A long-awaited dialogue

Going through some old notebooks and found these words- still very much applicable to my life currently.

Lately, my heart has been full, brimming with baby smiles, toddler giggles, transitions and tears. Yet, while experiencing tremendous joy amidst chaos and navigating heightened emotions, a part of my soul has remained empty. It has called out to me on many occasions- I have longed to be embraced in a creative flurry, swallowed up by moments where I feel compelled to create and time stands still. At times, I desperately needed to express the weight and load through immortal paint, rather than fleeting tears. But I did not. Not once. I sought sleep and cleanliness, whenever possible, ignoring the urge and enduring the emptiness a bit longer.

But, today, I was reunited with my long, lost friend. This brush and I quietly and quickly conversed while the smiles and giggles slept. Treading as if around sleeping dragons, we silently and carefully danced, as if we had just danced yesterday. With familiar strokes long and simple, our dialogue began- about our long departure, the emptiness being filled, and our bright future. Though our time together was brief, the brush and I made anew our promise to keep in touch and to speak often. Today, the cleanliness may be absent, but my soul is full.

A Meaningful Mistake

Faith

Charcoal on Paper 

18" x 24"

There it was. Almost Completed.

I labored long and hard over this one. It was so simple, and yet, I felt this enormous burden. I wanted to do it right. Up until this point, I had been hesitant to portray the Savior. The only reason I took this on was at the sincere request of my Mother, who desperately needed to show her young women that He was present in their lives.

I knew I could portray a Savior that others might like, but the Savior that I knew? That I would be happy with? That's different. What I envision before I begin a piece is always different than the end result. And, in this case, I worried that I would be sorely disappointed. 

After weeks of putting it off, for fear of making a mistake, I earnestly prayed for help. The spirit led me to models and aided in my selection of the final composition. I began with vine charcoal; very light, easily erased and easily corrected -many, many times, I might add. After several hours of work, I proceeded with a harder, more compressed charcoal; very dark, great for contrast, but difficult to completely remove, even with an eraser. It took weeks filled with late nights to get to the point of near completion in my drawing. (I only tell you all this so that you may understand the long process of creating.)

This was truly a labor of love. 

Then, my heart dropped. My stomach turned. 

One morning, after a late night, I came down the stairs. 

There it was. 

A huge, l o n g, thick dark line on my drawing. 

It crossed right through the young woman, accompanied by several small lines. I wanted to cry, but I was too stunned. My husband was making breakfast. My almost 3 year old was hiding under the table. I turned right back around and sat on the stairs for a minute in disbelief, in sadness, and in anger. Then, I felt little arms hug my leg. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry I drew on your picture." Sweet boy. I was upset, but I couldn't be mad at him! He just wanted to help! And in my fatigue the night before, I left my charcoals easily accessible on my easel. We exchanged long hugs and kisses and that was that.

That afternoon, I faced this new challenge with a big sigh and a lumpy eraser. 

I set to work.

I carefully erased around the completed areas. I tried to salvage what was there, but it was impossible. I could not get rid of that monstrous line without sacrificing parts of the drawing. 

And so, I did what had to be done. 

I erased that near-perfect eye. I erased her cheek. I erased HARD. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, how tired my arm was, how much I cleaned my eraser, I COULD NOT get rid of that cursed line!

I did my very best to lighten it, to re-work the area so it wasn't noticeable. And within the next week, I FINALLY completed the drawing, line and all. 

I had a lot of time to think while completing this drawing. While the line was a pain, I grew to appreciate this misfortunate. I love the enhanced meaning it brought to my piece. 

I've made mistakes, as I'm sure many of us have. I regret times of unkindness, pride, dishonesty, impatience and disobedience. These mistakes have sometimes been like a big, dark, haunting line.

 Try as hard as we can to completely erase them ourselves, we can't. 

But, the Savior can. 

He paid the ultimate price so that we can rid ourselves of those lines dominating our lives. Just like I needed to sacrifice parts of my drawing to save it, we may need to make sacrifices to be clean again. I know that if we repent and have faith in Him, through His atonement, those lines will disappear and we can be whole again. We need not despair, for He is there. And through Him, we can feel true joy and peace.