Nature.

For me, no exploration of gratitude would be complete without some exposure of the natural world around us. It is perhaps the most exquisite example of creativity, sustainability, flexibility and undaunted growth that exists. It is a continual source of lessons and beauty and inspiration for me. My just-days-away-from 4yo Bug acknowledges that God made everything, and that He “painted” the world. I think he’s right. The Creator could have placed us in a bland and colorless existence. I’m thankful He chose to paint it instead with all that we see–vibrant and ripe life. There’s a lesson for me there. I want to cultivate the same level of ripeness and richness within and without in my little corner of the greater Life.

Enjoy these few glimpses of the magnificence of November.

Art.

I’ve been looking at pictures this morning. Little Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl are fond of creating pictures and selecting prime locations to place them in my office. They each have a unique way of expressing themselves through lines and colors and pictures. Their varied creations are such a tangible reminder of the blessing they add to my life at every turn. And they are a reminder of the precious value of their own imaginations that I hope to instill in each of their hearts.

Little Drummer Boy is the storyteller. His pictures are illustrations. They record whatever seemingly random series of events playing out in his mind. He has recently been much more interested in recording these images in shapes and density, a penchant I credit to his kindergarten class where each day they “write” in their jourals, even if “writing” is really drawing. It’s communicating in written form.

Bug is the free spirit. His pictures are a symphony of line and color chosen with deliberation–the exuberance of his spirit unsquelched by the limitations of a crayola box. He makes much less of a production about presenting his work. I often find Bug’s creations scattered about in unexpected places–little slips of paper inside my desk, propped on the piano, inside his pocket, on stickies attached to various furniture surfaces, occasionally embellishing the furniture itself. He sees no need for a “finished” product. It’s not uncommon for him to add lines and colors to the same piece of paper for weeks. The act of making the lines just seems more important to him.

Baby Girl is the newbie. She’s more interested in the tools themselves. While she’s moved beyond wanting to eat the crayons and the paper, she would still rather make her creations with a crayon unencumbered by it’s paper wrapping. So her preparation time is filled with peeling it away to explose more color. Still, fueled by her brothers’ examples, she has begun making her own haphazard scribbles.

I find myself in each of their creative tendencies.

Since I began working from home in July, my office (and it’s many surfaces for artwork display) has become a center of excitement for my children. I suppose they feel that they are getting to do something special when they can hang out in Mommy’s office. I’ve tried to cultivate an office space that is inspiring for me, since I spend most of my time here creating and designing. But, I also wanted it to be a place where they feel comfortable and welcomed. It has been a wonderland for them to visit because they have never seen so many of the things that exist in the Small Pond Graphics hub.

Oddly, that’s one of the biggest blessings of this year. Before I started my business this summer, all they knew of Mommy’s work was that she did it. She dropped them off at daycare and went to that place in town they sometimes visited to do whatever Mommys do when they work. That was the extent of their exposure to the creative life that fills so much of my time. I’m so thankful that now they know more. Of course, they don’t understand it. They don’t know what the computers do beyond providing photo slide shows and access to Sesame Street games. They don’t know what all the books are besides colorful spines and strange pictures. They don’t know what the shelves house except the ready crayons and construction paper. But, they know something interesting happens here. And they know Mommy does it.

We are born creative. Of that I am convinced. There is much debate over whether humans are born good or bad, perfect or flawed, natured or nurtured. But, when I read that we are created in the image of God, the core common element I see is creativity. Of all His glorious and inexplicable actions, creating was the first act recorded for the Almighty. In His benevolence, he chose to imbue OUR existence with that same tendency. The opportunity to show my children that reality about themselves has become very important to me. However that creativity manifests itself, I want them to see how it shows up in me and to explore their own creative bents.

Several years ago when I started this blog, part of my motivation was to find a personal creative outlet that wouldn’t disrupt my time with the children or provide any hazard to them (in the way so many art supplies can). But, I had also come to the realization that there was this whole part of me that my children had never known beyond crazy cupcake and party decorations. I’m an “artsy type.” It was quite a jolt to realize that my children might not really KNOW me and the pursuits that matter to me. EyeJunkie provided a way for them to watch me, to see me writing, to see me thinking, to see me making pictures on the screen. Small Pond Graphics and its downstairs home has been another catalyst for them to know their Mommy in a new way.

Art in one form or another has been a large part of my life for a very long time. From my youngster days watching my mother use her creativity in various ways, to my years studying Architecture, to my day-to-day work life, “the arts” have impacted me. Because I work as a graphic designer, I’ve spent my adult life “doing” art every weekday. And although I would probably more accurately classify my work as “communication” rather than “art,” it’s been part of my job to expose myself to many vehicles of inspiration and to immerse myself in the work of other creative types.

With the launch of a new venture, I’ve had the opportunity to explore that creative inspiration with fresher eyes. It’s allowed me to focus more on the sheer act of creating. Given the freedom to set my own schedules and parameters, it’s allowed me to examine my best creative habits and tendencies more carefully. It’s given me the opportunity to get back to the basics of my own creativity–a blessing that can be so easily snuffed by the cares of real life. It’s a joy to me to infuse my day-to-day experiences with the expression of art and creativity. It’s a privilege to be paid for that sort of thing. It’s a blessing to share that love with the little creative minds I’m nurturing.

Home.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of home lately. I have committed to an art project for the ArtHouse Co-op in Brooklyn, NY. Their annual Sketchbook Project asks artists to fill up a standard Moleskine sketchbook with art, words, and whatever creativity expounds around a specific theme. My sketchbook theme was chosen randomly — “…you’d be home by now.” I like it. The theme lends itself to humor and introspection with a twinge of regret or wandering. For me, it explores the question of “if” and of how we view the journey to home.

As I’ve been thinking and sketching for the project, I’ve settled on the idea that we really take “home” with us. Whether it’s mental snapshots of a particular house, memories of sights and sounds and smells we treasure, conversations with friends or foes we knew at different times in our lives, the feeling of ownership at claiming our own space, the joy of building a nest and so on. We find our “home” in many places. And while some of them are associated with structures, it’s often our own interpretations and feelings about those spaces rather than the sheetrock and glazing that enclose them.

I lived in the same house from the time I was a baby until I left to attend college. I can still see the wallpaper my mother hung, the arrangement of the furniture, the placement of treasured items in my room. The place my Mom & Dad created has colored my expectations of my own home. I am thankful for the sense of togetherness my parents created in that space. For the sense of celebration that permeated it, even on regular Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I’m thankful for the creativity exhibited there that fueled so much of my life and work today. I’m thankful for the communication, “you matter” that occurred there each day. My parents no longer live in that house or that town, but the “home” created there has an indelible place in my spirit. It has remained my benchmark for all that is normal. It became what I look for and seek to build in my own home.

As I go about my days of mothering, I’m so grateful for the privilege of creating a home for my little ones. The opportunity to build that place that will serve as THEIR benchmark is such a blessing–and a huge responsibility. I remember after Little Drummer Boy was born, I clearly remember having the realization, “I CAN NOT get this wrong.” I wanted to live each moment with the long-term in mind, reminded of the reality that little moments string together day after day to form my children’s lasting impressions of home. Their expectations of how family should be. Their assumptions about love and celebration and habits and responsibilities and all the other daily things that make a life. It makes me take greater care with the daily and with the unconscious habits I allow to continue within these walls, knowing they become unconsious expectations for their future lives.

Beyond the blessing of feathering nests, there is another “home” I’m recognizing, and one I’m hoping LDB, Bug and Baby Girl will find. We are each created with purpose and gifts that can be used to bless in this world. Life has a way of distracting and deceiving and wooing us outside of ourselves and those gifts. The view we have of ourselves can become unrecogizable to that person we really are–who we were made to be. The realities of what really makes our heart beat at its strongest can become clouded. In times of wandering and wondering, the old adage “home is where the heart is” rings true.

Wherever my heart finds a resting place becomes home. Wherever my heart breathes in a clear space becomes home. Wherever I find my joy and fulfillment becomes home. Wherever I can give unencumbered. Wherever I can give with the full weight of support urging me forward becomes home. That “home” may be defined differently for each of us, but we can rest assured that our heart knows it. Our heart can recognize it. Our heart seeks it. Our heart wants to be in that place where we can be ALL of what we’re made to be. I’m thankful for that homing device built inside us. The one that helps us find our way through countless turns. To ourselves. At home.

Thanksgiving.

Deciding whether to post my usual 12 Days of Thanksgiving series this year was an arduous task. I’m not exactly sure why. The dates seemed to sneak up on me. I can’t believe how quickly the last few months have flown by. It’s always interesting to me how the passage of time flies or creeps, and I suppose part of the pursuit of EyeJunkie is an attempt to slow it down to a series of continual snapshots I can more easily take in.

Beyond the fast pace of experiences that seems to have overtaken my mind over the last few months, I think my real dilema in creating a series of Thanksgiving posts has been a sort of reluctance to explore the topic. I wasn’t sure I really had the mental space to do it justice this year. You may have gleaned from my rather infrequent posts recently that this time of transition in my life has been almost an overload to my spirit, one in which I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. That soul-searching sometimes involves mind-wandering and spirit-wandering, evaluating where I’ve been and imagining where I might be going. Wandering leads to questioning, and questioning is sometimes a gratitude killer.

However, the concept of “3rd annual” is a very powerful encouragement for a girl like me. I place so much stock in traditions that the mere thought of having celebrated the 12 Days of Thanksgiving for the last two years was a powerful enticement to make the commitment this year too. SO… I’m taking the plunge. Today begins the 3rd Annual 12 Days of Thanksgiving posting series at EyeJunkie. Since I’ve noticed my own scattered quality lately as well as the whole soul-searching, gratitude-challenged penchant I mentioned earlier, I thought I needed a little boost for topic ideas. This year, I’m using each of the letters in the word “thanksgiving” as thought-starting catalysts for sharing some of the things blessing me at the moment. They may not be the typical things, but they are realities and ideas that are impressing on me just how big this life is, and how much I DON’T want to miss it.

You see, through the process of deciding whether I really wanted to focus my attention on Thanksgiving for twelve days straight, I’ve realized once again how very central gratitude is to living a deliberate life. How essential it is to a life aware. At least a positive life aware. To be engaged in your own life in any meaningful way requires paying attention to what’s there. It requires looking with intention (even intently) at the things filling up that life and pulling from them the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful–whatever differentiates between living and mere existence.

The dictionary defines “thanksgiving” as the “grateful acknowledgement of benefits or favors.” Grateful acknowledgement. Awareness is the prerequisite to acknowledgement. We can’t recognize blessings until we commit to seeing them–really seeing them. So, as I begin this 12-day journey toward Thanksgiving Day, even though I’ve been mired in reluctance, I find that I’m finally eager to seek out blessings and once again cultivate a grateful heart.

I’m reminded of a story in the biblical book of Genesis. A story in the life of Jacob. He found himself at a moment of transition–moving from the life he’d come to know and one of uncertainty. A moment of wandering. A moment of facing his past and his future.  Alone at night, he wrestled with an angel until daybreak. When it was clear the new day of decision and action had arrived–the next day–he spoke to the angel. “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Though it came through wrestling, he received his blessing that day. And he walked away battered, but with a new confidence for the journey.

I hope you’ll join me for these twelve days. Perhaps thanksgiving will require a little wrestling to find the blessing. But, the blessing is there nonetheless. Let’s don’t let go until we see it.