I’ve struggled for a long time to define exactly why it is I do what I do: why I write, why I create, why I read. Well meaning onlookers have sometimes asked if there was better uses for my much harried time. I assayed to answer them: if you cut my veins, words and images would pour out, not blood. I couldn’t explain this, and for a while, it troubled me. I felt strange, especially in my younger years. Over time, I’ve come to accept this part of myself, and do my best to nurture it. It’s why I blog. It’s why I scrapbook when I get the chance.
Imagine my joy when I read this in the flyleaf of “The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath” by Mark Buchannan. He encapsulates the reason for writing and creating so very well.
“I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have. I think it is right to refresh your memory as long as I live in the tent of this body, because I know that I will soon put it aside, as our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. And I will make every effort to see that after my departure you will always be able to remember these things.” (2 Peter 1:12-15)
These verses define what I’m about, as both a writer and a speaker; the ministry of reminding- of restating truths we already know. I do this always, and I will do it as long as I am around, so that even after I’ve departed, the memory of truth will live on. I hope what I write is fresh, but there is nothing original. It’s all just a reminder.
– Mark Buchanan
That’s why I do what I do…to remember.
Donna Rae Barrow
Well said, dear one. Some of us simply MUST take the time to be artful, to be creative. Robert and Alison carve out time for their band to write, practice and perform. Trista, bleary-eyed from night shifts at the hotel, steals moments to caress the fibers on her needles. I am too busy and too harried and too stressed NOT TO open up and pour out the creativity bestowed upon me by a creative God. It is part of our very essence. Without the beauty of art and words, we would simply wither. When we were transferred to Keflavik, Iceland, and the children and I delighted in seeing our belongings arrive in the truck, the very nice Icelandic movers could not help but laugh at me. It was late in the holiday season, you see… before the movers left, though boxes and papers and dust surrounded us, there was art adorning the living area walls and a Christmas tree was up! To remember…
And sometimes in writing, we relearn or rehear something that God is trying to say. And as we share it with others the same thing happens.