I have always been searching for my niche. I grew up riding horses and loved it, but always felt I had been birthed into it. I loved to ride and I did it well, but once I became a teenager I had this panic in me that I wasn't like everyone else. They could cheer, and play sports with balls, and I was a hopeless klutz. I tried out for nearly every sport, and was the reject multiple times. I had been a winner while riding, and here at school, I was the first place loser. I hated myself for it, and it affected many areas of my life. I became that annoying opponent who would quit a board game mid-way if I thought I would lose. I swear, my parents taught me about sportsmanship, but I never hung a red ribbon up in my room. I love to be good at what I do- call it perfectionism or "bad sport" or whatever you want, but I like to think of it as will power. I love doing hard stuff and trying new things, but failing follows me around for days, an evil accuser that assures me I will be laughed at if I try again.
Paul asked me early in our marriage what I enjoyed doing and the only thing I could conjure was talking. Story telling, maybe? He told me, "We have to got to find you something you like to do." Since then, I've tried sewing, cooking, playing guitar, piano, jogging, and crocheting. I managed to become a mediocre seamstress- sans the fact that I hate doing it, but for necessity's sake it has been good. Cooking is fun, but also part of my job description. Everything else caused me to melt into a hopeless puddle of despair. Nothing moved my heart.
I met Beth Little a couple years ago. She is a fun, spunky lady whom I love. She also happens to be an incredibly talented artist, and one day she invited me out for the day and explained how she got her start. She just decided she wanted to paint once her kids were grown, took some lessons, and worked hard. I think anyone who knows Beth wants to be like her- myself included. I began to confess to her that art was on my list of a hobby to try. Of course, I knew nothing about painting. She told me, "you may not know anything, but the Holy Spirit does." Two months later, Paul and I were making a Christmas list and I muttered in a moment of reckless reserve, "I think I want painting supplies." I was beyond embarrassed because Paul's entire family is artistically gifted, I felt totally LAME for wanting to paint. I couldn't escape the desire though, and when I got my set for Christmas I stayed up late that very night talking to Jesus, and painting. It was an incredible experience, especially since God speaks to me with pictures. I was able to convey things that I felt in my heart. I never told anyone I liked to paint, except my husband. For me, painting was an experience and a doorway to prayer- not for show and definitely not commission. Not because I wouldn't like that, but because I have never been artistic. However, I began to learn about myself, I actually thrive when I am being creative.
I painted 3-4 times a week. When Father's Day approached, I got this wild idea to gift one of my spiritual fathers with a painting. I was so humiliated that I thought so much of myself- this is how I perceived giving a painting of mine as a gift- that I would give away a painting. I thought anyone would be embarrassed to receive from me. I realized one day that it wasn't the painting that was the gift, it was the prayer, it was the effort, and finally it was my vulnerability to sacrifice my self-limiting beliefs for only a moment. I felt ridiculous, I felt stupid, but I had a vision and a word, so I painted it and reluctantly gave it away. From time to time, there were people very close to me that I would paint for but still felt like....hmm, I'm sure they think this is dumb, but I don't care. Sometimes "I don't care" can be a good thing.
When we moved to Redding, I didn't paint for months. God brought a wonderful friend into my life named Sarah, and like most creative people I have grown to know and love, I wanted to know her more. She had various colorful canvases hung on the walls of her home, and I was intrigued right off. When she told me she had painted them all, we began a conversation on how both of us had family who were extremely gifted at art, and while neither of us had traditional technique, we both loved to paint prophetically and God honored our talent and showed up time and time again. The freedom that she had found to just paint with sponges or her hands, with no motive but enjoyment with Father God set me free to do the same. So many of my finished canvases were just stuffed in a paper bag underneath my bed. Sarah inspired me, her artwork moved my heart. Her and I met up outside the prayer chapel one night with canvases and paint, and sat with a sunset and a snow-capped Shasta as our background. People approached us and asked if we were artists, and I'll never forget the first time I answered, "Yes, I am actually." When passerby's asked me if I painted on stage at Bethel or at the Healing Rooms, I cracked up at the notion that my art could mean anything to anyone else. It was my secret, I loved it, and soon....piece my piece, I believed in myself enough to hang my favorite paintings on the wall of my living room. After I did it, I was embarrassed for myself. It helps to be childlike when you're surrounded by children, so I'm glad Jake came up to me when he did and said, "Oh Mommy, I love your art on our wall."
Weeks after my breakthrough of hanging up art, a precious lady at Bethel started her own ministry. She had a heart to reach women in the community through events that provided free services and clothes to anyone who showed up. She posted in a facebook group I am a part of searching for prophetic artists to volunteer and no one spoke up. Every time I read it, God would remind me that I was a prophetic artist. I mostly painted in the quiet hours of evening after kids went to sleep, while snacking on tortilla chips and sipping on chamomile tea. Not with people who didn't know me, and certainly not for people. When no one volunteered, I called Sarah and wrangled her into the ministry with me. She agreed happily and within days I realized what I had done- I was going to paint for people- real live people that would find out I knew nothing about art. Not only that, but I was going to be prophesying. I was so terrified I was shaking, I expected to fail. The enemy reminded me of all the people I knew who were real artists, and how they should be the ones there, not me. I had no confidence in myself whatsoever, I have to highlight that. I was embarrassed for myself that I had signed up for this.
The first girl I painted for, I prayed for first. God showed me a bouquet of flowers and I drew them the best I could. The girl started to cry, she had a tattoo of a lily on her back. She said, "I never thought about painting like that, you just let go and make whatever, huh?" It was a kind of backwards compliment because she was confirming that I sucked big time, but apparently it impressed her. Another painting, I made a mountain and a valley. The woman cried that she had lived in a valley her entire life and had no hope. So I wrote HOPE on top of the mountain and told her it would come for her. Sarah and I prophesied for over 40 women that day, painting an individual canvas for more than half of them. I could not even began to count the tears that I saw, and eventually coined the term, 'prophesy until they cry'- not to be cruel, but to know that God had wedged His way into their hearts. We quickly and willingly volunteered our time for the next event in another town, where we had the great privilege of prophesying over mostly children. A lot of parents drop unwanted kids off at our table because they assume it's a "painting station" or something. It's a wonderful opportunity to bless these children and paint for them too...even though they are way more specific and often ask for sheep and teddy bears- not my thing. I have left both of these events totally touched by God, and assured of His affection for all of His children individually.
I shared a testimony during Firestarters one Sunday of my risk, and Kevin Dedmon was so moved that he called me out and blessed my prophetic anointing to increase exponentially. He also asked me to record the testimony for his website, and after class I was recorded on camera. What had I done? I painted a picture for a sweet girl, told her what it meant, and saw her in one moment set free from bondage.
I am hardly nervous when I arrive at these events now because I learned at the very first sitting with "flower girl," this isn't about me. I am simply yielded to the God of the universe who loves these women. I can assure you, He knows them. He sees them. In this place of complete surrender, God tells me the most specific words of knowledge, and often gives me a window into their very soul. It has been an incredible experience, and all I did was say yes. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to minister to abused women and children, and Sarah and I decided to do something different. We painted 12 canvases last night and wrote "words" on the back- and if you aren't into Charismatic Christianese, those are basically personal letters from God to people. That means there were approximately 12 miracles. The women walked over to the table where we laid our paintings out and each one had a painting that stood out to them, and for every single woman, the words they received were extremely accurate. One woman cried when she touched a canvas Sarah had painted, and had not even read the word attached to it. One woman told me her story, and I had painted a picture and written a message from God on the back that was word for word what she had told me. I went to grab it from the table for her, but it had been taken by another. I realized her teenage daughter had chosen it for herself; the painting was for their entire family. The woman was speechless, crying out, "God knows me." This entire scenario seriously made me laugh once I got home, because I still cannot believe that God uses my art.
Honestly, I am so proud of myself. This is huge in my life. I wanted to write this blog because our culture celebrates gold medals and success, they silently congratulate the silver medal, and do not bear mentioning the bronze. We value hard work and overcoming adversity-all good things. But what if we just cancel out competition from time to time and enjoy life? What if it isn't about how good we are, or the old adage "practice makes perfect"? What if God tells you to lay down what you're really good at, and pursue for a lifetime what brings defeat? (I won't even mention parenting little people right now, but that is what I am thinking of! )
I really feel like pursuing painting has been one of the most frightening, enlightening, and freeing experiences of my life. To be poor in spirit- recognizing a need for God, is the keys to the kingdom. When I paint and prophesy, I am never so aware of my need for Him as I am in that moment. Taking lessons from professionals, watching their every stroke, sipping coffee while I watch youtube videos on the craft all bothers me, then I feel fidgety and inept. I remember that I'm awful! Just sitting with Jesus, letting Him show me pictures, then painting them onto a canvas, there is nothing more calming in my life. In fact, it's when I am trying to do something that frustrates me. I am learning that sometimes God calls us to the things that we're least qualified to do. Our society says, find something that makes you happy and make money with it- that's the secret to life. What if the thing that makes you happy is a place void of talent?
I am going to say it- do it anyway. Who cares? You don't have to make a living from it, but it can still bring life to you. Paint because you like to paint. Take pictures because you like to take pictures. Sing because you like to sing. Play the guitar using the only two notes you know, then write a song. Do it for yourself. Do it for God, who probably put the longing in your heart in the first place. Do it because you deserve to be happy. You deserve to find out, like I have, that the things that are free to you are not worth near as much as the things you will have to pay a price for. When you figure it out, please post, I'd love to start a trend...a completely backwards cultural trend of taking those things in our heart- whatever they are, and celebrating them. At the end of the day, we're the only versions of ourselves that can do those things, and that's special in itself. Here's to doing hard stuff, no matter what.
Another post on Hard Stuff
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