Quiet Morning

As a mother of two young girls, one of which is just turned four and still remains home with me, “quiet mornings” are in very short supply. So are quiet afternoons and evenings for that matter, though I wouldn’t trade this time with my children for anything. I realize this moment with them is but a blink, and while I admit to being frazzled and overwhelmed at times by this season of life, I am certain I will look back one day and ache for those early morning snuggles and evening post-bath zoomies, during which going to bed is the very last thing on my children’s mind. I find myself tired and feeling thin a lot of the time, never quite able to catch up, some of which is due to ongoing chronic illness, though mostly because my tiny employers keep me very busy - and quite entertained!

And so quiet mornings exist as more of a fantasy - or rather a hope I have for myself one day when my children are grown. Mornings I might wake up naturally as the sunlight touches my eyelids and I slowly ascend into the land of waking. Mornings that don’t begin with a jolt to consciousness and then hours of demands and contentious sisters, cooking and cleaning. Mornings I don’t leave extra time on the backend so we aren’t rushing out the door, only to be filled with frantic searching for a lost toy or jacket that cannot possibly be substituted for another. It is by God’s grace alone we manage to make it to school on time each day. I jump out of the car, make sure the water bottle didn’t fall out, plant kisses on my daughter’s lips with whispered reminders in her ear that she is deeply loved by Jesus and be kind to others. Exhale. Back into the car to try and get the other one to finish her strawberries before I capitulate to demands for pancakes and whip cream.

So for now it is only in my heart that I walk with Jesus quietly. Yet despite tumult that often times feel like I’m performing in a sit-com, I feel Him meeting me in the overwhelm, in the fray that is motherhood. I feel Him extending peace and providing a strength not of my own, calling me to dig deep into the well of my soul and rise with patience and compassion. Not every morning, mind you. Some mornings - some entire days - I simply fall at the feet of Jesus and gulp down the grace He so freely offers. And that is enough. He is enough.

One might be surprised to learn that my career as a painter actually began with my dream to become a writer. About fifteen years ago, following a decade managing homes and working with families as a nanny/house manager, I had put myself in a position to do what I had always longed to do: write a book. I set off in pursuit of this lofty goal, reading as many books as I could on the subject and teaching myself the art of how to use proper grammar. It didn’t take long before I knew I was way in over my head, though I was determined to see it through.

Nearly four years later and I had a manuscript that was nowhere near perfect and that I ultimately had to self-publish, because no literary agent in their right mind wanted to take on a 700-page tome written by a no-name writer. Even so, I was incredibly proud of myself; I had written a book! However, spending so many years in my head had left me in rough shape, mentally and physically, long days hunched over a keyboard. What began as a tension headache quickly manifested into acute and widespread symptoms no doctor could diagnose. I met with eleven specialists total and not one of them could pinpoint what might be the root problem.

I spent the majority of a year in bed, unable to sleep from chronic pain and insomnia, unable to exert myself beyond hobbling to and from the bathroom. It was an incredibly dark time in my life. Despite a loving husband and family, I was alone most days and struggled to find the desire to keep living. I considered ending my life more times than I can even remember now, though through it all I felt this presence urging me to hold on.
After months living as though I were already dead, I decided I’d had enough. I wagered that IF I was in fact dying, this wasn’t how I wanted to do it. I finally gave up the struggle and even the desire to get better and instead surrendered to what was happening to me. No more fear, no more longing to be healed. Just accepting me as I was, for as long as I might exist. It was as though I simply laid down a thousand-pound backpack I hadn’t known I was carrying. I asked Jesus to use me, my prayer very simple, “Lord, give these days meaning.”

And in His great and infinite love, He met me in the darkness.
On one unremarkable day, I felt the urge to pick up a pencil and begin to draw. Always enjoying art, I found myself delighted to be doing something creative. I was terrible at it, in all honesty; but it didn’t bother me, because I was doing something - and most importantly, it made me forget I was a depressed, chronically ill woman with no will to live. The crippling pain I felt every day began to feel more like a shadow two steps behind, rather than a tornado engulfing me. It was almost like magic, and I suppose it was. God’s very own flavor of divine intervention.

For weeks I passed the hours by losing myself in portraiture. A few months later I was diagnosed with a thyroid condition and Fibromyalgia - the latter being a disorder causing widespread pain and fatigue. Medication relieved some though not all my pain, and it was another year figuring out how to take care of myself before I found true and consistent healing. Through it all I could feel and began to see how God was using my circumstances to create beauty from the ashes.

Through it all, I continued to draw, and eventually found my way to watercolors, which is where my creative curiosity bloomed into passion and, later on, a profession. 
I devoted myself wholly to my work, painting for hours and hours each day, absorbing as much education as I could find on the internet. Without any children at that time, there was nothing to compete for my attention. And although I attempted to broaden my horizons and tackle varied subject matter, nothing could rival my adoration and affection for painting flowers. Flowers have a language all their own, and in capturing them I was also captivated by them. My skills grew exponentially, and with each passing month so did my confidence and belief that this was something I was meant to do.
In 2017 my husband and I welcomed our first daughter, Hazel Gwen. She blazed into our world like an angry star knocked off its course. She cried relentlessly for three months, refused to be soothed, and was the most awake baby I had ever beheld. She would become my greatest teacher.

2019 I began to teach live workshops locally, which is when my business became a reliable income, something I had never imagined in my wildest of dreams. What began as a means of distracting myself from pain and misery had become dear and precious to me - beyond measure. God had taken the most brutal season of my life, what I had thought was possibly the end of it, and transformed it into something that not only nourished my soul but also provided for my family. This moment of realization built a faith in me I had not yet experienced during my fifteen years as a Christian. It changed everything. My perspective on life most of all, mainly that each day really IS a gift and we should treat it as such. I also learned how to be grateful. I count no gift greater than this. It would go on to serve me when I, once again, would need to call upon God’s strength as I became a mother. Above all I was able to see that God had never intended to break me and leave me shattered, but rather take those broken pieces and put me back together. That’s what His love does.

Our second daughter, Violet Fiona was born in 2020, and she too has brought more fiery energy to our family - as if it needed more! I had decided long ago I wanted to be at home with my children while they were little, and so began the very, very long days and short years, as they say.

Figuring out how to balance business and motherhood was a tremendous challenge, and to this day continues to be a shifting target; however God generously shows me there is room for both: the mother and the artist, and how the two might exist simultaneously. I am forever in His debt, forever changed by the goodness He has brought me. His love is extravagant, His plans perfect. And I remain beyond honored to create beautiful things with which to bless people.

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