Sometimes you read something that someone else wrote and two thoughts and conflicting emotions seem to evolve:
1. Oh my lanta, for being a perfect stranger they sure did nail me on the head
2. Oh my lanta, why couldn't I have written that!
Here is my spark that ignited the conflicting emotions:
"I began to realize that while many of my friends make art with guitars or paintbrushes, my preferred medium is the fabric of human relationships: making lasting connections between people and seeking to illuminate the image of God that each person bears. Whether it be the slow process of trying to introduce two women to each other (knowing they’d become fast friends and simply must connect) or the sweet, unlikely friendship with a formerly homeless, dying man whose story I will never forget or the careful work of mowing a baseball diamond into our backyard for play with my four-year-old son, I know that what I make is part of the kingdom God is making."
and:
"Poets recite. Songwriters sing. Photographers capture. What do I do? I feel. I imagine. I love. I’m never going to compile a portfolio of the intricate glories I see in the people around me, the ideas I nurture carefully to fruition, or the stories I help to take shape. But I know that if God is inherently creative, then I am called to be creative as a woman. He crafted me in His image. I know this but I forget it. I need the help of all the artists making tangible art and writing glorious stories to remind me that the intangible art and undocumented stories in my life are also worthwhile."
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