The other night I got to participate in a night of “Worship Through Art.” I am not the best artist. However, on the occasions that I can get past the narrative that “I can’t paint, or draw” I usually have a great time trying to create art. Add in the element of making it an act of worship – using my creativity to try to express my love of God – and it’s one of my favorite things.
So I showed up, sat down, prayed that I could worship through my art, and tried to get started. But, there were a lot of distractions. It was a conference that I was providing some counseling for, so I got asked a question or two, and a friend that I had made sat down next to me and started talking – not knowing that I’m more of a quiet, introspective artist.
But, I put the pastel to the paper and started going for it. For about 5 minutes I just went for it. And, let me tell you… Nothing! I had nothing. I was trying to hide my disappointment and was trying to figure out how to move seats without being rude, when the inspiration showed up.
6 years old, long blonde hair, and a spunky attitude. “What are you drawing?” The tone that was used was one of bewilderment. As any good counselor would do, I turned the question back around on my visitor, “What does this look like to you?” She studied it for a good long while and told me what she saw.
Then she told me how I could improve what I had drawn. “Maybe you could help me with it.” Those were the magic words – help me, she did. As her developing fine motor skills were whirling she walked me through all the finer points of who she was, where she lived, and how to correctly draw a palm tree.
“Are you mad that I’m helping you?” She asked after a couple minutes of completely changing the artistic direction of my worship.
“No! I asked for your help! And you’re doing a great job!”
“No! I asked for your help! And you’re doing a great job!”
She stopped drawing, checked my face for honesty, smiled to herself, and went back at it.
A few minutes later her mother called her away, so I thanked her for her help, and she was gone. For a few minutes I sat looking at the masterpiece that we had created and decided that it was done. My other friend was still talking so I found an appropriate moment to excuse myself and I got up and walked, by myself, down to the beach. I was bummed that I hadn’t had the chance to worship through art. I had enjoyed the interaction with my 6-year-old friend, but I had been hoping for some sort of breakthrough – or something.
Watching waves, listening to their comfort, has always been a favorite thing of mine. And as I got over my disappointment, as I started to relax, a new thought emerged.
Maybe letting that 6-year-old help me with my art was a way that I could worship. Maybe that is my art.
Yeah, I think so.
