A New Year's Eve Manifesto: The Artist and the Public

I saw La La Land this afternoon and my emotions are still whirling from its beauty; the film contains all of the elements that make a timeless movie: tragedy, joy, romance, frothy nostalgia, and dynamic characters.  More than that, the movie makes a profound statement about dreamers and creators. At the risk of being too effusive in my praise, I expect that this movie will be an ebenezer for many artists -- a touchstone to return to when rejections take their toll.

If you haven't had the chance to see it, I won't reveal any important plot elements.  But to provide context: the movie portrays two artists who believe deeply in what they have to offer the world, despite feeling that no one hears their distinct voice.  There was a moment in the film in which Emma Stone's character, Mia, eavesdrops on her audience as they leave her performance. They say nasty things about her skills as an actress. "Don't quit your day-job." She crumples backstage, defeated after pouring so much of herself into work that was so ill-received.

She took their comments personally.

There's an idea floating around that seems to be the steady diet of most artists I know: it's not personal. When your work or sound or aesthetic or interpretation isn't well-received, it's nothing against you. Because it's just work; it's not personal. The audience or judge or public or editor has every right to express their opinions, no matter how degrading or belittling.

But I just don't buy it. I may be wrong, but I believe that any art that's worth a damn is going to be deeply personal. Regardless of what you're calling into existence, if it's honest and authentic, then it's personal. Any claim otherwise seems to me to be a cowardly attempt to protect egos from the harsh reality of rejection.

So what am I suggesting? That all artists are fragile, insecure butterflies? That the public should coddle and stroke them, and make sure to never tell them the truth that their work just stinks and they should consider a different career?
And what then for the artists? Are the artists allowed to indulge in sensitivity and prize it above listening to friends and family's suggestions? Are they to interpret critique as a personal affront, rather than an opportunity to grow? Should they expect everyone to love everything they do, and if not, dismiss them as tasteless pigs?

Absolutely not. But I want to offer some thoughts, from the perspective of both the artist and the public. Because haven't we all been both? Sensitive and crippled with self-doubt, or critical, cowardly, and dismissive?

For the Artist

Can we acknowledge that the nature of our work is personal? That it demands that we be offended and rejected? Can we allow ourselves to be hurt? And then, after grieving, can we go back to the easel or the studio or the piano or the keyboard, and keep loving the work enough to birth something new again? Can we be brave enough to continue to create the work that burns in us, even when we suspect that no one hears or cares?

For the Public

Can we attempt to take on a new posture when approaching art? Instead of demanding that art entertain, or satisfy, or excite, can we allow the work to speak for itself without our judgement?  Imagine what it must be like for someone to come into your office or home and dismiss your career as tiresome or ugly or pointless, just because they don't understand it. Can we take the time to get to know the art or artist as a friend, rather than as a consumer?

State Troopers and Greasy Hair: An Encounter with Compassion

I spent Thanksgiving in Nashville helping my sister and brother-in-law with their four infants and one-year-old toddler.  Getting to spend time with them was amazing; but, as I'm sure you can imagine, five days with five kiddos under two-years-old means all-hands-on-deck, all the time -- particularly during the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.  By the time I left Nashville late Saturday evening, it had been since Tuesday since I washed my hair - and Thursday since I'd brushed it. I was stinky and sleepy and eager to be home before my church gig in the morning.

Sinking deep into the recesses of Taylor Swift's 1989 album, I surfaced briefly to notice a state trooper nestled in his hiding place, ready to pounce. Moments later, I was parked on the side of the interstate with a flashlight pointed at my face. You guessed it: I was speeding. And not just casually speeding -- but traffic school, reckless driving speeding.

Determined to make him understand why I had been so irresponsible (but mostly determined to get out of trouble), I frantically shared a piece of my story in a rush of verbal vomit -- where I was coming from and where I was going.  I was perhaps too forthright, unabashedly asking him to let me off the hook.  He said no, but that he would go easy on me.  He was kind and curious, and he took his job seriously; he wanted to see my license, registration, and proof of insurance. Defeated and pumped dry of my reserve of charm and energy, I rummaged through my glove compartment only to remember that I took my registration and proof of insurance out of my car last week and forgot to return it. Things were only looking more bleak as I muttered that my documents were in my apartment.

When he came back to my window, I was munching on sour gummy worms, awaiting my verdict in a puddle of annoyance and exhaustion. In my mind's eye, I can only imagine what this stranger saw: a mouthy woman with crazy eyes, greasy hair, and snacks strewn across her passenger seat. A silly girl with silly excuses, ready to tell him how to do his job. The verdict was surprising indeed: because I didn't have my registration or proof of insurance, he was able to issue me a nonmoving violation and a warning. Confused by his lenience - I asked him to repeat himself, which he did graciously. I sputtered out a shaky, tearful thank you and drove away. Slowly.

And so, reader, why do I share this story with you? Perhaps I share because I drank too much coffee and my head won't quiet down until I write my thoughts out. Or perhaps this blog has become a friend of mine that bears witness to my journey. Or perhaps because I'm a sensitive artist who attaches too much meaning to isolated, inconsequential events.

Or perhaps I share this story because 2016 seems to have been hard on everyone.  For some, the year has ached, like an irritation that is difficult to name but impossible to ignore.  For others -- and for those who are close to me -- 2016 exhausted, terrified, stretched, and stunned. And still for more, 2016 has been soggy and dripping with grief and disappointment.  Regardless of where you land on this spectrum or what experiences you are coming from: life may be hard right now.

And so I offer you this story because, for whatever reason, a stranger showed me compassion and it changed something in me. He softened a hardness that I hadn't yet named, and pierced through callouses that I wasn't aware had formed. Grace, incisive and bitter-tasting, left me raw, soft, and grateful.

Perhaps 2017 can be marked by this: you and me, neighbor-to-neighbor, seeing each other - no agenda, no end-gaining - just being present and offering compassion.

Lent: Closing Thoughts on (Not) Dating

You know it's been awhile since you've been on a date when the twenty-year-old librarian says you are "very attractive" and you get all flushed and stumble over yourself awkwardly.  But Lent's forty days are over and so is my fast from dating! If you're just tuning in, I'd suggest starting at the beginning -- this will make much more sense that way. 

Here are some closing thoughts about what this full, rich Lenten season was like for me.

Dating Detox

In the same way that sometimes your body needs to detox, I needed a cleanse from dating.  It was time to take a step back, gather my thoughts, and take inventory of my heart and its many drives and motivations. 

I must admit -- it has been such a relief to not date.  I actually enjoyed it.  Silencing that urge to flirt has been wonderful, and I can be more authentic with guys now. I like who I am when I'm just enjoying someone's company, instead of scanning through check-lists to determine someone's eligibility. 

What's more, I've come to realize how many people I love.  Closing off the option to date has opened my eyes to all the beautiful, blossoming friendships around me.  It's given me a new appreciation for this community, my church, coworkers, and family. These past forty days was worth it just for that!

While I've honestly enjoyed Lent, I would be lying if I said that this "dating detox" made me totally content in my singleness and that now I am completely free from any desire to date.  That just isn't true, and I doubt that it will ever be.  But "freedom from the desire" was never really what I was after.  Instead, I hoped to gain a new perspective on my desires; to see God as He truly is: a Giver of good gifts, who will never withhold any good thing from His children.  I think God has shown up in beautiful ways this Lent to remind of just that. 

And while the thought of dying alone with eleven cats, frizzy hair, and broccoli stuck between my front teeth still sort of terrifies me, I'm choosing to remember what is true: No amount of cats, or broccoli, nor singleness or divorce, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (My own spin on Romans 8:38-39.)

The Beauty of the Present

In His fascinating and unexpected ways, God has used this Lenten season to remind me of how fleeting and fragile life is. Despite illusions of control and our plans for tomorrow, all we are ever guaranteed is this present moment.  It's hard to live into that fully when you're constantly waiting and searching for a different, "better" life. God has been asking me to lay down my expectations of what life "should" be, and come alive -- where I am, as the woman I am, in this totally unique moment.

And what a gift this present moment is, if only we have the eyes to see it; to look at life through the lens of a child -- not jaded, or tired, or irritated that things didn't go our way. But with a soft belly, tall spine, and open hands, ready to receive the mysteries of life as they come -- trusting in the kind and gracious heart of our Father.

Lent: Not Where But Who

When $h!t hits the fan, many times the first question for believers is "God, where are you?"

This question seems valid, right? If God is as involved and present with us as He claims to be, then where is He when life falls apart? 

But the thing about God is that He isn't tame. And we can't demand that He reveal Himself on our terms, in our timetable, in this life.  We see this over and over again in Scripture -- God refuses to justify Himself to us.  When Job finally cracks and demands answers, God responds with a bit of tough love in Job 38-41:

"Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said:

'Who is this that darkens counsel without knowledge?

Dress for action like a man;

I will question you, and you make it known to me.

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Tell me, if you have understanding.

Who determined the measurements -- surely you know!

....

Will you even put me in the wrong?

Will you condemn me that you may be in the right?'"

This is a hard truth. We want answers; and if we're going to go through hard times, we at least want a good reason for it. But often God refuses to provide that.

Perhaps it's because, if He gave us the answers that we seek, we'd stop realizing how much we need Him -- day in, day out, every breath we take.  I know I would and do.  When life is easy, I'm not as needy, because I often feel that I have the answers. But answers are so easy -- and they don't do much in the way of building character.  

Instead of answers, God offers us a different gift: faith.

But faith is a squirmy thing -- I think that it is a gift, much the way our bodies are gifts. I'm grateful to have a body that works well and functions properly.  But I also have to exercise it, to cultivate it, feed it good food, and care for it so that it can be strong.  I think faith is a gift in a similar way -- we have to practice it, exercise it, and push it. 

How do we exercise it? I don't really know.  But perhaps the start of it is by asking a different question.  Rather than: "God, where are you?", we can ask "God, who are you?" As unsatisfying as it is to not have answers, I think that's what it means to follow God humbly.  Instead of looking to answers to provide comfort or peace, He asks us to look to Him, personally, face-to-face. 

Lent: Hard Phone Calls

Yesterday I got one of those phone calls that knocks the breath out of you and leaves you feeling very, very small.  Even in the best case scenario, this situation is just going to be hard; and the worst case scenario is unthinkable. The content of the conversation isn't mine to share, but suffice it to say, my people and I are very scared and sad. So forgive me, reader.  This post is more for me than it is for you.

It's amazing how quickly life can change, and my perspective along with it.  I have so many expectations of how my life should look -- health, comfort, family, "normalcy."  But when life pops the air out of my balloon, suddenly I realize how much I take for granted. And how much I believe is in my control.

Our post-Enlightenment society has taught us that our lives are our own, that our time is our own. I buy this 100%. But today as I was driving, this verse echoed in my brain:

To live is Christ.

My life isn't my own, my time isn't my own. To live is Christ. 

Lent: Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

I've been pussy-footing around this post for awhile now, too afraid to write it but too afraid not to write it.  Sex is a sensitive subject, and there's a lot of shame wrapped up in it.  So as I am writing this post, I want to claim for you and me that while we were still enemies of God, He fought to save us (Romans 5:10). And that "where sin increased, grace abounded all the more." (Rom. 5:20) So here we go...

In talking with single friends, sex (or lack there of) is often the first, and most pressing, issue that comes up.

"I mean, I have needs, ok?!"

Yeah, me too.  Our bodies want sex. It's just the way it is, I guess. What's more: sexual pleasure is lauded in our culture as the ultimate pleasure.  Without it, I've often believed the lie that I'm not totally living.

In our hook-up culture, the idea of purity or virginity becomes a little bit muddied, too.  Lines get crossed, exceptions are made, and boundaries become less about honoring God with our bodies and more about how far we can push them without feeling guilty later.

In some ways, it's been a mercy that the opportunity to have sex hasn't presented itself to me in awhile. If I'm honest, I don't know if I could resist a sexual relationship with someone I loved right now. Particularly because I've been doubting God's goodness in my singleness, it would be so easy to just give in and go my own way. I wish I could say that delighting God gives me the greatest delight, but unfortunately, where this is concerned, it's just not true. But I can certainly pray to that end.

I recently saw a book in the Christian section of McKay's entitled Sexless in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity. What a breath of fresh air to see someone being real about how choosing not to have sex can kind of just suck sometimes.

But I have to admit, I'm not really making "waiting" an easier on myself. Without going into the nitty gritty details, I'm not exactly shielding my eyes or mind from things that I know cause me to... ahem... burn?  Rick Warren says that a little sin is like being a little pregnant: it shows itself eventually.  And that's proven true for me in my thought-life, unfortunately.  It seems that the Bible is right again: Actions lead where our thoughts have first paved the way.

And while Scripture doesn't draw a hardline about what kind of foreplay is okay, Jesus is pretty clear that our minds and hearts are to be kept pure.  His words in Matthew 5 are crystal clear and always convicting...

If this is a struggle for you the way it is for me, I encourage you to check out this article that a friend sent me a few years back.  Churchill is honest and direct in ways that I'm a little too sheepish to be, examining deeper motivation behind sexual fantasy, and looking at practical steps to help.

Lent: Joey Feek

Time has been tight these days -- trying to finish up graduate school strong, preparing my recital (March 21st at 6:00 PM!), and working on putting up an opera in mid-April.  Stillness and rest are hard to come by, and so words haven't been coming freely.

But I just found out about the death of singer Joey Feek.  My brain won't quiet down about her story or her remarkable bravery to live even as she was dying.  So I thought it might be time to write again.

No matter how you slice it, life is disappointing.

I feel a little guilty writing that.  I'll quote Larry Crabb all day, but owning that truth myself feels a bit wrong, like I should qualify it with, "But there's so much to be thankful for!" or "But it could always be worse!"  Yes, those qualifications are true and there's certainly a time and place for them.  Wisdom seems to involve a playful balance of perspective, humor, and gratitude.  Always gratitude.

But I think we all know, way deep in our gut, that we aren't made for death.  And not just death in the physical sense, but also the death of relationships or dreams. And yet, here we are -- caught in the tension of God's "already-not-yet Kingdom," expected to live abundantly in the face of death and disappointment.

Scripture and nature suggest God loves to work in patterns of resurrection.  Over and over again, life emerges from death. God's pursuit of us is Redemptive:  We were once dead, and now we are alive.

Whether we see it or not, we are alive now. He has redeemed us and continues to redeem us now. Maybe all we are aware of in this life are glimpses of His redemptive work: His fingerprints here, a melody there.  Perhaps He asks that these glimpses be enough for us, and that we trust Him even when life doesn't quite make sense.

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.  For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."  1 Corinthians 4:16-18