.
I’ll be processing this weekend for a long time, asking God what He would make of me with it, what I would make for Him with it.
Today I am shaky and timid and tired and thankful.
And longing to live the giftedness for the glory of the Giver.