Look to God and Live… Joyfully!

I experienced a brutal reminder recently of a certain personal skills deficiency. The picture up above highlights this, and the object has recently come back into my possession. When I was a child I made a dinosaur for my dad. Yes, that is a dinosaur. It might have an extremely short neck and no tail, but it was meant to be a dinosaur, nonetheless. My mom took one look at it and laughed and then suggested that I not give it to my dad after all. I gave it to him anyway. This “dinosaur” has been the source of great amusement to all who’ve known of its existence for many years.

You might argue that “sculpture” was a bit of “artistic” work by a child, but the truth is, my skills in this arena never changed or improved, and that lack wasn’t limited to just drawing or sculpting, either. I remember standing on the sports field of my middle school and having my sewing teacher sign my yearbook. It had been a tough semester and one that left her close to  losing all faith in her teaching abilities as she dealt with me. Anyway, as we stood there on that field she said that she hoped I would marry someone with lots of money so that I could always buy my clothes since I’d never be able to make anything wearable. Ouch! She was right, but it hurt nonetheless.

Fast forward many years. As a newlywed with no money I wanted to make an anniversary card for my in-laws. My mother-in-law loves birds, and thinking that even I could pull off a whimsical bird I made the attempt. Okay. I learned a few things that day. First, I absolutely could not figure out how to draw small. The birdhouse was smaller than the bird, but even that didn’t fit the definition of small. Second, I learned (after Ben quit laughing long enough to explain what was wrong) that birds only have two legs, not four. Who knew! I mean, I absolutely love birds, but I hadn’t really ever counted their legs.

As an adult I have attempted calligraphy, but my writing, while pretty, was far from a polished calligraphy no matter how many hours I practiced. I attempted various crafts, but others always had to repair my mangled messes. I attempted sewing again, only to have to call on my dear friend to fix the disasters I’d made. Don’t even get me started on counted cross stitch! No matter how hard I tried to count, everything always ended up way off centered. Nope. Hand-eye coordination talents of the artistic variety are absolutely not mine (I was always a stellar typist, though, which confused everyone).

My lack of artistic talent has bothered me as long as I can remember. My mother’s doodles were always beautiful, and my sister is a talented artist. My mom sewed many of our clothes and they usually looked quite nice. My sister’s ability to do amazing craft projects always left me envious. And in my own little family my daughter is a gifted artist whose artwork hangs throughout the house. The crafts I’ve made for her always look like they were made by a child, while hers always turn out wonderfully.

I have believed my entire life that a good woman, a good wife, and a good mother should innately have the skills to sew, quilt, craft, and draw to some basic level. I have had women at church affirm that conviction. It has been difficult to see myself so completely lacking in what many have termed the “womanly arts.” Unfortunately, I’ve had no control over my abilities, however.

This week as I have again faced the reality of my tailless dinosaur (which really is worse than I even remembered) and subsequent artistic failures I have tried to look at things from a more philosophical and less emotional point of view. I reflected that there surely were things that I could do that were equally valid as artistic endeavors. Due to some harsh critiques in my past, admitting to successes wasn’t as easy a task as you’d think, but Elizabeth is always good to look for things that I can do well and then point them out. I’m grateful for that, and for the opportunity for some self-reflection.

As I looked inward, I also started thinking outward about how hard we work to try to put people into boxes. Certain talents are obvious, and some are less so, but the ones that get praised are those that are easily on display. As I’ve looked around my own community of acquaintances I’ve seen talents in people that I’m not sure that they recognize as such. The person who has the gift of listening isn’t able to put their talent on display at a talent show, for example, but I’m so grateful for it and how it has helped me when I’ve needed someone to listen. The person who is mega-organized and keeps everybody in their sphere looking good is just as talented as the artist whose work you see displayed on an easel. The person who makes everyone feel welcome, the person with a consistent kindly word, the deep thinker and good analyzer, the person who is able to have patience with difficult people and situations, etc., are utilizing their talents in ways that bless and strengthen those around us. How thankful I am for all of those people who quietly keep life pleasant!

I then started thinking, what if I took the time to notice these quieter less showy talents in other people and expressed my appreciation for them? What if I reached out and complimented people for gifts and talents that extend far beyond the arts (music, art, drama, literature, etc.)? What if, as a society, we encouraged people to shine in their individual areas of strength without negatively comparing them to others? What would that be like? Would people quit trying to judge themselves by other people’s talents and then feel freer to be themselves and thrive in their own unique spheres? I will always be amazed by the showier talents, but wouldn’t it be good to be amazed by the quieter talents as well?

When I was in elementary school we sang a song that I have loved ever since. That song, Free to Be You and Me, expresses my feelings on this subject. The lyrics go:

There’s a land that I see where the children are free
And I say it ain’t far to this land from where we are
Take my hand, come with me, where the children are free
Come with me, take my hand, and we’ll live

In a land where the river runs free
In a land through the green country
In a land to a shining sea
And you and me are free to be you and me

I see a land bright and clear, and the time’s comin’ near
When we’ll live in this land, you and me, hand in hand
Take my hand, come along, lend your voice to my song
Come along, take my hand, sing a song

For a land where the river runs free
For a land through the green country
For a land to a shining sea
For a land where the horses run free
And you and me are free to be you and me

Every boy in this land grows to be his own man
In this land, every girl grows to be her own woman
Take my hand, come with me where the children are free
Come with me, take my hand, and we’ll run

To a land where the river runs free
To a land through the green country
To a land to a shining sea
To a land where the horses run free
To a land where the children are free
And you and me are free to be
And you and me are free to be
And you and me are free to be you and me

My dinosaur is without a tail and looks more like a red blob than anything else, my sewing is atrocious, and my crafts are uniquely bad. Despite that, however, my dinosaur was a gift from my heart. My attempts at artistry are meant well, they just don’t look good. I have enough other abilities and strengths that I don’t need to keep trying to force myself into the mold of artist and I don’t need to keep feeling guilty for not having those gifts. Whatever your talents, whatever your gifts, whatever your strengths, celebrate them! It’s time for everyone to be “free to be you and me.”