Aedaliegh of Arceldör · Short Stories · Songs · Spoken Word

Stomp ( A Folk Song)

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Okay,y’all. I need your help. Below you will find an excerpt from the (children’s) novel I’m working on. It’s a scene I’ve been playing with for a while, and simply can’t figure out how to make the *stomp* part work in print. So, I would love and appreciate your input and ideas on how to best convey what I see and hear in my head. This is group effort, so y’all chime in.

bonfire-painting
Nikolai Astrup’s Midsummer Eve Bonfire, 1912.

 

Tonight, it was the Gehimni people who were given the honor of entertaining. More than twenty Gehimni men and women ran around the fire, hollering and making noise. It snowed in the Gehimnis for nine months out of the year, and so most of the bed had long beards that covered the majority of their face, and the women wore long skirts made of animal skin with all kinds of braids strung about in their hair. Suddenly, the Gehimini performers stopped running around the fire, and the women took their spots in a circle on the ground. A man began to strum a mandolin, as the others began to stomp their feet to his rhythm. The men threw their knees high up in the air only to bring their smashing back down with the force of a ten horses. Each of the Gehmini men fell in sync with one another until one man threw his head back and howled at the top of his lungs, Ooooooooooooohhhh, and the other men followed his lead.

I’ve seen the mountain tops and I’ve gaped at the sea,

but never has this wanderer beheld a beauty such as thee.

I’d scale the mountains tops and sail across the sea,

if you’d be waiting for me with a white dress and a ring.

 

Yer nose is as pointy as the snowy peaks,

and yer eyes are more emerald than the evergreen.

I know I ain’t much to look at, my darling sweet,

but I got heart a gold somewhere underneath.

 

My heart when it saw you went *stomp stomp stomp*

And my lips started singing this horrid song.

But my dear please know that if you love me so,

I’ll sing this song to you until we’re grey and old.

 

I’ve got a house here in these woods, I bet yer Papa would be proud.

‘Gotta fireplace and a porch that goes all around,

but I’m stilling miss something, perhaps a spritely frau.

So what do ye say, will ye marry me now?

 

The women sitting on the edge of the crowd jumped up and joined arms with the men, and together they danced a polka around the fire. They weren’t the best of singers, but that didn’t stop every single man and woman from singing, or rather yelling, at the top of his or her lungs. If only they would sing on key, they’d be quite good. The entire camp was mesmerized by them, and they joined in with the stomping and clapping with just as much vigor as if they had known the songs their entire lives.

 

Darlin’ let me dance with you until this night ends.

Yes, come a little closer. I don’t mind those hairs on yer chin.

Yer back is strong from plowing and I sure do love yer apple pie.

Oh, you’re the only woman who could ever catch my eye.

 

My heart when it saw you went  *stomp stomp stomp*

And my lips started singing this horrid song

But my dear please know that if you love me so

I’ll sing this song to you until we’re grey and old.

Yes, I’ll sing this song to you until we’re grey and old.

Also, would English speaking children know what a “frau” is? Can I use that word in a “fantasy” novel?  Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?

Spoken Word

An Almost Love Letter to Myself

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

I did a thing tonight. I went to this {amazing} meet up where I talked with another writer and we just sat in silence and wrote. Most days, writing is a solitary task, but tonight I got to sit at table with someone as we each did our own thing.Yes, it was a dream come true.

We started off the night by doing a little creative exercise where we wrote a Love Letter to ourselves. I knew before I started that my self-depreciation wasn’t going to let me get more than one or two lines in before hijacking the bus, but I thought it’d be fun to see where things go. And I was pleased to see that at the end of twenty minutes, I’d actually liked what I’d put down on paper. Was it a love letter? Pssshhh… course not. But it was close (kind of).

Truly thankful for the opportunity to be an introvert with other people and develop our craft together. Til next time, Athena.

You are bold.

I’ve always loved that about you,

except when I hate it.

So, I guess it just depends on the day.

I remember when you were a little girl,

you would come home crying

because you had opened that mouth of yours just a little too much.

Opened your heart just a little too much.

Let them see you just a little too much.

And people didn’t always like what was hidden beneath those fire red curls.

So, your tears would fall hard on journal pages

where you could say all you had in you and no one would ask you to stop.

How many time did you beg God to make you like all the other girls?

Quiet and graceful- a southern belle in modern day.

But you were from Iowa, so there was never a chance of that.

Fifteen years later, I hate to tell you those prayers weren’t answered.

You’re still that girl who says more than she’s supposed to,

always clamping her hand over her mouth half way through a sentence.

Fifteen years later, I hate to tell you that you’re learning to love it.

You’re learning to look people in the eye, and tell them what you’re thinking

That you’re learning the when’s and the how’s so that people actually listen.

That you’re learning to make them listen.

And yes, you’re learning to say I’m sorry,

because sometimes you do say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person.

But sometimes you also say the right thing.

Sometimes you say thing that the world needs to hear.

Sometimes you say the thing that one little girl needs to hear.

And maybe when she’s ten years old, she won’t come home crying

begging God to make her someone else.

Because when she looked at you-

hands raised in the air realizing just how wonderfully crafted she was-

and said so matter-of fact-ly,

“Ms. Bekah. I’m pretty. And smart. And funny. And Awesome.”

You pulled her close and whispered in her ear what you never said to yourself

“Yea, baby girl, and don’t you forget it.”

Ramblings · Uncategorized

Happy Birthday Little Blog

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

One year ago today, I started a challenge to cut back on my consumption, and spend at least fifteen minutes every day creating. There were no other parameters. I could knit. I could draw. I could write. Yes, I would write.  I didn’t know if I would  make it through a whole year, but I thought I could try. So I spent the last year establishing a habit of creativity.

And let me tell you friend, this is a habit I will cultivate the rest of my life.

In the beginning, there were days where sitting down to write seemed like the hardest thing I could ever to do. There were nights where I would come home, and I just wanted to fall asleep. But I didn’t do that. I pulled out my computer, and I forced my keyboard  to form pictures  out of words.

And it has changed the way I live each day.

Now, I know I’m prone to hyperboles, so some of you may not be believe me when I say this. However, my hope is that by the end of this blog/rant you may grasp the tremendous effect of a small habit. My hope is that you may be encouraged to do the same as I did. To pick up a paintbrush. To put your words down on a page. To do whatever it is your hands have been tingling to create.

So, you want proof, right? How did this silly little habit change my life? I took a long list of twelve, and narrowed it down to two things that this habit of creativity is teaching me. Neither one has anything to do with skill or craft mastery, because that is not what’s important. I’m not asking you to spend time creating so that you can be a better artist (although that will indeed happen), but because I know that along the way you will grow more in love with your Maker, his creation, and -dare I say it- yourself. So, without further ado…

2 things Creativity is teaching me.

1. There is still magic to be found in this broken world. 

I mentioned a few moments ago that when I first began this endeavor, I struggled with what to write about. It would take me an entire month to write a poem. I didn’t know how to generate ideas. My friends will tell you I’m a do-er.  Give me a task and I become a horse with blinders. The end is all I can see, and I’m going to run as fast as I can to get there. But that’s now how Creativity works. You can’t force it. It’s not something you can mark off your to do lists.

Creativity for me is a lot like Pokemon Go. (I bet you never saw that sentence coming.)  You can’t sit in your house on your computer and wait for cute little monsters to show up at your doorstep. You have to go out into the world and walk around a bit. Only instead of searching for Pokemon, you’re searching for beauty – for magic.  You’re searching for something that makes your heart sing. And when you find it, pull out that Poke Ball and capture it (which is easier said than done, I know). Stick  it in iPhone Notes App and let it grow. Collect more, and let them grow. They will evolve and become stronger and more beautiful. And then, that’s when you share them.  Because beauty is a lot like the little boy with two fish and five loaves. When you have something to offer, you may not think it’s enough, but offer it up anyways. And the next thing you know, it’s the hands of One who can take your small offering and feed a crowd of thousands. The more beauty is shared, the more it multiplies.

So when the shopkeeper down the street is laughing loudly with his brother like an unhindered child, catch it. When the sun makes the cobblestone streets glow a dull pink color just before sunset, catch it.

Because YES, in the midst of all the bombings and strife and wars and hate-filled speeches, there is still beauty to be found. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it. And I want to share it. I want to bring it out of the background of our photographs and into the forefront of ours minds. When we have long forgotten about our Maker and Savior, it is beauty that can bring us back. It is beauty that can give us hope, that just maybe, things won’t always be this way. Could it be that there’s more to this life than toil and pain?

Yes. And I’ve got Poke balls full of moments to prove it.

My iPhone Notes App is filled with lines of poems I have yet to finish. (It’s kind of a mess, really.) In between grocery lists and to do lists and all sorts of lists, I’ll find these little gems: two or three lines of a poem or a song, or an idea for a short story that I typed out while waiting in line or  walking home from work. I’m learning to channel a simple moment into verse. You don’t have to “catch em all”, but what if you just started just searching for one?

2. There is no such thing as failure. 

Before this year, I had never tried watercolor. I had always loved the feeling of brush stroke swishing across a page, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be good at it. Now is the time when I would very much like want to go off on a philosophical tangent about what “being good at” something even means, but I won’t do that. Because frankly, it doesn’t matter. You see, it doesn’t matter if your flowers look like mud puddles when you draw. Do you enjoy it? Wonderful, then draw. If it is moral and physically/financially possible for you, and you enjoy it -whatever “it” is- then do it. It doesn’t matter if you’re good at it. What matters is that it’s good for you.

That’s what I love about art really. It’s so gracious. Art by very definition is experimental. It molds over time and with each person who handles it. It doesn’t judge but simply submits itself to whatever the artist needs from it. Art doesn’t seek results, it seeks transformation. It seeks communication. Any criticism that we receive comes not from the our creation, but from ourselves. This year, I have learned to accept that I am human. In fact, I’ve learned to enjoy it. This life-long learning curve can be fun if you free yourself from this silly idea of perfection.

I’ve been wanting to write “A Fortress for Aeda” for years. I kept myself from it, because I knew I would never be as good as C.S. Lewis. I’m not kidding; that’s why I didn’t write. I was embarrassed that I would never be the writer that he is. And while I still treasure him as a writer, I’m learning to love myself as a writer as well. I like the way I see things. I like that I’m a cynic who writes fairy tales. And I believe that the stories I’m writing needs to be heard, just as I believe every child everyone should read the Chronicles of Narnia.

I’m going to tell my stories with all the beauty and charm and goodness that I can muster. And that is enough.

In short, this year I realized that being a dreamer was a good thing, because dreamers see the world as it will be. And I am learning how to take those dreams and slowly bring them into being. And yes, I’m probably not going to be the next Lewis. But when we stop defining success as a destination and more of journey, then we don’t have to be afraid of failure because it won’t exist. But if we simply strive to call beauty out from it’s hiding place, then every day we can work with joy knowing that what we have to offer matters.

Oh, and my big announcement?

A Fortress for Aeda is currently going through (and has been for several months) some very intensive rewriting and editing sessions. She’s getting new chapters and her old ones are getting reworked because, well, I’m going to publish her.

The goal is to have “A Fortress for Aeda” out by Thanksgiving. (Okay, Christmas at the very latest).

A year ago, I’d barely written anything. I just had this dream of one day writing a novel. Maybe. And I’ve still got so far to go. But I’m taking hold of my dream. I’m working towards it. And it started with 15 minutes.

So, please friend. Start today. Right now. Pull out those pencils, go buy that new watercolor pallet, start that story you’ve been writing in your head. Get your hands dirty with beauty.

You have the time. You have the creativity (I promise you). And you can not fail.

 

Spoken Word

Today I Wandered

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Yesterday, I had an introvert day. I painted and colored and cleaned and baked, all sorts of magical things. And I decided that I should take a break from all things good and go for a quick run. I begrudging put my aesics on and gave myself the usual peptalk. “Just do 20 minutes and you can be lazy and sit in your pajamas the rest of the day. Here, put on audiobook. This could be fun.”

Instead of taking my normal route to the nearest park and back, I decided to roam up and down the streets of Lichtenberg. I quickly found a new park, and with no google maps to tell how big it was, I just decided to wander in and see what I could find. “It couldn’t be that big,” I thought. “And it looks like it heads back toward home.” I should’ve known better.  Twenty minutes in and I was so lost, but I had never been more happy to be that way. I found a castle, old graves, a pasture full of sheep. Yes, in the middle of Berlin, I found a pasture of sheep. There were vines growing over old buildings and little summer shacks where women were out pruning their gardens. I was about 50 minutes into my run at this point (it should be noted that I am not actually in shape, and my body hurts like mad today) and I still had no idea where I was. But it was glorious. As a super planner control freak, I don’t just wander like this. Most of my days are calculated, each activity has a beginning and end time. I pride myself on being efficient, but make fun of how inobservant I can be. And after yesterday, I realized the two might go hand in hand.What do I give up when I cram more things into my day? What beauties do I miss out on? What precious moments?

So, as my year of learning creativity comes to a close (look for my 1 year birthday post on AUGUST 12th!) I’m wondering if this next year needs to include less doing and more dwelling.

But these are just silly ramblings that come before I present a poem. I’m just stalling to press to publish button. I really need to work on that. 🙂 But with nothing else to say, I think I’ll let you read my poem now. Read it, and then go out a wander some.

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Today I wandered for I had else nothing do,

so I humbled myself to walk underneath the sky’s hues.

My feet followed paths I knew not where they lead,

and I listed to my heart instead of a plan.

Secret passages laid undiscovered for I had not the time,

but perhaps if I had known, I would have sooner changed my mind.

For when I took the time to finally look around,

I saw magic in the making, just waiting to be found.

 

Shrub and vine held up buildings on the verge on collapse.

Wildflowers sprung from gravestones, bringing life from the ash.

The women tended their gardens, calling color from the dirt,

And I mourned that it has taken me this long to finally see the earth.

But now I call forth: “You are good, beautiful and true.”

You have revived my soul, like water seeping into roots.

As if only by beholding, there is beauty now in me.

As if by seeing you, I have seen what is holy.

 

Though I ran for hours, I did not once grow weary

For how could my legs stop when my eyes saw such beauty

I threw my head back and laughed as I turned round a bend,

I giggled as a school girl for all the glory flowing in.

And as I ran through the forest, the trees reached down to me.

So that I could touch their branches, and from their spirit glean.

Though my journey shortly ended, I returned home not the same

For there was wonder in my heart and peace running through my veins.

 

Spoken Word

The Sky Has Already Fallen

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

The sky has already fallen

and I don’t recognize this new horizon.

Now my mind may wander but it cannot comprehend

this cataclysm that so easily wrecked my plan.

 

Like waves in the ocean the mountains fell,

left me trying to climb up the swell.

But every solid hold I grasped poured out from my hand.

I’m a fish out of water, a foreigner in this land.

 

The mountains I once called my home have fallen into the sea.

The sidewalks that once lead me to you have cracked beneath my feet.

Now there’s an ocean between us and it’s sink or swim it seems.

But if you ask me to come to you, I’ll meet you somewhere in between.

 

Could you build a bridge across this divide?

Pull me out of this rising tide?

For I know that I must cross this ever shifting sea,

It’s just that right now I’m afraid of stepping in too deep.

 

Yet with each step I take towards this new sunrise

I’m getting closer to the fusing of you and I.

And suddenly we’re in the middle, far from either shore

Must I choose between what lies behind me or before?

 

 

 

 

 

Expanding my Imagination for the Small
Uncategorized

Expanding my Imagination for the Small

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

I’m trying to write an Epilogue to a short(ish) story I just finished recently, and I was having an extremely hard time picturing the room in which the scene took place. I’m just not a detailed person. I know the basic plot. I know where my characters are going and where they’ve come from. But don’t ask me what sits in the corner of Aeda’s room or what color her curtains were. I don’t know- but I should. There’s an exercise I’ve been trying to practice before I write a scene: I sit down and I try to imagine a 360 degree view of the room the scene is taking place in, down to every little detail. What sounds would my character hear? What would they smell? How would they feel? What colors were those curtains?  It’s a work in progress. But I sat down last week to immerse myself in what exactly the room would look like, I couldn’t picture it. Everything was fuzzy, even the basic structure of the the room eluded me. I sat for nearly half the morning, I even tried drawing it out on graph paper. Nothing worked.

But lucky for me, I now live within 30 miles of at least twelve Palaces, and so over the weekend I took a day trip to “do some research” for the scene. Boy, it did not disappoint. I was overwhelmed by how creative and ornate and unique every single room was. Every chandelier was different, every fireplace was carved from different stone, every floor design had different markings. And the details that went into each room were so precise. I couldn’t even imagine how many artists had spent countless hours working through the designs and carrying them out, or how many builders it had taken to complete the task.

The creativity was inspiring, and I walked away with thousands of ideas of which I’ll probably steal two or three for my book. There were things I had never even thought of: hidden beds, flowered chandeliers, and rooms made entirely of glass. These are the master artists, who can take a grand idea and narrow it down piece by piece. It really opened my eyes to think smaller, and to really imagine every single detail just like they did. But I think the biggest lesson I learned is that yes, sometimes you gotta wall yourself in a room and get to work, but there are other times when you need to put down the pencil (or the paintbrush, or the keyboard, or whatever) and go out and see the beauty that someone else had made. “We were never meant to create alone.” And sometimes that means collaborating together with out community, and sometimes that means gaining inspiration from artists that lived hundreds of years ago.

I’ve attached some of the pictures I took below. *Warning: I’m no photographer, but I just couldn’t help myself.

Tea Room (1 of 1)
The Tea Room at the Chinese House (my personal favorite)
Windmill (1 of 1)
a Windmill & a Winery
Ball Room (1 of 1)
for the smaller parties of 100+
Ruin View (1 of 1)
Those are achient ruins in the distance imported from Rome. NBD
Rooftop (1 of 1)
Not quite sure what this is, but that rooftop… *swoon*
Chandaleer (1 of 1)
One of the Coolest Chandliers I’ve ever seen.
Castle Grounds (1 of 1)
The New Palace, Fryderik the II’s summer home.

 

 

Aedaliegh of Arceldör · Short Stories

A Fortress for Aeda, Final Installment

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

SO.  MUCH.  JOY. as I finish Aeda’s story after weeks and weeks of finals & paper writing & sending kids off to kindergarten. It’s nice to finally be able to push the publish button. If you’re new to the series, you can read the first part here. Enjoy friends.

P.S. Special Thanks to my editor & encourager Lauren Wolfe who has edited thousands of my grammatical errors and listened to every plot hole I’ve had to overcome. FInal Installment

A Fortress for Aeda is currently under construction. Come back later for some exciting news.

 

Ramblings · Uncategorized

Find Your Inklings [Creating in Community]

Rebekah Eckard3 Comments

Today’s blog is in honor of Lewis & Tolkien’s Friendiversary. So go grab yourself a scone and a cup of tea, and your favorite book. And remind yourself of the beautiful things that can be created when we surround ourselves with people who help us dream.

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A few weeks ago, I found an amazon gift card I received -and promptly lost- as a Christmas present. This led to an impulsive splurge on Amazon with the first book I could find. Two days later (shout out to amazon prime), I found “a Hobbit, a Wardrobe, and a Great War” sitting on my doorstep. True to it’s title, the book considers how the first World War influenced the writings of Tolkien and Lewis, who spent time in the trenches as foot soldiers. I’ve never been detail oriented enough to sit through a history lesson well, but throw in a story and you’ll have me hanging off the edge of my seat. And that’s exactly what Loconte does, weaving in both Tolkien’s and Lewis’s personal experiences while also casting a broad scope of the War and it’s effects on England.

Almost inevitably I came across a section on the friendship between Lewis, Tolkien and the rest of the Inklings and I found myself gripping the page tightly and smiling like a fool. Most of us have probably heard of the famous group that met together at Oxford. However, it was upon reading this portion of the book that I began to understand the magnitude of their devotion to one another. For sixteen years, the group met every Tuesday morning and Thursday night to share their stories with one another. Even -perhaps especially- in the midst of the Second World War, they continued to meet. Even once their time together had ended, Lewis and Tolkien continued meeting and reading each other’s writings aloud to the other. Tolkien, said of Lewis in a letter,

“C.S. Lewis is a very old friend and colleague of mine, and indeed I owe to his encouragement the fact that in spite of every obstacle [including the 1939 war] I persevered and eventually finished The Lord of the Rings. He heard all of it, bit by bit, read aloud.”

Think about the countless hours Lewis and Tolkien must have spent reading through Lord of the Rings together.  Lewis, probably being the first to ever hear parts of the story, had a critical role in it’s completion. In a time when fantasy and heroes had been exchanged for skepticism and machinery, Lewis saw the NEED for Tolkien’s story to be told. He saw a need for the public of England, blinded with the Enlightenment, to experience and believe in myth, in hero, and in adventure once again. He saw the need for the simple country folk to understand what could become of a world that tears down the Shire to build factories upon it. And He saw the need for a generation of men to mourn those lost in the war.

“So much of your whole life,” said Lewis in a letter to Tolkien,” so much of our joint life, so much of the war, so much that seemed to be slipping away quite spurlos [without a trace] into the past, is now, in a sort made permanent.” While Tolkien had his head stuck in piles of paper and ink, Lewis was able to look upwards- toward the future- and see what would become of all of it. And when it came time for Lewis to publish his own tales, The Chronicles of Narnia, it was Tolkien who wrote to his publisher, imploring him to consider the books.

As I sit here, in a coffee shop some eighty years later, I can’t help but draw parallels to my own hardships as a writer. I’ve had a story of my own stuck in my head for four years now, though I haven’t had the courage to start writing it until recently. As I set about putting it in print, I realized I had some major plot holes in the story. I tried to come up with a creative solution, but I just could not get past them. I kept telling myself, “No, that’s stupid, that won’t work” over and over again. (Let me tell you right now that there’s nothing that kills creativity more than a good dose of self doubt.) But one day, as I found myself without internet access and sitting on my best friend’s couch, I began talking through my story with her. For the better part of an hour, she sat there and just listened. And then, something miraculous happened: she told me I wasn’t stupid and told me to keep talking. She told me my idea wasn’t as horrible as I thought, that it might actually be beautiful. I felt like a paralytic who had just been healed- ever stagnant but now could get up and walk -maybe even run- wherever I chose. One week later, I had written through one plot hole, finding hope and confidence that I could overcome the others that I would face. So, when reading of the consistent support that Lewis and Tolkien had for one another, I wondered if maybe this is the secret to creativity. And I’d like to submit to you that it just might be. That in order for us to thrive as artists, we need a friend to come along side us and say “Your idea isn’t ridiculous, it’s beautiful. You have to do this.” When we are stuck in the moment and all we can see is that obstacle we don’t think we can get past- when all we can hear are the no’s and cannot’s, we need someone to walk up and speak loudly, “Yes, you can. And if you can’t, then we’ll do it together. Because what you have to say is beautiful and what you have to say is needed. This broken world needs the light that you’re bringing into being.” There’s a reason almost every book or CD on the shelf has an acknowledgements section. It doesn’t matter whose name is on the cover, we all know it wasn’t a singular endeavor. We all have someone to thank for helping us finish the work that was started.

Even our Maker did not do His work alone. In the beginning, when God created the heavens, He chose to do it in community with himself. Our trinitarian Lord- the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit- collaborated for the making of his masterpiece. “Come, let us make man in our image.” Minds in one accord with one another planned and plotted together, speaking affirmation after each creation, “Yes, indeed, it is good.” The Almighty created in community, and that should serve a strong lesson for those of us, who are only makers mirroring Him in whose image we were formed. We can never be too good at our craft to walk this journey alone. Community is an essential part of our Creator, and it’s an essential part of us who are made in His image.

So, friend, whatever your obstacle or “plot hole” is at the moment, find someone who’s willing to spend an hour just listening to you. Find someone who sees the beauty is what you’re doing, and who can speak that over you when you’ve lost your sight. Find someone who will let you return the favor. Creativity isn’t meant to be done in solitude; it’s meant to be borrowed and shared and built upon.

So go out and find your Inklings, for we were never meant to create alone. 

 

 

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The Inklings

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guest posts · Watercolor

Guest Post #3: Allison Thurman

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Allison ThurmanAllison Thurman is family. She’s one of my people. When I met her in Community Group less than a year ago, she didn’t talk that much. But one day she mentioned that she painted and I was like “oh, cool. I painted in college too.” Then I went to her house, and y’all this girl PAINTS. That’s when I began to see who she really was. Like I said, she doesn’t talk much, but when she talks, it’s spot on every time- sheer brilliance. And when I talked her into showing up some of her paintings, she said- and I quote- “I’m not really much of a writer.” LIES. ALL LIES. So take some time and let this girl speak to your soul. It’s like everything I’ve ever tried to say on this blog can be summed up into her words. What’s that thing that Goethe used to say? You should read and look at something beautiful every day? Well friends, you can knock both of those out here. Allison Thurman, y’all. She’s the real deal.

When Your Art Becomes Your Worship (by Allison Thurman)

I never really remember a switch going off when I started loving the arts. It was a natural accumulation of events that led me to start creating. At first, it was black and white drawings. Some time later, I took a group painting class where I first encountered oil paints. Then for about 5 or 6 years I really didn’t do any art voluntarily. I had art classes in school, but that was nothing out of the norm. Then in my sophomore year at Texas Tech, I needed an elective so I took Intro to Drawing. Most of the class consisted of pencil and charcoal drawings, with a focus on very basic technical rules of art such as perspective and lighting. In what free time I had in college I enjoyed painting, but my focus was on other things. I have only just begun over the past year to truly appreciate art and am still discovering the meaning of it. I hesitate to even call myself an artist simply because it is something that I am just beginning to explore and dip my toes into and I really don’t have any formal training. Art is my escape, a stress reliever, a way to focus on something that I do for myself. Art is an instrument of healing. As a nurse, I can often get so caught up in the wellbeing of others that I forget to search myself and care for my own emotional wellbeing. Art allows me to escape and renew my soul by meditating on the truths of Christ. It allows you to escape the black and white of the world and see the color in the world that Christ has placed for our joy and His glory. However, the more I dip my toes in it and experiment with art, the more spiritual analogies I see in it. Discovering these has made me love it that much more! To me, art is no longer simply about the end product, but more importantly about the process of creating and exploring; it is about self discovery. Painting is a process, a process in which there are no rules or limitations. Anything is possible. Each brushstroke is a decision-whether intentional or not, yet you never know what will happen until you jump in and do it, just starting anywhere. Progress requires action- it probably wont be perfect, but it can be perfected. In discovering art, you have to remember the old ways, but try new ways. It is essential in progress. We must always move forward, fighting against the easy, the known, the natural. It takes time, courage and risk, but it has potential to alter creations forevermore. I can say with certainty that I have yet to create something that is perfect. There is always something that bugs me. But such it is with sanctification. We are messy human beings that will never be perfected, despite our best efforts, until the day which our creator restores our souls and the earth is made new. My comfort zone became art realism in oil paintings. However I make myself branch out and try other mediums such as acrylics with different gels to add texture. Another favorite is chalk art and calligraphy if I’m in the mood for something more relaxed. I’m always listening to music when I creating art- usually worship music or something like Ben Rector. I find it very hard to create something beautiful if the whole body is not involved. The mind, hands, and spirit must unite to express itself through a beautiful creation. Calligraphy and lettering is a lot like singing. It allows you to preach truths to yourself that your head knows but heart is struggling to believe. To me, it is a process of trusting, believing the unseen, the uncertainties. It is often meditation and prayer. I cant remember a time when I lettered a scripture or lyric that my heart was battling and didn’t walk away with my heart more at rest with the promises of Christ. I always find it funny (and is sometimes frustrating :p) that I like art, considering I certainly have a type A personality. My mind operates on science and facts. I like order, planning, and very rarely act upon emotion. I have to teach myself that it is ok for everything to not be perfect. That imperfection is beautiful in light of the gospel. Although it is a stretch, I have to force myself to participate in abstract art. Abstract art is not about defining specific things or ideas, but letting your heart take natural form- you just have to let it flow out. It teaches you to embrace that which you can not control, to open up and express your emotions on the canvas.  I learn that art is an extension of God’s creation. Art is worship. It is allowing the Spirit to flow out of you, being vulnerable, make the unexplainable and non-tangible take form. When creativity flows out of intimacy with God, it speaks for the emotions and hopes of our hearts. It makes that which is hard to express, stated without words. And it moves others to experience something outside of themselves. So my challenge to you is next time you need your heart to believe in the truth of scripture, lose yourself in the creative process of art. Use it as an act of surrender to our Father. This will take a different form for everyone, but do something that stretches you just a little. For all spiritual, physical, and personal growth takes a little bit of getting out of our comfort zone and experiencing something new. Create something new as a reflection of the newness Christ has created in you and a representation of the hope of the day in which all will be made new, letting the Spirit open your heart and lead you to experience Him in a new way.   DSC_0168

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I know, SHE DID ALL THIS HERSELF. With her own hands.

 

 

Aedaliegh of Arceldör · Short Stories

A Fortress for Aeda, Part 5

Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

9b319ebe0c26f8206854f2ea7ccad6a6Thursdays and Fridays can be crazy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read this over and over. The rush to get it done, the emails to my friend and editor, the rereading and rewriting and hair pulling, but I would be lying if I told you I didn’t love this whole process though. And in the end, I get to wake up all excited like Christmas when I was kid. “I get to post my story today!” We’re almost to the end of Aeda’s story, but if you’re new here, You can find the first installment here. And with all my rambling complete, here’s A Fortress for Aeda, Part 5.

A Fortress for Aeda is currently under construction. Come back later for some exciting news.