Trying to dig up the gifts that I've buried.

Not to be boastful, but I was raised to be quite modest.
I rarely talk about myself in a promotional manner and I have trouble sharing big things that are going on in my life... even with the people closest to me. I soon forget about them after they happen because I don't talk about them, and quickly I forget what initially stirred me emotionally. 
That being said, I've kind-of done the same thing with this blog. I should be better about talking about myself, but I start to tell myself that I'm being whiney or obnoxious and I put the computer away.

I have trouble receiving compliments as well. I never thought this to be true until I started sharing my music with people and realized that I didn't believe them when they said I had a good voice or that I had written a great song. I thought they were being nice. It always sort of ended there. I would forget that I had written a song I was proud of and I would wonder why none of my well developed and thought up projects ever took off. I stopped sharing things and became a hoarder of my art. I would write mass amounts of poetry and songs, and the only people I would share it with were two beautiful friends who lived in a different country. I took their compliments, but I kept all of them at an arms length. I thought "maybe if I sing for these friends that I love and respect (and that live really far away), then I will become comfortable singing for everyone". But that wasn't the case and I still have trouble standing up with a guitar and playing my songs for people. I still feel inadequate and undeserving of attention, and I still don't let people see my gifts because I am afraid that their compliments are true.

Art is not easy to make. Whether it is painting, writing, singing, or acting; it is an emotionally exhausting exercise (not to mention expensive to market). I've hit the point in my creative process where I'm worn out. I'm not saying that I have writers block or that I am not creating anything. I'm actually writing more than I ever have before. I've written at least one poem every day for the last month. I've written three songs in the last week. The issue is that no one knows... and that I don't know how to tell them. When I finish a song or a poem, I want to show it to everyone. I want them to smile and dance and say "wow, that moved me". I want them to react because I've exhausted myself making it. On the other hand though, what if I get the attention I seek? What if they are right about what I make and they decide they want more? 

What if their compliments are true?

Then I will have to be vulnerable and make more music. Then I will have to pour myself deeper and deeper into my poetry because they may show more people what I make. This is not intrinsically negative, but it is exhausting. 

What if the compliments are true, and I pour myself out, and then the reactions stop?

Will I be alright with creating if no one cares anymore? Will I feel unheard and unappreciated? Will I create for creations sake like I did at first, just to explore something new and colorful... just to feel newness in the wrinkles of my hands. Just to say "This is good" to myself?

When God created everything, did he want more the way that I am aching for it right now? Didn't he want to share it with someone? He created a variety of people just so that they could join him in chanting "It is good". He took the compliments and when he saw that people didn't recognize his art, when he saw that people didn't recognize what he made for them, he said "I want to understand where you are coming from so that I can make more, just for you". 

I feel the frustration of God. I understand what he must feel when people drive past a field of flowers and instead of opening their windows to smell them, they open their window to flick off their neighboring car. I feel in my core that I was created to mimic The Lord's creating heart. Right now, that heart is aching for someone to listen to it beating. Its music is for the listener. 



I had a good friend of mine give me his memoir to read. I was in a phase of life where my attention span was shot, and I couldn't sit down for half a second to read anything. I read it anyway though, because I respected this friend and I was intrigued to learn more about him through his writing. I flew through the memoir with ease because I was reading about a friend. I was reading someones heart. With every book I have picked up since, I have approached it the same way. I have become dear friends with the writer through the process of reading. I have been moved by every sentence because I understand that it was written to be read by my eyes. It was written to be a vulnerable expression of life. Its words are a connection from one beating heart to another.

I have not thought out this post as well as I normally do. It was more cathartic than anything, but I really feel as though I need to make a declaration:
I am going to honor my gifts better. 
I am going to let myself be seen and heard and read. 
I am going to share my stories and poems and songs without fear of silence, because that is what God does. 
I am sorry if in the future I annoy you with my art. 
I will share with you what He has given me; 
because he has shared with me, and I am overflowing with reverence.



That being said. I am really thinking about self publishing a book of poems for the church. God is calling art back into the church and I want to be a part of answering this call. This will not be an easy feat and I am prepared for the battle, but I need your help. I need support, I need encouragement, and I need a lot more faith in what I have been gifted in. Please let me know if you have any interest in this book. It won't happen unless I am sure that it will sell.

Thanks for reading,
I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-Alison

You have the constitution of the constellations
if they were multiplied four-score.
And we breathe them in as you breathed them out before.

O Maker
O Creator
from dust to dust again.
But though our world is a speck in your eye,
you've made it your delicate plan.

Let us cast ourselves upon the colors
of the coral in your sea of grace,
and endlessly pursue
the ageless rivets in your face.