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December 16, 2015, I was "let go" from my job as church lady. I had been working in that capacity for over 11 years, and with the organization for over 16 years. I had been a pretty confident, accomplished, can-do church lady at one time but that was when inspiration ran high. But I was out of steam, no gas in my tank, no wind in my sails. I have known it for a while.
It's complicated to be a church lady. You wouldn't think so, but it's true. I didn't just sit around answering the phone and saying snarky quips like, "isn't that special?", I promise. I did a lot of hard work. I dealt with a lot of people: church family, homeless folks in genuine need, folks that were hurting and in need of counsel when there was no pastor available to help them, people looking for a church from which they could score some dollars for their next fix, people who ran the show unabashedly, and people who asked permission before sticking a small thank you note on a bulletin board. I dealt effectively with people having serious medical emergencies right in front of me and a teenager heartbroken because he found a dog hit by a car on the road side.
I had steep learning curves at the outset, and am self taught now in so many ways. I thought I knew Microsoft Office when I took the job. (I did not, but I do now.) I had never created a website before, never published a booklet, never set up a functional filing system, never purchased an entire system of office computers and server. Steep curves! I learned a great deal, and found people who could teach me and mentor me. But I also flexed and grew my creative muscles there. My fingerprints are all over that church from the logo on their stationary to the format of their website and their newsletters to the color of the walls in the sanctuary. I designed and installed bulletin boards, encouraged the shift from those old boards to electronic ones, ordered supplies and scheduled the events calendar, researched and found and executed an entire ChMS (thats fancy talk for a church database system) not once, but twice, and then struggled to figure out how to transfer all the data and make them work! I led small groups, oversaw women's ministry, served on committees, planned and executed group activities and events, wrote a regular article in the monthly newsletter in addition to gathering and reporting, formatting, editing and publishing the document. I created floral pieces for holidays and encouraged others to flex their creativity too, taught classes in cake decorating and floral design, shared testimonials of Gods work in my own life, cried many tears of joy and tears of grief, I even made the three little wise men who grace the back of the church organ each year at Christmas. I poured my heart into a church that I loved and called my own for over 20 years.
Life ebbs and flows, and the truth is my time as a church lady should have ended over a year ago. Things had changed. Close friends had moved on for various reasons. The winds have shifted. The pastor who hired me had moved on, my team wasn't there anymore. Don't get me wrong, there are still some good, talented, caring, God-loving people at the church. But I felt like a fish out of water. The leadership that allowed my sails to be unfurled and filled with joyful service was missing. I couldn't seem to catch a breeze anywhere. My heart wasn't in it, and I knew it. But I had poured myself into that ministry for so long that I couldn't let it go. And I did not trust God to care for my physical needs. That's the truth.
I did let go of Sunday mornings. I was heart heavy. I couldn't even describe it. I started to let go when my daughter's wedding was imminent, and I had flowers and cakes and dresses and details to fill my weekends. Then after the wedding, I just couldn't bring myself to return. Sunday mornings had once been a joy but now-- there was burden and pain, and that still, still air.
Truth moment: I refused to let go. I was afraid to. So I kept hoping. Hoping that Things Could Change, that new inspiration would come to my heart, that a little breeze would stir. It wasn't that God wasn't present there. And yet, there was the stillness.
Then last June on a weekend getaway with family, a freak accident happened. One minute I was walking down a hill toward our campsite, and the next I was sliding and flailing to the ground, my right foot twisted 90 degrees west of normal. Broken. Dislocated. My ankle was trashed. This. Was. Not. Good. Or was it?
My summer was spent at home in recovery from my accident. I learned a lot about what brings about healing. Body and soul. I was so relaxed, so calm, at peace as I sat at home for those days of bones mending. I learned to crochet, I spent time sitting in the sun, contemplating the flowers growing, and listening to music. Nearly three months in a wheelchair and then one on crutches, and finally, back to work. But the air remained dead calm. My personal prayer time was filled with a lot of begging God for direction. At work others had moved in to do the things I couldn't do, or had simply taken over my responsibilities. I felt inadequate and ineffective. I took a 2 week vacation and spent time with my family in the mid-west, and then returned to the job I knew so well. But the air was still, so still, for me.
I guess it was pretty obvious to my colleagues, or perhaps they were tired of the stale air that seemed to surround me, as someone up the ladder decided it was time to let me go. It wasn't that I did anything wrong, they said. No, they couldn't tell me why. I was just, "let go." There was no incident, no event that precipitated the separation. (This did not help my trust issues.) That was 9 days before Christmas. With an ankle still in the healing process, I had to pace my days to get my Christmas plans executed. Well, at least as much as I could. I pushed through.
Fast forward to January of 2016. The Christmas tree is down, the ornaments are stored and the season of busyness is behind me, I am left with time to think about all that has happened. I confess at first I had a major pity party including tears and lots of "sorry for myself". But you can only do so much of that before you sink into an abyss. Not my favorite place to hang out. I decided I needed to lick a finger, hold it up high and find a breeze again. My sails needed filling in the worst way, and there are many ways to capture a current.
I started perusing the web, looking for something that inspired me. Pinterest is good for that. First, I found something called Whole 30 that I could use to kick start my year with some better eating habits and I latched on to it. I kept looking and I found a lot of artists out there sharing what brings them joy. I found some pretty inspiring women like Anna Mason at annamasonart.com, Dawn Nicole of http://bydawnnicole.com; Lindsey at https://thepostmansknock.com, and of course Patsy Clairmont and Ann Voskamp and a host of others. I needed to tap into my creativity again too, and perhaps recapture a little of that lost joy. I'm hard wired that way, I know that about myself. I needed to capitalize on the gifts God gave me, and exercise them again.
Dawn recommended a couple of books that intrigued me so I ordered one (Amazon, you make it too easy.) So this funny little black square book came to me, 'Steal Like an Artist" by Austin Kleon. Honestly I was disappointed when I opened the Amazon box, because the book was so small. Softbound. Insignificant. But, my mom used to say that the best things come in small packages. (I always thought she meant jewelry.)
I began to read. Austin packs a punch in those little pages. He shares his heart and his work in this book, and while he doesn't know me, his writing caused a little stirring within. Something I've felt before. Something softly brushing past. Was it a breeze? Yes, yes, a breeze! Possibly even a God breeze. And that is what can inspire me and fill my sails again.
I am on a new path, with no more church lady responsibilities or burdens to carry. I am on my way, doing what Austin suggested: create, emulate, fake it till I make it, and then make it my own as I explore art in as many forms as I can possibly discover. To steal like an artist. Read the book, and join me? I'm anticipating a year full of sailing ahead.
