On January 1, 2019, I started a yearlong painting challenge. My first piece was of a paperwhite bulb in a favorite geometric-patterned planter sitting on the kitchen counter. I added a shadow to mimic other artists and captioned it “A Paperwhite Waiting to Bloom.”
All year, every single day, I painted. I set up a desk in my office to keep all my supplies out, and each afternoon, as I quieted my mind, I chose a subject to sketch and paint. Some paintings told stories about the day—a toothbrush and toothpaste on the day we all had dentist appointments, a bag of cough drops when I wasn’t feeling so great, a box of Lucky Charms on St. Patrick’s Day, a maple leaf turning colors in early fall. Sometimes I painted things that stirred up a cherished story I wanted to share, like my grandma’s antique ring she passed down to me, a bouquet of balloons to illustrate a Scripture I read that morning, a Hawaiian shirt in honor of our dads on Father’s Day. I tried my hand at loose landscapes and animals and seasonal flora and fauna and surprised myself nearly every single day with how well the paintings turned out.
Over my year of creating daily paintings, I learned to be an artist. I practiced every day, withholding harsh judgment, and trusted I was using my gifts to the best of my ability. The practice certainly helped improve my art—the paintings toward the end of the year are decidedly more detailed and refined than those at the beginning. I am more confident with sketching, mixing colors, and shading than I was before. But the daily discipline became more than just painting cute things. It turned into a daily spiritual practice—a way for me to stand in agreement with what God says of me and be fully myself. I learned to slow down, pay attention, notice, and capture the beauty of regular, ordinary life in lovely watercolors.
The year of paintings did more than just make me a better artist. It continued the work of healing my heart, mind, and soul. Each of us has gifts and talents and passions inside. We do not pursue these to prove our value or give our lives meaning. Instead, out of a deep, abiding trust in God, we use them to become the people he always intended for us to be—quietly confident, contented, and full of unrelenting trust even when life is not as smooth as we wish. And we use these gifts he’s given us as an offering back to him.
Jesus replaces our once anxious, burdened hearts with hope, joy, and peace, and out of that overflow, we use all variety of gifts for his glory.
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I turned on the radio, and the Christmas carol “Little Drummer Boy” was playing. I’m particularly fond of Justin Bieber’s snappy rendition, but this one by For King and Country captured my attention as I drove home on the still-dark roads after dropping Ethan off at school. I listened to the story of the poor boy who hadn’t a valuable gift to bring to the new baby King and saw a glimmer of myself in the story. Maybe you identify with him too.
Jesus is so worthy of being honored and deserves only the most luxurious of all gifts. Yet there we stand with our wounds, our baggage, our bad habits, and our wavering faith, and still, he asks us to come. He just wants us to show up as ourselves—fully forgiven, completely accepted—and give our lives, our hands, and our hearts back to him as an offering.
So we play the drum. We paint. We fight for the weak. We build and sew and teach. We design lovely spaces and cook magnificent (or not so magnificent) meals. We start businesses, take photographs, write words, tell stories, calculate figures. We do this all because this is what makes us us. We don’t have to try to do or be what we think is expected of us; we get to be fully ourselves. We use our one-of-a-kind mix of talent, voice, community, career, culture, and time in history to share the good news of who Jesus is and what he has done for us as only we can do. We do this not for recognition or to prove our value but because it is all we have to offer, and we can’t help but bring some-thing to the One who gives us life.
My favorite piece of the classic Christmas carol (besides the catchy pa-rum-pum-pum-pum part) comes at the end. “Then, he smiled at me,” retells the Drummer Boy. “Me and my drum.” Isn’t that amazing? A little cheesy, sure, but also true. Jesus is surrounded by precious, valuable gifts, yet he is so pleased with the humble offering of a drum solo.
Whatever our gifts—whether big or small, seemingly important or barely noticed, on display or done in secret—may we offer them generously to a loving Father who receives our offering with a smile. He takes great delight in us being exactly who he made us to be.
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This excerpt was taken from Freely and Lightly by Emily Lex, a gentle guide to laying down your burdens and picking up God’s invitation to rest in His perfect plan. For every special gift, talent, or passion you have, God designed you with a purpose in mind. Psalm 139:13-14 (NIV) says, “For you created my innermost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully in wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” We are called to glorify him by uniquely embracing our abilities, because they make us who we are—a delight of the Lord.
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Emily’s latest book, Build, helps children celebrate their specialness as you share this charming tale about a boy who discovers the truth of who God made him to be, with a little help from his animal friends—some of nature’s master builders.
Featuring original writing and watercolors from popular author and artist Emily Lex, Build will become a family reading time favorite and spark important conversations with your children about their unique place in God’s creation.
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