I think people have a particular vision of what faith looks like.
Times are tough and she’s on her knees full of hope. She’s given her burdens over to an unseen authority because things happen for a reason. At very least, there’s a flow, and she knows this and will “go with it.” Faith. Relief. Contentment.
I’ve had a lot of faith lately and it looks nothing like that. I’m certainly not on my knees (although that might help); I’m not grateful; and nothing is flowing. I have my butt glued to my chair, and I am promising myself a dark chocolate Easter egg from my son’s basket if I just write that next dreadful paragraph.
Most days, I hate my writing. I often doubt it’s worth my time. Life is happening, real life and not fiction, all around me and I’m off forcing prose into my inadequate fake world.
My faith is dark and ugly and expressed only in the action of doing the writing — day after day with no real indication I am cut out for this, meant for this, or that this brings value to me or the planet.
Occasionally, I dare to hope just a little and then make efforts to squash it out. Faith means not requiring validation, feedback, or pay. It means being okay with no voice of God in my head or Holy Spirit in my heart. It means being okay with my motivation — a near-evil gnawing notion that NOT doing this would be worse. And, of course, that promise of chocolate.
All this said to announce I made the semi-finals in ACFW’s Genesis contest. I’m entering year 3 with my butt on this chair, plugging through my 1K a day, and that phone call came as a huge relief yesterday after a near spirit-breaking week. There was no squealing or jumping after I hung up. Just a potent exhale and a decision to keep the faith a bit longer.
So, no matter where you are in your artist’s journey (and we are all artists), I say keep your butt in the chair. And tell me, what does your faith look like?