I am so drawn to the humble, whether it is found within a living soul or in art. There is a grace to humility that I long to emulate in myself, and a gracious sort of quietness that comes from humility birthed from trust. This is what I long for.
A gentle guide for how I seek to live is found in Paul's words to the church in Thessalonica:
That you also aspire to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you, that you may walk properly toward those who are outside, and that you may lack nothing.—1 Thess. 4:11-12
A quiet life. A humble, unassuming one, creative and fruitful for the purpose of being a witness and a blessing and having what I need for myself and others. Right now, in a new and unfamiliar season of being where I'm unable to work as productively as before, I'm learning what this looks like. Sometimes it's the simplicity of nourishment: a humble meal of Ezekiel bread and cheddar with sliced apple and peanut butter. Or in the practice of restraint; seeking the Holy Spirit's guidance for when to be silent and when to speak. Finding ways to rest and withdraw from the unrelenting chaos of the world and the clamor often found online.
These days, as I nest and long for the arrival of my son,* I am soaking in the simple, quiet beauty of soft colors, lush textures, and sweet artists.
I’m loving someone I recently found on Instagram named Rachel Sarah Quick. (Find and connect with her at One__Winter, TheSeaBooks, and Rachel_Sarah_Quick.) Her art feels like heaven. Gaze at her beautiful work:
Isn’t it breathtaking? It almost brings tears to my eyes for the peace.
Art like this inspires me to pray and create and speak and bless and minister in such a way that my living is a blessingway of peace for those who might glance upon me, whether through my writing or photography or pressed up close in person, where there is vulnerability and the achy possibility of disappointment or pain.
Art like this inspires me to pray and create and speak and bless and minister in such a way that my living is a blessingway of peace for those who might glance upon me, whether through my writing or photography or pressed up close in person, where there is vulnerability and the achy possibility of disappointment or pain.
Yet, I hope.
I hope, still, despite the chaos and madness we are surrounded by these days, despite the unknown of what is to come, despite being so painfully aware of my shortcomings and secret tears. Through it all, maybe especially because of it all, I want to be a soft place to land. I want to be a place of solace, a nourishing haven, a being of humility, grace and beauty.
Not as some kind of source or savior for others, but as a humble woman who has been restored and renewed by the Spirit of the living God. And not as the world understands beauty, but the kind that comes from being so close to God that His gentle loveliness is reflected through me as I live and move and have my being.
I hope, still, despite the chaos and madness we are surrounded by these days, despite the unknown of what is to come, despite being so painfully aware of my shortcomings and secret tears. Through it all, maybe especially because of it all, I want to be a soft place to land. I want to be a place of solace, a nourishing haven, a being of humility, grace and beauty.
Not as some kind of source or savior for others, but as a humble woman who has been restored and renewed by the Spirit of the living God. And not as the world understands beauty, but the kind that comes from being so close to God that His gentle loveliness is reflected through me as I live and move and have my being.
“For in Him we live and move and have our being, as also some of your own poets have said, ‘For we are also His offspring.’” (Acts 17:8)
What are you drawn to these days? What nourishes your soul? Where are you finding beauty?
(*This is a post from the archives. Originally written July 20, 2020.)
No comments: