The Real Job of a Writer

As a writer, I sometimes forget what my real job is. When I’m rushed or under a deadline, it’s easy to be fooled into thinking my job is to string words together in some creative way resulting in a variety of desired outcomes for me or the reader. Hopefully both.

the real job of a writerObviously a writer has to actually write. But my job, even before writing, is to pay attention.

Listening with all my senses is my first real job. When I remember nothing begins with me and purpose to stay small in the presence of others (not in a woe-is-me kind of way, but in a you-have-something-to-teach-me way), the writing not only comes more naturally, but is more full and textured.

This listening posture is a lifestyle, not a decision I make because I have a deadline coming up.

Pay Attention to the World Around Me

There are different ways of listening. First, I pay attention to the world around me. My brain is now trained to listen for certain concepts and perspectives no matter where I am or what I’m doing. If I hear something true about faith, grace, or creativity, it’s going to catch my attention and inform my own thinking by either confirming what I already believe or challenging me to see things differently.

Here’s an example.

On my way down to Charlotte this weekend, I listened to Here’s the Thing, a podcast with Alec Baldwin. On this episode, Alec Baldwin interviews Lorne Michaels, creator of Saturday Night Live and the man responsible for launching the careers of Tina Fey, Chris Farley, Will Farrell, Bill Murray and way too many others for me to list out.

From episode 8 of Here’s the Thing with Alec Baldwin, orginally aired January 30, 2012:

Alec Baldwin: Now you have this great success – you have THE great success – in late night television, and then you have success in primetime television, you’ve produced TV shows particularly now, that have done well, and you have great success in film. But you’ve never worked in cable.

Lorne Michaels: Well, I did with “Kids in the Hall” and I did now with Fred in “Portlandia” which is on IFC.

Alec Baldwin: Do you feel you haven’t been as aggressive in cable as you might have been?

Lorne Michaels: I think at the end of the day…

Alec Baldwin: You’re more comfortable with network – I’ve grown to prefer network because you’ve gotta walk that tightrope and you can’t just go crazy.

Lorne Michaels: Yes, to me, there’s no creativity without boundaries. If you’re gonna write a sonnet, it’s fourteen lines. So it’s solving the problem within the container. I think for me, commercial television and those boundaries, I like it. I like that you can’t use certain language. I like that you have to be bright enough to figure out how to get your ideas across in that amount of time with intellegience being the thing that you hope is showing. Not officially, but you want it to be, “Oh, that was kind of bright.”

After hearing him say this - There’s no creativity without boundaries - I paused the podcast, made a note in my phone voice recorder, and continued to listen. I agree wholeheartedly with Lorne Michaels on this point, something I’ve written about here on the blog and in A Million Little Ways.

I’ve thought a lot about this concept so my ear is now trained to notice it. When I hear it again from different perspectives, I write it down.

Pay Attention to the World Within Me

But there is another way of listening, a way I am sometimes loath to practice. As a writer, I take seriously the job of  listening to my own life. I don’t always like what I hear which is why this kind of listening is more difficult than the first.

The very thing Lorne Michaels pointed out in that interview, the concept about creativity I agree with and have written about myself, is the reality I slam up against in my own writing and life.

I face the limiting factors of insecurity, fatigue, doubt, pressure, and time. For example, today I have to work within the practical limit that it’s March 18 and our kids are out of school again because of icy roads. And I want to point to the external limit and say that there is what is keeping me from being creative today. When really, the lack of a consistent writing schedule lately is forcing me to be creative. Not necessarily in my work, but in my life.

How will I decide to spend these extra unexpected days? How will I handle the unplanned? How will I respond when the schedule doesn’t allow for me to do what I hoped and wanted to do? The easy, uninspired way is to be frustrated. This takes zero creativity. But the real challenge for me is to walk into this day with new eyes – to decide to see, handle, and face the ordinary in a different kind of way.

This is when there is no creativity without boundaries actually matters. It’s easier to face the limits in my writing than it is to face the limits in my life. Feel discouraged in your writing? Be brave! You have a job to do! You’re a writer after all.

But feel discouraged in my living and it gets tougher to pep-talk me out of. Especially when my living is keeping me from my writing. See how twisted this can get?

It’s ugly, but it can also be a thin place – a place where heaven touches earth in a mysterious kind of way because this is your real life. This is where Christ wants to meet me, as I stand in the midst of my own limiting factors. When I am my own limiting factor.

 This is when living is art is living.

Paying attention is the writer’s real job – in my world and in my life. Otherwise, the writing will be empty and meaningless.

If you would like to receive a free copy of Seven Little Ways to Live Art - an ebook that accompanies my full-length book on uncovering the art you were made to live - simply enter your email address here and click newsletter. I plan to send the March newsletter out this week and will include content you won’t find anywhere else.

What Martha Stewart & Mr. Rogers Can Teach Us About Art

Yesterday I watched two videos.

The first one was an interview with Martha Stewart. Stephanie Ruhle of Bloomberg Television asks Martha Stewart about brands she trusts and who she thinks has good taste. Then the subject turns to her opinions on social media. (I’m including the video here, but you may have to click over to watch her response. I’ll transcribe it for you below)


Here is what she said at 1:39:

“Who are these bloggers? They’re not trained editors at Vogue magazine. I mean there are bloggers writing recipes that aren’t tested, that aren’t necessarily very good, or are copies of everything that really good editors have created and done. So bloggers create a kind of popularity, but they are not the experts. And we have to understand that.”

Then I watched another video.

I found it  on my Dad’s blog as part of his 31 day series about families. Mr. Rogers was being presented with a lifetime achievement award. I’ve included the video here in this post, but I’ll transcribe it for you below:

“So many people have helped me to come to this night. Some of you are here. Some are far away. Some are even in heaven. All of us have special ones who have loved us into being.

Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are? Those who have cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life.

Ten seconds of silence. I’ll watch the time . . .Whomever you’ve been thinking about, how pleased they must be to know the difference you feel they’ve made.”

Both of these are famous, talented, and expert. Granted, the timing and circumstance of these two videos are very different. But I watched them both for the first time within an hour of each other yesterday, and the words of Maya Angelou came immediately to mind:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

The feeling I had after watching one was significantly different than the feeling I had after watching the other.

One sounds closed while the other is open. One sounds territorial while the other is generous.

For one, the world is one of scarcity where only the expert need apply. Those who look to her for inspiration are disrespected and disregarded.

For the other, the world is one of abundance, where even when you win an award for your own achievements, you can choose to make that moment about everyone else. Those who look to him for inspiration are honored and thanked.

Both of these people have something important to teach me about living and making art.

a million little waysThis is day 17 of 31 days of Living Art. Visit this page to see all the posts in the series. If you would like to have these posts delivered directly in your email inbox, subscribe here.

Check out my newest book A Million Little Ways to continue to explore what it might mean to make art with our lives.

this is your courage, fully released

It’s October, 2012. I fly to Colorado, touch down in a land of pointy red rocks taller than skyscrapers, flat land nestled up to the Rockies.

I rent a car that smells like cologne and cigarette smoke. Memories of my father-in-law hit me like a wall. I tear up the minute I get inside. He’s been gone over a year now.colorado springsAs I drive away from the airport toward those massive mountains, I feel a bit desperate for the familiar. Even though my surroundings are beautiful, I have a strange desire to add trees to the landscape in my mind – give me tall pines and green leafy foliage, the comfort of my East Coast home. This feels like a longing for something deeper, but I try to avoid it by listening to Ingrid Michaelson’s Turn to Stone.

Her voice helps a little.

I drive up I-25 to find Panera – eat lunch, a cookie and a bottle of water. If anyone is going to avoid altitude sickness, it’s this girl.

The Garden of the Gods takes my breath away. I haven’t traveled a ton in my life, but I have lived in Michigan, Iowa and Indiana; North Carolina with her rolling hills and South Carolina with her Low Country charm. I’ve visited Canada, Spain, Los Angeles, Maine, and the Philippines.

colorado springs garden of the gods 2But here in Colorado Springs, those red rocks in The Garden of the Gods might be the oddest things I’ve ever seen in real life. I’m certain the people who live here think these mountains are normal. But I have a hunch we might be on Mars. This land is dry, different, and strangely beautiful.

I’m here for a week to take a class, but really I see it as a personal retreat. By now I’ve written and released two books with moderate success and I need some time of quiet listening. I need a deep breath.

colorado

I haven’t hit any best-seller lists or won any awards. But the books have sold well enough and I’ve signed a contract to write a third.

My room has two beds, a desk, a chair, a window. No TV, thankfully. I wish I had a TV. Give me the evening news, a reality show, anything to distract me from myself.

I have dinner with Larry and Rachael Crabb. He’s written more books than I can count, has more degrees than I can remember and understands his own inadequacy in a way that shows both deep humility as well as profound masculinity that I can’t explain but puts me at ease.

I share with them about this book I’m working on, how it’s due at the end of the year, how I’m struggling and circling around the word art. I tell them I’m nervous, worried that I’m not cut out for this work. I tell them I can’t get the work off my mind.

They seem to understand.

But Larry knows how to initiate a conversation that matters, so he wants to know about more than just the writing. He asks me what my friends would say about me if they were here. I tell him a few words I think they might say, none that particularly excite me.

Then he asks what I wished they would say.

“Smart.”

It comes out before I have a chance to remember not to say it. I don’t even realize I think that. What about kind? Giving? Supportive? Nope. Smart is the word that comes out.

And then I start to cry.

In my great insecurity, I am most concerned about smart people reading my words and thinking them small and uninformed.

“If I had to preach your funeral tomorrow,” he says, “I would say ‘Here lies Emily, a woman with almost fully released courage.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, Larry Crabb just hypothetically killed me. On the other, he pointed out how I’m living scared. And the worst part is, he’s right.

Just as I’m trying to decide how to respond, Rachael leans over closer to me, “You want to get rid of that ‘almost’ don’t you?”

Yes. Getting rid of the ‘almost’ is the only appropriate response. But how?

The next day, we gather to listen to Dr. Crabb teach about the power of relating with people in the energy of Christ rather than always trying to prescribe them help. He emphasizes four words and I write them down in my notebook.

colorado

Engage. Arouse. Envision. Release.

He’s talking about what it looks like to have conversations that matter, to be believers in the world and to be with others in a living, centered, relational way. But all I can think about is art.

I think about my trip years ago to New York City with my college roommate, Faith – how we went to see Wicked and I wanted to weep through the entire performance because it was all so beautiful.

I think about being 17 and listening to Sarah Masen sing and play her guitar in my high school youth group, how she didn’t just sing notes, she sang story. And yes, she was talented, but she was also generous.

I think about the watercolor hanging in our kitchen, painted by small hands, offered as a gift.

The kind of art that moves us, the kind of art that leaves a trail, the kind of art that makes an impression is not the bossy kind.

Art doesn’t diagnose, treat, advise, scold or lecture. Art doesn’t lie, manipulate, assign, or prescribe.

Art engages, arouses, envisions, and releases.

Isn’t that our job, too?

Art, the human kind.

school of spiritual direction dinner

It’s been over a year since my trip to Colorado Springs. That book I struggled so much to communicate is now fully written and perhaps even on your bedside table.

I believe I’ve finally made the connection between making art and living art. I have Dr. Crabb partly to thank for that.

Now it doesn’t seem to matter as much if smart people read my words and think I’m ill-informed. I am finally beginning to live as the artist I am without apology.

You can, too.

As an artist among fellow image-bearers, you are not to ask, Did I do this exactly right? 

Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. Or maybe you’re asking the wrong question.

Instead, your job is to decide, Was I me? Did I offer my genuine self into the presence of others as myself? Or did I show up as an imposter?

In your profession you may be required to diagnose or advise or lecture or fix.

But as a human living among humans, your job is one of an artist, not a know-it-all or an expert.

quotableB2

Make a mess, be a sloppy first draft, scribble in the margin.

But don’t turn in someone else’s work. We just want you, fully alive as you. We want the person of Jesus relating with us through the filter of your unique personality. And whatever comes out as a result of that?

This is your art. This is your courage, fully released.

This is day 9 of 31 Days of Living Art. Click here to see all the posts in the series.

If you would like to have these posts delivered into your inbox, subscribe here for free and choose the option ‘blog posts.’

If you are interested in joining a book club to read A Million Little Ways (the book I share here in this post), visit Bloom (in)courage for all the details, including the reading schedule and how to apply for a sponsored book if you are unable to purchase one. We’ll officially begin on October 21. I hope you’ll join us.

what do you need?

A few weeks ago I shared a few books written by some of my friends. Today I’m happy to welcome one of those authors to Chatting at the Sky – Allison Vesterfelt. I met Ally last year when she and her husband Darrell were in town. See – aren’t they cute?

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Ally wrote a book called Packing Light where she documents her journey of selling everything, traveling across the country, and learning to live with less baggage. Glad to have her here today.

I don’t know about you, but for me, September feels really full.

Summer vacations are winding down and even though I’m mulling over fond memories, I’m also cleaning up their messes — the tent in the garage that we never bothered to fold up the right way, telling ourselves we would “clean it later,” the hiking shoes left scattered in the front hall, the linens we still haven’t washed and cleaned from the guest room since our company left weeks ago.

Then, school starts, and even though I’m not in school I always feel like it’s time to take off the vacation hat and put on the productivity one. So all the projects I’ve been putting off all summer — telling myself (rightly) that this was a season for rest and play and adventure and family — are knocking on my door, and I can’t ignore them.

Plus there’s Pinterest and Instagram and I have to at least try to live up to the thoughtful and creative projects everyone else is accomplishing.

Don’t I?

Then there’s the shopping.

In one sense, I love that about this time of year. I love the freshness of it all — the new clothes and school supplies and pumpkin spice everything; and I just want to fill my cupboards and my home with things I know are going to make us cozy when the cold weather arrives.

But I often get carried away and soon it isn’t just activities filling my fall, but new shoes and clothes and make-up school supplies scattered everywhere. Then I actually end up buying more stuff so I can organize it all.

Do you ever wonder to yourself — how much is too much? How full is too full?

Do you ever feel like you’re missing something?

When I feel like I’m missing something, I like to make a trip to Target.

I mean, I’m not serious of course, but I’m kind of serious. Target has this freaky and amazing way of helping me see what I’m missing that I didn’t know I was missing. A mustard yellow throw pillow that would look great on my couch. The newest books I need to read and DVDs I need to watch. As I’m wandering the aisles I can practically picture my husband and myself, curled up on the couch together, with glasses of hot cocoa and a bowl of homemade popcorn, watching those movies and reading those books together, the beautiful throw pillow sitting next to us.

But the truth is, the more I buy and do, and even the more “productive” I am in September (or anytime), the more it feels like I’m missing something.

I wonder if you sense that too.

A few years ago I did this totally crazy thing.

Inspired by the story of the Rich Young Ruler from the Gospels, I sold almost everything I owned, moved into my car, and traveled to all 50 states to write a book called Packing Light. I know it sounds extreme, and it probably was, but I was single and unattached at the time, and I wanted to see what it would look like to make room in my life — to let go of the clutter and mess that was making it seem so crowded.

A few days into my journey, I had dinner with a couple who asked me a question I’ll never forget.

They asked: What do you need?

Think about that question for a second. What do you need? If someone asked you that question today, would you know how to answer it?

Everything I owned was in my car, and still I had a really hard time.

It made me think about how rarely I allow myself to go on a journey without everything I need. In fact, even the thought of being unprepared makes me feel sort of nervous and irresponsible. Maybe that’s why I pack my life and my home with so many things all the time — even good things — like cookies and friends and Bible studies and furniture I love and throw pillows to match the season.

Maybe it makes me feel like I’m in control, like I won’t ever have to go without.

The second thing I realized when they asked me the question was that, despite the fact everything I owned fit into my small 4-door sedan parked outside, I didn’t really need anything. It was such a strange sensation to think about all the things I had packed so diligently, into every nook and cranny of my vehicle, without really knowing what I needed.

I had no idea what was coming.

I don’t really know what I need until I go without.

Now that I’m home and I have a closet again and a bunch of cupboards, and a normal, weekly schedule I can fill with things I really like and want, I have to remind myself of this lesson often. I have to ask myself: What do you need? I have to consciously choose to clear out the clutter and make space in my life.

And I’ll be honest: I find it really hard.

But I try to think back to what it felt like when I camped in the Grand Tetons — drove my car out into the middle of nowhere and set up a tent and slept in my clothes and rose without an alarm clock. I try to remember what it felt like for morning to linger for hours before she ushered in the afternoon.

I try to remember how open my heart seemed…

How open my life seemed..

I try to remember how, even though I didn’t have a Starbucks in hand or a mirror to do my make-up, or any throw pillows to speak of, I had everything I needed.

I try to remember how God met me there.

To learn more about Ally, check out her blog at AllisonVesterfelt.com and her book, Packing Light.

will you come back tomorrow?

stitch fix

This week, well.

We’ve been working on some behind-the-scenes things is what I’m saying. I can’t wait to tell you more on Tuesday.

But first, FIRST. This weekend marks the last weekend in August and you know what that means – It’s time to share the things we learned this month!

If you’re new around here or if you have short-term memory loss, here’s last months post just to give you ideas. I hope you’ll join us. I have another iPhone trick to share, one you probably already know because I tend to not know things like this. But it’s such a time saver! More on that tomorrow.

In the meantime, I’m sharing another Stitch Fix box if you want to have a peek at what came in my last one. Now go write down some things you’ve learned this month and share them with us in the morning!

3 words for the graduates

My small group graduates this weekend. From high school. As in, they’re going to college. We celebrated a few nights ago with a fancy dinner out and then a FroYo dessert. And they surprised me with a scrapbook of our four years together. Stop it.

small group

I can’t talk about it. You guys, they are growing up. But I also am so happy for them and also for me because from now until forever I have 10 hilarious, brilliant, beautiful, and wonderfully weird little sisters.

small group

small groupI wasn’t even supposed to be their leader. The leader who started with them had to back out half way through their freshman year. So I told John I would be willing to “fill in until they found a replacement.”

Yeah.

So here we are, three and a half years later and they are all driving and half of them have boyfriends and none of them have braces anymore. They are beautiful and learning to be independent, but they are also still terrified on the inside and small and wanting to be seen and loved for who they are – the part no one can see.

I’ve written them little notes and we’ve had lots of conversation but nothing I’ve said so far seems adequate compared to what I want to say. And so I’ll take a little space here on the blog to give the best three-word advice I can think of right now.

Go make art.

Make art with the way you live in your house until college starts – the way you hang out with your mom, the way you laugh at your dad instead of roll your eyes, the way you choose to listen to your baby sister who is going to miss you more than she can possibly put into words right now.

Whether you’re taking a gap year to work or travel or spend time with YWAM, make art with how you enter in – not like a tourist who watches from behind a camera lens and insists all of your usual comforts are close at hand. As best you can, enter in to your new situation ready to be creative and make art with the circumstance you are given no matter how crummy it might turn out to be.

If you’re headed off to college, be it close to home or a day away, make art in your dorm room – not just with how you decorate, but with how you exist with your roommate or suite mate or friends. Be curious. Be open. Hold fast to your confidence when you are among many but remember to share your vulnerability when you are among few.

Learn, not just from your professors, but from your classmates. Be slow to judge, slow to speak, slow to anger. Be quick to listen, quick to pray, quick to look for the hope in dark situations.

If at all possible, laugh until you tee tee in your pants.

Bring your giftedness as well as your insecurity with you as you go.

Bring your story, the one you’ve already lived and the one you want to live. You’ll be tempted to leave out the boring or embarrassing parts as you tell it. Don’t. Every bit of it counts.

small group

Practice thankfulness, silence, and discipline.

Don’t light candles in your dorm room or get in cars with strangers.

Don’t forget who you are.

Remember Jesus. Remember family. Remember love.

And be sure to call your mom.

If you had only three words to tell a graduate, what would you say?

Want to explore more of what it might look like to make art with your life? I wrote a book about that. It’s called A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live. It releases this fall.

how to brush your teeth like a revolutionary

March

The greatest pursuit is not to chase a dream, free the slaves, build the wells, feed the hungry, save the children or fight for equality.

The greatest pursuit is Christ.

And it isn’t even my pursuit of him, but his pursuit of me.

Let yourself be captured by the love of God, so that you may chase your dream, free the slaves, build the wells, feed the hungry, parent the children and fight for equality.

But even the revolutionaries have to brush their teeth.

Christ is not just with you, but he lives within you. And together you make the bed, wash the dishes, finish the paper, pack the bag, work on the taxes, comfort the baby, and take out the trash again.

He is before all things, and in him all things hold together – his energy empowers the radical endeavor as well as the morning conversation. There is no big or small – there is only Christ in you, your hope.

“Feed on Christ, and then go live your life, and it is Christ in you that lives your life, that helps the poor, that tells only the truth, that fights the battle and that wins the crown.”

Phillips Brooks

one thing we’re waiting for (and why it’s time to stop)

Real talk. Last night I had a dream that the people in charge of the Women of Faith conference called (in my dream, they were called Women of Courage, but I’m going to go ahead and make an assumption) and they wanted me to join their lady tour.

And y’all? In my dream, I really wanted to do it. As in, I called up Jennie Allen and was all Wussup, girl?! Because I’m cool like that.

When I woke up and realized it was a dream (and also Women of Faith, not courage) I took a little time to figure that dream out.

I realize there’s a risk in telling you this dream because now I worry you all think I harbor a secret desire to speak in arenas.

I do not. But there was something about that dream that I couldn’t shake after I woke up.

I met someone once who is all dreamy (as in, she studies dreams, not that I want to date her) and she said the main thing to pay attention to in a dream isn’t so much every detail, but the overall feeling of the dream.

And so when I woke up after that Women of Faith dream I was struck with the feeling that lingered with me — it was the feeling of being picked.

Sometimes don’t we just want to be picked?

I know you think I’m gonna be all, But God picks you!

I’m not. I mean, God does pick you. He totally does. But there is sometimes a disconnect for me between God picking me as a child he loves and God empowering me to make an impact in the world around me.

My husband went to hear Seth Godin speak in Tribeca this past summer and you know what the theme of his talk was?

Pick yourself.

It’s an important message to me. Because even though I know as a believer that my identity is solid in Christ, if I don’t decide to believe it for myself then it won’t impact the way I love, the way I live, or the way I work.

This past year I’ve struggled through the writing process more than I’ve ever struggled before. I’ve been working through a lot of self- doubt and discouragement and it’s affected my writing voice – somewhat here on the blog, but more so in the book I’ve been working on.

Two years ago, Seth wrote a post called Reject the Tyranny of Being Picked:

“Once you understand that there are problems just waiting to be solved, once you realize that you have all the tools and all the permission you need, then opportunities to contribute abound. No one is going to pick you. Pick yourself.”

When I filter that statement through the reality of my life in Christ, it becomes even stronger. Have I been given a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind? Yes? Then what else could I possibly be waiting for?

Last weekend, I wrote this for you in my weekend post:

Go ahead and take time off from your self-doubt for the weekend. May the break be so freeing that you decide to make it permanent.

You know why I wrote that? Because I desperately needed to hear it. And I took my own advice after that. I made it permanent.

I decided that the self-doubt isn’t really working for me.

I decided that this book I’m working on for you is important.

I decided to have courage because really, what have I got to lose?

I picked myself.

What about you?

4 ways to take a walk like a believer

When I am worried or in danger of becoming obsessed with myself, I need outside air like a drug- to drink my coffee on the back deck; to sit on the bench in the front yard; to lean back on the warm concrete at dusk; to chat with a neighbor on our painted porch steps. It’s time to take a walk.

All walks are not created equally. I can walk in worry and in fear. I can walk fast to try to catch up to an expectation – beauty, deadline, stress-relief. There are different ways to take a walk and none of them are wrong. But when I am mildly obsessed with myself, I have to practice walking like a believer.

Carry the questions. If you go on a walk looking for answers, you may come home with two hands filled with disappointment. But oh, the peace to be found in learning to carry around your questions, in learning, as Ruth Haley Barton says, to “be with what is.” Let the day be the day without trying to run away from it.

Open your hands. And whatever is, open your hands to it. If it is the elation of love, delight in it. If it is the disappointment of heartbreak, feel it. If it is the boredom of this regular Wednesday, give yourself permission to be unremarkable today. You can wow them tomorrow. Today is for small.

Breathe in love. Love is patient and kind. And then, not a list of what love is, but a list of what it isn’t. Love is not jealous, boastful, proud, rude, self-seeking, easily angered, or a score-keeper. Resist the urge to turn your walk into a rhythm of scores and grievances. Instead, love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. This is what love always does, what He always does. Breathe in the deep color of this love, because it’s as real as oxygen anyway.

Breathe out thanksgiving, for those two feet carrying your whole body around. Two tiny feet! You are a miracle. And those trees you pass under with branches that could send your spirit straight up to heaven if they chose the right time to fall? Breathe out his faithfulness. Praise God for the invisible hands that hold those branches in place. You are alive and the sky is not falling. At least not today.

3 ways to leave an honest legacy

This is a guest post by Jeff Goins, a writer who lives in Nashville and works for Adventures in Missions. He just published an eBook called, You Are a Writer (So Start Acting Like One). You can check out his blog, follow him on Twitter, or connect with him on Facebook. His wife just gave birth to their first baby (four weeks early!) last week. You can see the baby here. You know you want to.

When I was in college, I spent a semester studying in Seville, Spain. Every day, I was surrounded by beautiful art and ancient architecture. It was both inspiring and intimidating.

One day, my friend Martha and I took a trip to La Giralda, the impressive tower adorning the world’s third-largest cathedral.

After we ascended the staircase, we looked out the window and stared down at the city, watching the thousands of passersby. We could see everything: La Torre de Oro, the Guadalquivir River, so many parks and places to eat.

As we walked back down to the ground level, we went into the sanctuary, which was ornately decorated with intricate paintings by Murillo and historic landmarks, like the alleged burial place of Christopher Columbus. That’s when Martha said it: eight words I’ll never forget.

“I wonder what kind of legacy I’ll leave,” she said. And it hung in the air for all to hear.

We were surrounded by over nine centuries of art, and my friend wanted to know which of her creations would last this long. Which one would stand the test of time and still be standing in another thousand years.

For the first time ever, I wondered the same.

We all want to do something meaningful with our lives. We want to create and share work that changes people. This, I believe, is hard-wired into the human spirit, this need to make art.

So what do we do? How do we begin this journey of leaving a legacy?

1. Admit who you are.

All activity flows from identity. If you don’t believe you are something, you can’t do it. Just so you know, whether you realize it or not, you’re an artist. A craftsperson, a writer, a stylist. Anytime you do something that requires skill and creativity (and let’s face it — everything does), you’re creating art.

2. Expect resistance.

We all want to put a dent in the universe. But tragically, most of us won’t. Why? One word: resistance. That unseen, malevolent force that prevents us from making a difference. Often, it disguises itself as procrastination or fear, but it’s something far more sinister.

This evil, personal force wants to steal, kill, and destroy your art. It’s circling you like a lion, ready to devour. So what do we do? We let it control us. We sabotage ourselves with seemingly humble words like, “wannabe” or “aspiring.” We tell ourselves we’ll pursue our passion… some day. All the while, our enemy wins.

3. Live.

Stephen King once said, “Life is not a support system for art… it’s the other way around.” In other words, it’s not the job of your life, your family, your friends to help you write, sing, play, or work. Those things come from the depth of the life you live.

In other words, if you want to create more beautiful art, live a better life. Go for walks, swing on the swing set, eat ice cream (with a cherry on top) — relish the moments, the gifts, the freedom we’ve been given.

Then, dear artist, you can create. And you will leave a legacy.