We will make art

It’s a bold statement in a beautiful book called A Million Little Ways by Emily P Freeman.

I just finished the book and I wonder. How is this true for me?  It feels true. Courageous. Right. But in my stage of life,  I prioritize a shower and making sure my family eats.  I have little margin.  So when can I make art? (Background: in this book art is what we create with our lives as image bearers not simply what we can paint with a brush.)

I used to go to Starbucks on Sunday to write. Order a warm latte and sip slowly letting words flow.  I used to make time for art.  And I imagine one day naps will be more predictable and take place in her bed instead of my arms.  And I will find time for this again.

But today is hers.  I am her soft bed.  She is my art and I am her canvas.

And I look to our Master Artist to bless the work we are developing.  To show me how to live as an artist even now. And teach her to do the same.