Chapter 6 – Breathing Out – Part 5

Commit your works to the Lord and your plans will be established.
Proverbs 16:3 NASB

Exercise 5: Just Doing It

·        Setting a specific time to do artistic work

·        Learning to protect creative time from outside demands

·        Claiming a space to do artist work

·        Banishing the critic

Which of these presents the biggest challenge for you?

Which one do you think you might have the most success overcoming?

Claiming the space. I’m doing it. This summer! Hold me to it!

Make “something” for 30 minutes.

He woke up thirsty. Parched. He might have had too much to drink. A lonely drunk is never fun. And the man with a hangover is worse in the morning. His head was throbbing. He could barely stand up straight. He ambled into the kitched. Stumbled to the cabinet for a glass. Make that a cup. He didn’t want to break anything. Shattered glass would make for a more miserable morning. He might end up in the ER again.  He leaned against the sink, placed the cup beneath the spout and turned on the water. Normally, he would have rinsed out the cup while the water ran cold. But he wasn’t awake enough. He was asleep at the tap when he heard a clunk and felt a splash. He jolted awake. The water was cloudy like an Alka Seltzer tablet had been dropped in. And the water was very blue. It certainly wasn’t muddy. He was close to dumping the strange fizzy concoction to try again when he swore he saw a face. A face smaller than his daughter’s Barbie doll, but more perfect. Taking a closer look, he set the cup onto the counter. And there it, no she, was. Staring right back at him. She had placed her arms over the rim to support herself. And she was studying him. His first thought was, “what if she can get out.” Later he would see the ridiculousness of that thought. But at the moment, it seemed imperative that he protect himself from this… this… this… Oh, his mind was so cloudy. He couldn’t think straight let alone logically. This was a creature right out of myth and legend. What was it called … Dryad, no, that was a tree. A nymph. He had a nymph in his cup, in his kitchen. A daughter of Poseidon? Ugh. He would google it later. Maybe this was the miracle he had been hoping for. Maybe she could grant wishes or something … well, maybe not at all like a genie. But maybe the gods would reward him for rescuing her. He wondered if she could communicate. He woke himself from this reverie and lurched to the cabinet for a pitcher. He dumped her in without care and then hit himself in the head for not being more careful. When she and the water hit the bottom of the empty pitcher, the water foamed and fizzed again. And then she “pulled” herself together again and glared up at him. Good thing he had the pitcher. He decided to give her a bit more water guessing she would probably like more, but not so much that she could hang off the edge of the pitcher. This reminded him that he was still thirsty. He set the pitcher in the sink after filling it half full. He shuffled back to the cabinet and reached for a glass. He was a bit woozy and managed to knock the glass off the shelf and it shattered on the tile floor. Out of anger he stomped his foot. Right onto the biggest shard. Well, back to the ER. If he could drive. He never got that glass of water and he never looked back at the mythological creature swimming around in the bottom of his lemonade pitcher. He didn’t see the Barbie sized creature peeking over the edge as he shut the front door behind him. He couldn’t tell you how he got to the hospital. He was just grateful that he did before he lost too much blood and passed out. It was a long wait in the ER. Then there was extracting the pieces of glass and then multiple stitches. He might as well have a cast, he was bandaged so heavily. Because it was his right foot, they wouldn’t let him drive home. He had to call his brother who was none too happy with him at the moment. His brother unceremoniously dumped him off on his sofa with enough food to last him a few days. It was a blessing, HA, that he didn’t have anywhere to be for the next week while his foot healed. He’d camp out on the sofa. He’d order pizza. His brother gave him enough cash for that at least. The creature forgotten, he passed out on the couch. The next week was a haze. His brother would drop by with something to eat occasionally, otherwise he just ate out of the grocery sack on the floor beside him. He watched movies by night and slept by day. He drank a cup of toothpastey water every trip to the bathroom. He wore a path on the carpet from the couch to the bathroom in no time. By the time he finally got bored enough to amble into the kitchen again and cook something a little more healthy to eat, only a little more healthy, the water in the pitcher had evaporated done to less than the original cup of water. He jumped about a foot when he saw the pitcher. He thought the creature had been a dream. Surely it was an alcohol induced dream. He snuck up on the sink and peered inside the pitcher. Not only had the water level gone done considerably, the creature had shrunk in size with it. She appeared to be asleep at the bottom. She looked like one of his daughter’s Polly Pockets, only more real. More human? He lifted the pitcher and gently swirled the water. She jumped awake and glared up at him. He got the distinct impression that she was angry with him. He quickly filled the pitcher up from the tap. Again, the water churned and fizzed a lovely Caribbean Blue. When he turned off the tap and the water settled, there was the Barbie-sized nymph again. He almost dropped the pitcher. He quickly set it on the counter and backed away. The doorbell rang and he met his brother at the door. He’d forgotten. Today was the day he went back to the doctor. The creature was quickly forgotten as he rushed to put on some clothes. His brother impatiently tapping his foot at the door. If he could just please one person one time, that would please himself. His brother practically ran to the running car as he hobbled behind him. They didn’t say one word on the way to the doctor’s office. When he was dropped off back at home, he headed straight to his bed. He never wanted to wake up. He slept for two days with occasional trips to the bathroom. It wasn’t until his stomach protested angrily that he visited the kitchen again. He wasn’t surprised by the pitcher anymore. He just didn’t believe it. He figured if he ignored it, it would evaporate away. He couldn’t take care of himself. He certainly couldn’t take care of his family. The nymph creature might as well just evaporate into thin air.

Commend what you do to Yahweh, and what you plan will be achieved.

Proverbs 16:3 NJB

There is no Nahum 4:13 Poor minor prophets.