When I was going to school for art, somewhere in the midst of it all I lost my passion.
Getting judged + graded for something you pour your heart and soul into...younger JamieLee could get crushed with one comment.
When I decided to take a different path, I didn’t pick up a paintbrush or a pen for a long time. When I timidly did, I judged every stroke I made—tore it a part with perfectionism.
My passion for art is coming back. Picking up my pen this morning, memories started flooding in. I haven’t cranked up my music, sat down and got lost in my creative bliss for soooo long. Hello, old friend.
The older I get, the more I realize what creating it all about.
It about giving people a peek into your soul, with no fear of judgment. We are all on our own path, we see things our own way and that is okay.
It’s about getting it outside your body, your mind, your heart. It’s the pictures, the words, the sound that wouldn’t exist in this world if you weren’t brave enough to let it out.
It’s about freeing yourself—letting go of your own judgment, you, your harshest critic. And only listening to the opinions that matter.
So what if the lines not straight, the color isn’t quite how you pictured it, the meal has a different flavor, you spelled a word wrong, the song has a different sound...it’s your heart on paper, on a plate, on a canvas, being heard, tasted and seen by others.
It’s okay if others don’t understand it. It’s okay if you don’t understand it yourself. Create, if for the only reason is to create.
You Go Before me
“You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!”
It seems like everyone this time of year is talking about their goals for the new year. Often I hear things like: eat healthy, work out, save more money, etc.
What if we were less focused on our outward appearance and possessions and more focused on our relationship with God and how God wants us to love others?
If our goals looked more like: more love, more peace, more patience, more gentleness, more kindness and more self control.
Don’t get me wrong here, take care of that body of yours. Eat healthy, get moving and know where your money is going. But take heart that those things are not the things that define us. Let us be aware of what and who we are putting first in our life and in our hearts.
Would it be challenging for us to have goals that were more outwardly focused? Goals that looked more like: invite someone over to dinner once a week, be more patient with so-and-so at work, listen when we hear God’s whisper to go talk to a stranger. What would our life look like if we made what the world says quiet enough to hear every whisper of God? He is always speaking to us.
May our wonderful Father give you glimpses of the things he has in store for you this year. May you find peace and contentment for being right in this moment of time. May you trust him with your whole heart for every answered and unanswered prayer that was whispered last year. May you lean into His whispers of promises and shouts of love.
He has such great things in store for our lives, too wonderful for us to understand if He were to tell us in this moment! I pray you search for him in the mundane, in the routines and in the chores. I pray that you lean into the moments of uncertainty with full confidence in Who holds your tomorrows.
Bacon & Toast
Most of my childhood memories are from my Grandma and Grandpa Lee’s house. I absolutely loved going to my grandparent’s house. The smell of a campfire takes me back to their living room, the days of believing in Santa and waiting for him to come down the chimney. I loved helping my Grandpa stoke the fire.
Puff, puff, stir, crackle, crackle.
There were a lot of us that fit into their two-bedroom ranch style home. Whenever it was bedtime you couldn’t see the floor, because all of us kids were sleeping everywhere. They had a lovely sunroom that us cousins would fight over to see who got the pull out couch. I actually don’t ever remember winning that fight. But that’s okay, my perk was right in front of the fireplace, listening to the crackle and letting the embers sing me to sleep like a lullaby.
Every morning during our visits I would wake up to the voices of my family and their laughter. I would stumble my way into the kitchen, grandmas quilt wrapped around me, to the smell of bacon and toast. I’d go and skootch my way up to the counter, stepping up onto the step stool to the sight of toast piled high, like a bread balancing act and a big plate of bacon. Oh… the smell of bacon.
The toast would be buttered but I would add more, with a little peanut butter on top of that. Some mornings there would be scrambled eggs, sausage or orange juice to accompany this feast. But I secretly loved the main course of bacon and toast.
The toast was always made with grandmas homemade bread. I swear you could taste the love.
I say my grandmothers really are the ones who taught me how to cook. Both, with their love of food and wanting to deeply nourish their families.
When I got to the age of asking Grandma Lee how to make her famous caramel rolls, bread, donuts and orange rolls… she never could give me a recipe. We would make it, together, and whenever I asked how much of the ingredient her answer would always be,
“Until it feels right.”
That’s my favorite way to bake. Looking at the recipe as general guidelines to be followed. Never hesitating to add a little more or a little less flour, usually depending on the weather. Going by texture and taste not by numbers.
Every time I smell bacon and eat peanut butter toast, I get this overwhelming joy. Like a soul-hug. My mind goes right back to those sweet moments. I close my eyes and picture Grandma standing at the stove, cooking for her army. I see all my cousins bopping around the house, playing outside in their big yard, running down to the swing-set grandpa built.
I never knew back then that the smell of bacon could make me tear up. Even writing this, it’s happening. I loved those days. I am so thankful for my family who cared about me, who fed me, who loved me, who fought with me, who laughed with me, who taught me so much, maybe without even knowing it. My family who taught me how to love, how to nourish other’s bellies and souls.
Thank you Grandma and Grandpa Lee. For starting this family years ago. For loving all eight of your children and never running out of that love and letting it overflow into your grandchildren and great grandchildren. For feeding the army that overtook your homes floors all those weekends and all those holidays.
Let’s toast to the love that flows through the generations, the families that love you through all stages of this life and, to bacon.
When they landed, they saw a fire burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread…Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”
John 21:9,12