The Dangerous Creative Life

The tiny wooden mallets (or "hammers") trembled, slipping around in my grasp. I adjusted the dulcimer on its wooden stand and glanced around the room. People were filing out, talking and laughing together at the end of the first Christmas service. Another service would begin soon.

"It's only fifteen minutes," I murmured to myself. "Fifteen minutes of music between services and then you're done. And no one's really listening anyway."

The soundman nodded at me with an encouraging smile.

I hummed the tune in my mind. "I Saw Three Ships" would flow smoothly into four other Christmas classics and then back to the first song for a reprise.  I tapped out the first shaky notes. The few heads in the room swiveled around to look. I stared down at the dulcimer, determined to ignore any watching eyes.

My trembling eased. From one song to another, the notes rang out and bounced around the room. A smile grew in my anxious heart. This was going so well. The hammers were dancing across the strings with joyful abandon. Fifteen minutes of music...almost done.

The last notes of the reprise of "I Saw Three Ships" rang through the hall and I ran the hammers up the strings in a rising crescendo finish, then dropped my hands to my sides. That was fun! Why didn't I do this more often?

The handful of people in the room clapped. Wait--handful of people? Where was everyone? I glanced up at the soundman in confusion.

He frowned at me and made stretching motions with his hands. I looked up at the clock. Ten more minutes?

The piece took fifteen minutes to play. How had I done it in five? I shrugged at him. That's all the music I had learned. He gestured back at my dulcimer, mouthing the words: "Play it again!"

My stomach sank and I felt a flush crawl up my cheeks. "Slower this time," I warned myself. Only a few people were in the room, anyway. We'll just call that a warm-up.

Launching into the song, I slowly tapped out "I Saw Three Ships" for (ironically) the third time that morning. This nightmare would soon be over and I could go crawl under a pew and hide. Maybe this would be a good morning to volunteer in the nursery.

I missed a few strings here and there as my cheeks burned in embarassment. I raced toward the light at the end of the tunnel, my hammers bouncing over the strings to a second magnificent finish. I felt the sweat dampening my blouse. The sound guy hopping up and down on his raised platform in the back of the room. He twirled his finger around in the air in the universal musical symbol for "keep going!"

I just about burst into tears when I looked at the clock. Five more minutes? I shook my head furiously. "I can't! Not again!" He pointed to his watch. I could feel my throat closing as I tried to swallow back anxious tears. I shut my eyes. "God, help me!"

The people in the room clapped, encouragingly.

I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the hammers fall where they wished. The songs rang through the morning air. By the time I launched into the (hopefully) final performance of "I Saw Three Ships," the room was full and everyone was ready to worship. A murmur of approval hummed through the crowd. I hurried out of the room swearing that I would never play dulcimer in public, again.

Living creatively is risky. Perhaps no one will like your offering. Maybe you will mess up and embarass yourself in front of others. Maybe fifteen minutes of music will only take five.

That doesn't mean we should hide our creative gifts. Our God is the creator, Himself. The king of creativity. If He has gifted you with a creative spirit, you have a duty to nuture it. And more--you have a duty to share it.

Do you remember the parable of the talents from Matthew 25? The master entrusted three of his servants with "talents"-- the currency of the time period. Two of them put the talents to work and made more to present to the master when he returned. The third servant was afraid and lazy and he buried his talent in the ground for fear of losing it. Was the master pleased?

Are you burying your talents? When God gives you a gift, He expects you to put it to work and to bring the glory back to Him.

Galatians 6:5 says this (in the Message): Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.

Living a creative life is risky. But we are called to live our creative best, to put our talents to work and to bring the glory back to Him.

And what do you do if it only takes five minutes?

You do it again. And again. And again.

Fading Fairy Dust

After receiving a good-night hug from my daughter last night, I noticed a tiny fleck of glitter on my arm. I couldn't bring myself to brush it away. My husband and I used to laugh whenever we found loose bits of glitter on ourselves. "You've been fairy-dusted!"

There's something about having a little girl that suddenly your house becomes a magnet for everything that sparkles. My daughter used to live in dress-up clothes. We were never sure if she was going to emerge from her room as a fairy, a princess or a ballerina. Everything she owned sparkled with glitter. Wherever she went (like Tinker-bell), she would leave a trail of pixie-dust behind. We would find it on our clothes, our hair and our skin.

Now at eight years old, she doesn't have quite as much time for dress-up, though she still loves to do it when she can. Her pink frilly tutus have given way to the somber black leotards of the serious ballet-student.

So, when I spotted that stray piece of glitter, it brought a tear to my eye. The fairy dust magic is fading.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could bottle that magic? Maybe then, when I'm feeling blue I could just whip out a little pixie dust. Or should I save it until my daughter grows into a sullen teenager and use it to put the sparkle back in her smile?

Thankfully, my precious girl doesn't need glitter in order to sparkle. She's got a glow that comes straight from her heart.

The next time we have a quiet moment together, I'm going to remind her about that.

And then, we girls might slip away for a trip to Claire's for some "body glitter." After all, we girls still like to sparkle.

Friday Book Pick: The Shape of Mercy by Susan Meissner

October is upon us and with it comes the images of ghosts and ghouls in every store window. This Friday Book Pick is a story that echoes with the voices of accused witches. Susan Meissner's The Shape of Mercy is a hauntingly beautiful novel that should not be missed.

Lauren, a young college student seeking independence from her wealthy family, answers an ad for a literary assistant to help Abigail Boyles with the transcription of an old family diary. The diary, which has in turn haunted and shaped Abigail's life, contains the writings of Mercy Hayworth, a young colonial woman accused of witchcraft and sentenced to die. Mercy's words cross the centuries to touch these women's lives in a way that will change them both, forever.

The Shape of Mercy is the first novel that I have read completely in a digital format. I downloaded it from Amazon and read it on my new Motorola Droid phone. It was convenient to tuck the book (phone) into my pocket and take it with me wherever I went. The small screen was probabaly not as easy to read as the Kindle, Nook or iPad, but those units also do not fit in my pocket. I have to admit, flicking through the digital pages of this novel (in which the characters are wearing gloves to carefully handle the fragile pages of an old diary) seemed rather ironic.

So, as we enter into another season decorated by the images of witches and monsters--make sure to pick up Mercy's story. I guarantee--it will haunt you.