Word Doodles

Most of us want to fit in. But often creative types just don’t–their forms of play, of self-expression, set them apart from the crowd. Many of us learn to love that about ourselves, at least most of the time. Then again, it’s also nice to receive appreciation for our unique gifts and our very selves. I so resonate with today’s post: creating to create because it’s just who you are and what you do; not fitting in, and rejection; to acceptance and recognition. Bless you for sticking with it!

re:create recess #5: Mandi Diehl

Throughout junior high and high school, I had an obsession with perfecting my handwriting. I would come up with new fonts for myself all the time. In class, my friends would doodle these gorgeous drawings with geometric shapes and flowers that repeated down the sides of their pages, and I just did not have a knack for that. I stink at doodling. So when I “doodled,” it wasn’t pictures, it was words. I would make collages of verses and song lyrics along the margins of my notes.

In a high school art class, we had a collage project, so my collage was a huge board with all of these different song lyrics patched and painted together. I was so proud of it. My art teacher gave me a C. When I went to talk to him about it, he said that he “just didn’t get it and whatever message was supposed to come across, just didn’t.” While I felt upset by his response, haven’t all artists been misunderstood at one point? Or had their art cast aside because it wasn’t normal for the time? It didn’t matter to me what he said, because my art isn’t for anyone else. It’s for me.

My word doodles and collages are a way for me to play and relax. It’s something that gives me joy. When the world around me feels chaotic (with two kids under four and another on the way, it often does), it’s something I can go back to to feel centered and have access to peace.

Flash forward from high school days to today’s world of Pinterest and customized everything, my art has found its place. Words mean so much to different people: a sign that says “gather” in the dining room, one for the nursery with the details of a sweet little one’s arrival, or a seating chart for a couple’s big day. It’s amazing to not only get to play, but have my play serve someone else.  And, I have to say, it feels good to have people “get it” now.


Mandi Diehl is a wife and work-at-home-mommy of two. She loves Jesus, super hot lattes, Pirates baseball, and the Pacific Northwest. Contact her for custom word doodle creations or makeup consulting.
www.creationsonboard.com
www.stylesbymandi.com
IG: @stylesbymandi
Facebook.com/stylesbymandi
stylesbymandi@gmail.com

 

The (Wounded) Artist

Create Challenge Guest Post #1 – woo hoo!

I am so excited to devote Wednesdays on this blog to create a platform for friends wide and far, from every arena of my life, to share their perspective on and experience of creativity. And I am a big fan of today’s guest post author, Paul Quinlivan, as I’ve been cheering him on since he was in junior high. He held Teen when he was, ahem, teeny, and he was one of the first to hold newborn Tween when he arrived home from the hospital. Guy performed the ceremony in which Paul married his beloved, and these days their arms and hearts are full-up with their own beautiful boy-bundle. Paul’s one smart, thoughtful guy, and today he shares with us a vulnerable story to which I’m sure most of us will be able to relate.

Without further ado, please welcome Paul Quinlivan!

Like many young boys I was prone to doodling, you know, stick figures of our family dog, or the pretty girl who sat next to me in Mrs. Gauthier’s 2nd grade class. I filled the margins of my composition books while teachers attempted to fill my mind with the finer points of grammar or mathematics. As my imagination evolved so did my art. Sketches of soccer players transformed into beach scenes which morphed into surfers on waves. I imagine I am not the only person who has found themselves mind-surfing across the page. My drawings were by no means “good” art, as if one could put value judgments on works by an 8-year-old, but they were creations of the heart.

Super heroes consistently graced my pages. I was obsessed with the idea that characters could be blessed with powers that enabled them to step outside of the realm of possibility and wrestle with those who would threaten hope. I lived in comic books and Saturday morning cartoons.

My imagination also produced its own heroes. One character I created was a man with a square head, a combed-over Mohawk, a cape, and a giant “BM” on his chest: “Block Man,” protector of the universe (contrary to what may have been your first guess). A hero so strong and fierce and good and moral and literally block-headed, all evil fled from his presence. He was my imagination’s amalgamation of all the heroes I admired.

My father’s friend had a son who truly had an artistic gift and would often draw elaborate life-like sketches of his favorite heroes. One day as the two men talked about how this son might cultivate his talent, I looked at them with longing as I said, “I can draw, too. Look, I call him Block Man.”

With sadness on his face my father replied, “You do not have a single artistic bone in your body.”

His horrific remark raced through my body, mind and soul, wounding so deep. Did he not see my Block Man sketches? Sure, they would never end up in the Louvre or even the county fair, but were they not still art? When measured against his friend’s son I paled in comparison. I felt ruined.

When we arrived home I went straight to my room and trashed all my drawings. Out went the heroes and beach scenes. Out went the crayons, pastels, charcoal, and watercolor kit. I did not pick up an artist’s tools for years, and each time I did the wound stung as I heard the words echo, the message always the same: I could not possibly be an artist.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. I have always been an athlete, creating feats of art with my body’s movement and my teammates around me. But he most definitely wasn’t right. Let me be clear: my father meant no harm and spoke what he believed to be truth, that I would never become a professional artist. Intent, however, does not change impact.

I am not alone in having a wounded artistic child. As humans, we bear the consequences of a long-ago broken relationship that opened the door for hurt and trauma and well-intentioned words that cut to the core. Many of us feel shamed by the culture of comparison, the pressure to live up to some impossible and invisible standard. Maybe, like me, you hear the echo of words spoken by a family member, coach, teacher, pastor, friend, or bully. Each of us has our own story of betrayal and faces that go with it.

Each of us has also been created to create. In the beginning, humankind was commissioned to “be fruitful and multiply,” or to create. When we create we move closer to the One who created all, to fulfilling our purpose for being. For most of us this will require finding a way to embrace our inner artist’s woundedness. We need to share our stories of betrayal and harm with those in community who can hold our pain and help us to (re)create and to again pick up our pens, paints, cameras, or clay.

My challenge for you is to tend to your wounded artist and once again embrace the younger you who had a vibrant imagination and a longing to allow it to run wild.

Godspeed in your recovery.pq1

Father, Husband, Friend, Therapist, Hiker, Surfer, Mystic, Writer, Farmer, Teacher, and Pastor are but a few of Paul Quinlivan’s many monikers. He lives with his lovely wife, almost 3-month-old son, and their South American dog in a slowly gentrifying suburb of Seattle. When he is not attempting to recapture his artistic self through writing he works to help others find themselves as a therapist in private practice and instructor at a graduate school helping to train future prophetic therapists, pastors, and artists.pq2

Shameless Audacity

One year ago our family was caught up in a season of prayer and preparation for Guy’s pastoral sabbatical. For two years we had thought we’d go to Peru to work with Kids Alive International in the Andes. Guy has been several times and his heart has broken for the needs of the people there; the rest of us bided time until Tween was old enough to make the strenuous trip (early morning flights/drastic elevation changes).

God shut that door.

So we pursued the possibility of spending the summer in Costa Rica. Teen had been on a school trip and fallen in love with the beauty of God’s creation in the rain forest. It could be great (and it was) to spend the summer seeking God where we already knew His creation would astound us.

But living on 1.5 church salaries, how could we afford it?

One week I stood up during our women’s group of 100+ gals and asked them to pray with me that God, who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20), would do a miracle and provide a way for us to live the summer in a Spanish-speaking country (we all have some Spanish skills), whether it be Costa Rica or elsewhere.

A week later God showed up as only God can to provide a house-sitting gig for us that was way, way, WAY more than we could ask or imagine. It made possible our summer abroad and became a safe haven for our often travel-weary bones. You can read more about our Costa Rican adventures and what we called our “God Treasure Hunt” here.

This week it has occurred to me that I prayed with shameless audacity for God to provide for Guy’s sabbatical. I believed God had good gifts to give him, and by extension, his family, during that time of well-earned rest. I believed, and so I prayed, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was praying for.

I don’t always pray that way. Why not?

I definitely get in prayer ruts. I don’t set aside enough time to pray, so I pray on the go – in the car, as I walk, in between the here-and-there of my too-busy life. That’s fine, of course, but it’s like infrequent snacking instead of sitting down to a satisfying meal. And it’s not a very good way to listen for God’s quiet whisper.

In church this morning I had a sudden inspiration, a nudge to the ribs from the Spirit: I would pray in color before writing my next blog post.

Praying in Color is a fun, creative, get-me-out-of-my-head (and my rut) form of prayer. It slows you down to meditate on each word and phrase as you color/write/doodle. You can pray for people, countries, events, whatevers, and you can pray the words of Scripture, no artistic ability required. I prayed the Lord’s Prayer from Luke 11, today’s Bible passage.

prayer

Part of the beauty of praying in color is that there is no right or wrong way to do it. This is my example, but yours would look entirely different. The point is to actively pray, to spend time with our loving Father. And at the end, you have a visual reminder of your prayer.

I just noticed that the Praying in Color site contains templates for praying in color during Lent. Although we’re almost half-way through the season, I might download a template and use it as a tool to pray from here to Easter.

However you pray, let’s pray with shameless audacity that the Spirit will show up in surprising and dramatic ways!

Connect
To whom do you turn when you feel like you need to talk? Explain.
Reflect on an example from your life of persistence paying off.

Study
Read aloud Luke 11:1-13.
Put this version of the Lord’s Prayer into your own words (vv. 2-4). What strikes you about the content of this prayer? [For comparison, see Matthew 6:9-13].
What is Jesus’ main point with His example in vv. 5-7?
What do vv. 9-13 say to someone who feels like their prayers aren’t being answered? [See also James 4:3].

Live
Author Anne Lamott suggests that all prayers boil down to three essential words: “Help,” “Thanks,” and “Wow.” Examine the Lord’s Prayer and see if you agree.
How do you balance your CHATs with the Lord: confess, honor, ask and thanks? Do you tend toward one over the others? Explain.
How would your prayers change if you brought shameless audacity to your prayers? If you expected the Holy Spirit?
How do you incorporate prayer into your everyday life?
What obstacles stand in the way of effective prayer time, and how can you level them?
Which Faith Training Exercises have you tried recently? Reflect on joys and struggles.
Which exercises might God call you to this week, and why?
What is Jesus saying to you through this passage and how will you respond?

Pray
Pray that Jesus will teach you to pray and fill you with His Holy Spirit.