Boomer and I did our Christmas baking. It was fun, except for the shopping trip to Walmart. Apparently the entire population of Bremerton makes its way north to congregate in the aisles of Walmart. I about busted a cap. Nevermind though. I'll post pictures and recipes tomorrow. In the meantime...
How do I say this. Boomer has been a bit... clingy lately. It started to get really bad these past few days. It started out as the cute, "awe, look, you have a little shadow..." to "OMG, what is the wiggly thing sticking out of your stomach?!" In all seriousness, I have become the surrogate Moxie and Waffles.
Boomer is with me 24/7. When I am exercising, he takes advantage of mat poses to lick the grime off my face. When I'm baking, he's sitting on my toes. When I'm tucked into bed, his head is between my boobs. Bath time becomes the world's largest water bowl. He tries to jump on my lap when I'm in the bathroom and anything and everything in between he's wound about my legs. But I like it. He's my recipe tester and never complains about the food, my gym buddy, my portable heater, and my body guard (who's convinced that Josh is going to hurt me, so he's always growling at him if he gets too close).
Sometimes I wish he was a human so he could go shopping with me. I have a feeling he'd be the only human male that wouldn't complain if I took him into a clothes store. Though it might get embarrassing if he pooped on the sidewalk. Just sayin. It is ridiculously difficult to blog with a dog splayed over your lap, and is a sure way to get carpal. At least he is warm though.
This weekend just raced by. This whole week has. It's thrown me completely off kilter. My life is passing by me, and yet I still continue to feel pointless and without purpose. Empty. It's not that I don't feel complete in my relationship with my husband. Not at all. Things couldn't be any better and I would never choose a different path other than this one. No, this feeling comes from the lack of, well, work. Not job, but passion. Passion for God. Passion for working with my hands. Passion for life. And I am embarrassed. I struggle daily with the conflicting views of Christianity and Existentialism. I get no greater joy than creating art, but the sour part of my mind tells me that it's pointless in the end. We are all going to die anyway. And for now, that voice IS right. Why? Because my art lacks purpose and therefore, so do I. The despair is soul squelching.
I've always been interested in becoming a tattoo artist but that same voice tells me I'm not good enough, my portfolio isn't big enough, I should be doing more productive things... etc. The fear of living keeps me from picking up the phone and asking for an apprenticeship just to test the water. And so I despair. And my biggest fear if all? Maybe I don't want this bad enough. Maybe I am just lazy. Maybe I have allowed myself to become pointless. Maybe I don't want to work for anything.
Yet... I remind myself that is the same voice that told me I wasn't good enough to kickbox.
How do I say this. Boomer has been a bit... clingy lately. It started to get really bad these past few days. It started out as the cute, "awe, look, you have a little shadow..." to "OMG, what is the wiggly thing sticking out of your stomach?!" In all seriousness, I have become the surrogate Moxie and Waffles.
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| creepin on the art. |
Boomer is with me 24/7. When I am exercising, he takes advantage of mat poses to lick the grime off my face. When I'm baking, he's sitting on my toes. When I'm tucked into bed, his head is between my boobs. Bath time becomes the world's largest water bowl. He tries to jump on my lap when I'm in the bathroom and anything and everything in between he's wound about my legs. But I like it. He's my recipe tester and never complains about the food, my gym buddy, my portable heater, and my body guard (who's convinced that Josh is going to hurt me, so he's always growling at him if he gets too close).
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| I've been getting this look A LOT lately. I'm not sure what it means... |
Sometimes I wish he was a human so he could go shopping with me. I have a feeling he'd be the only human male that wouldn't complain if I took him into a clothes store. Though it might get embarrassing if he pooped on the sidewalk. Just sayin. It is ridiculously difficult to blog with a dog splayed over your lap, and is a sure way to get carpal. At least he is warm though.
This weekend just raced by. This whole week has. It's thrown me completely off kilter. My life is passing by me, and yet I still continue to feel pointless and without purpose. Empty. It's not that I don't feel complete in my relationship with my husband. Not at all. Things couldn't be any better and I would never choose a different path other than this one. No, this feeling comes from the lack of, well, work. Not job, but passion. Passion for God. Passion for working with my hands. Passion for life. And I am embarrassed. I struggle daily with the conflicting views of Christianity and Existentialism. I get no greater joy than creating art, but the sour part of my mind tells me that it's pointless in the end. We are all going to die anyway. And for now, that voice IS right. Why? Because my art lacks purpose and therefore, so do I. The despair is soul squelching.
I've always been interested in becoming a tattoo artist but that same voice tells me I'm not good enough, my portfolio isn't big enough, I should be doing more productive things... etc. The fear of living keeps me from picking up the phone and asking for an apprenticeship just to test the water. And so I despair. And my biggest fear if all? Maybe I don't want this bad enough. Maybe I am just lazy. Maybe I have allowed myself to become pointless. Maybe I don't want to work for anything.
Yet... I remind myself that is the same voice that told me I wasn't good enough to kickbox.
2 comments:
It’s a little eerie to read someone writing the questions I’ve wrestled with inside – and even voiced to others – about my art and writing. If it has no purpose, what is it good for? Where is my passion? Am I just lazy? Questions…
A dear artist friend of mine said our art is an act of worship. We can’t help ourselves from doing it –for we are simply reflecting what our Creator made us to be. We beat ourselves up because there’s no visible “paycheck” attached – or at least one we can see as of yet. We have to take it on faith – that we are here for a purpose and our gifts and talents have value – though we can’t see it yet. It’s as though we are walking in fog…
I think I may have told you already, but it reminds me of a clump of wild daisies blooming behind a rock near the freeway between Baker City and Ontario. There they were, blooming with all their might, where no one could see them but God, a grazing cow – and a ‘certain passing motorist’ speeding along at 60 mph who just happened to glance over and see them. For one split second of their fragile lives I saw them shine-out from behind the rock – lifting their petals up like worshiping hands to God.
For a split second the fog cleared – the hair on my arms stood up and I couldn’t stop the sudden tears. It was like the flowers spoke and said:
“Just lift up your petals and shine!” That’s all.
Who knows what God has in mind for you? You are more beautiful and more valuable than the wild daisies – and He had a special plan for them, if only if was to spend their lives shining-out from behind a rock. I will never forget their message…
So, just keep polishing your gifts, Briana – and lift up your petals up and shine!
Thank you Myla for this! I often forget the very foundations of my faith. It's all a work in progress I guess :)
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