What do you think?

I like to say that I don't care what people think, but deep down (well, probably not so deep down, at least to the people who know me best) I really do care. I wish I didn't so much. While I'd love to let things just roll off my back like water off a duck, I typically let them sink in - nice and deep. I let them burrow in and irritate me. And then I tend to have bitterness issues. Oh, I don't really talk about it. Much. But I think about it a lot. All kinds of nasty thoughts flitting through my head. Things I could have said in retaliation, or smart remarks that would have dropped the jaws of the other party. Oh, yes. I think. Too much, I fear.

For far too long, I've thought about what others think. I've anticipated any possible reaction to the things I do or say (or write). And for far too long, I've spent far too much energy on worrying about those reactions. Even if I haven't always shown it.

I've been slowly coming out of a dry season in my faith. Everybody has them at some point, whether you want to admit it or not. And just because someone has a dry season doesn't mean that they're "falling away" or "on the wrong path," for example. It means that they're facing questions. It means that things have come up in life that don't fit into a neat little box. It means that maybe - just maybe - they're human. They're not perfect. They've fallen. And perhaps they need help up, instead of being kicked while they're down.

So, this dry season - it's been tough. I've described it to a couple of friends as feeling as though I was stuck inside a statue: I could see things happening around me - life, movement, the things I needed to do - but I was stuck inside this marble and I couldn't move. And maybe a part of me didn't care to move. It's not a happy place, being stuck. But I feel like God is beginning to melt the ice that I'd let form around me. He's breaking through again, warming my veins. I can feel my heart beating again - slowly, perhaps, yes. But beating. With life, with energy. With a desire for God's will. 

I'm beginning to shake off these chains that have bound me for a while now. Stretching my arms and legs, wiggling my fingers and toes. Where I had been asleep, I feel a tingling, and I just have to move.

I may not be perfect. In fact, I'm not perfect. No one among us is. We are all human, and, as Paul wrote, "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Rom. 3:23, NIV). But that means that we are all on equal footing. God - Jesus Christ - has and can save us all. And He saves me, even now.

If it weren't for Christ, I don't know where I'd be. I'd probably be somewhere completely different. I may not be with my husband right now. But our God is an awesome God, and He found me where I had fallen, and He carries me. Times get tough every now and again, but I'm so glad that He doesn't look at me for my circumstances, but with the gracious eyes that see His Son in me.

And I need to remember that His eyes and His thoughts are the only ones I need worry about.

Winter Tree

I did my first painting tonight. A few friends have mentioned doing birth art and/or art therapy, and the idea sounded very interesting to me, as I've had a lot on my mind and heart lately. So, I got a pad of paper and some watercolors and finally sat down to do my first painting. Here is the result:

The colors are a little washed out, as this is a photograph of the painting. But I think I like the look of it with the lighter blue background.
I'd had this image stuck in my head for a few days of a silhouetted tree against a blue background. So, that's what I painted. I just thought I was painting a tree. But my subconscious sort of took over.

I just recently experienced a miscarriage. It's been a pretty difficult month since then, and I've known that I had feelings buried about it, as well as about my previous losses.

I showed my husband the picture, and he told me how the uprooted tree represents our miscarried child, and my friend added that the snowflakes represent the coldness and pain that I'm feeling. And then I realized, also, that the rounded shape of the blue background is very womb-like. It's amazing what our subconscious can do if we let it. And it is also amazing how healing the process of creating simple picture of three colors can be.

So, this is my watercolor painting, which I've titled "Winter Tree." And it is in honor of our lost child, whom we have decided to call Rowan.

**In memory of Rowan Lutes, November 9, 2010**