Tag: time

For Such A Time As This

The other day, I pulled up to a family member’s house. Across the yard, a young man bent his neck, eyes locking on me in recognition, then called my name. It was a former student—an award winning visual artist. He walked over, eager to share life talk like we had back in the day. I noticed a black guitar case strapped to his back and asked about it. The floodgates opened. He swung the case around, drew out a basic looking electric guitar, and for the next 20 minutes or so, plucked out some mean chest thumpin’ neo-blues riffs. It was a sight—his lanky six-foot-plus frame bent almost double, draped in bright patchwork clothes, pants sagging, unleashing sounds I could feel in my soul. Sounds that were older than both of us put together and multiplied. He didn’t even know he was playing the blues, but he had it. His eyes kept darting up for approval. I nodded, bobbing to the ping and thump of the instrument, inspired. “Play that thing, boy, play!” I was late to my destination, but right on time for the reminder: whatever you have to offer through your craft is as vital for these times as the beat in our chests.

In all the twists of science and biology, I stand on the belief that we were not here by accident. Our gifts and talents were not haphazardly bestowed, or given to be buried in fear, or tucked into the closet of our indecision. This is the time for which we were made. The world groans for light, for beauty, for truth — and our hands carry the spark. Do not shrink. Do not wait. Create boldly. Sing loudly. Build fearlessly. We have been molded and shaped for such a time as this.

There come moments in history when the ground itself trembles with the weight of what must be done. Moments when darkness crowds the horizon, when fear and confusion battle for our attention. Moments when ordinary people are summoned to do extraordinary things. The temptation to shrink back and stay silent grows strong. But it is in these very moments we should heed our calling — a call to those who may not even know yet, to the comfortable, to the idle, and to the ones who can feel the fire shut up in their bones. We were not given our gifts by accident. We were not given our vision, our voices, your hands, nor our hearts merely for quiet seasons. We were given them for such a time as this.

We need your art. We need your song. We need your poem, your painting, your dance, your bread rising warm in the oven. We need the light you carry, even if it flickers small in your chest. Especially then. We stand in need of the idea only you can birth, the story you are writing. Now is not the hour to be consumed by the chaos swirling around you. Now is the hour to reach into the storehouse of your soul and bring up what has been planted there. Your creative gift is not a pastime or hobby; it’s a weapon forged for battle, a balm for the wounded, a beacon for the lost. It is how you will move the needle, shift the atmosphere, heal the broken, and awaken the sleeping.

Your thing is your art and it is not merely something you do; it is something that does. It does the work of breaking chains and restoring sight. It stirs courage where fear has rooted. It plucks the doubt from the garden of hope. It resurrects dreams thought long dead. It sows seeds of change that governments and empires cannot stop. It is not weak. It is not trivial. It is power, entrusted to your keeping. So rise up. Take up your brush, your pen, your voice, your hands, your hammer, spatula, or spade. Do not wait until you feel ready. Do not bow to the lie that you are too small or not good enough. What you have is enough, because what you have was given to you by the Author of time itself. In days of uncertainty, creativity is an act of faith. In days of despair, beauty is an act of defiance. In days of division, the act of making, sharing, and being is a sacred rebellion for liberation’s sake.

History is not forged by those who sit and wait. It’s made by those who dare to bring forth what they have, however imperfect, and place it on the altar of the times they are given. So pick up your pen. Strum your instrument. Shape the clay. Sing the song. Bake the bread. Write the words. Build the bridge. Paint the vision. Move your body. Walk boldly into the now. Create boldly in it. Offer your light into the dark. Offer your voice into the silence. Offer your hands into the work. Offer the world that which only you can give. You are here for such a time as this.

In Search of Okay

This morning, as I lay in bed far past usual, with the sunlight spilling into the room, my mind circled around a familiar yet complicated idea of being okay. What does it really mean to be okay, to be alright? Not in the way we toss it around in passing conversations, but in the quiet, honest places within ourselves. On the path I’ve chosen — this project-based, often unpredictable existence as an artist, I find myself constantly moving between points — this project, that commission, this opportunity, that possibility. And in every moment, I realize I’m often searching for a position where I can quietly say to myself, I’m okay. Not necessarily victorious. Not defeated. Just okay. Okay with where I am, or where I thought I’d be by now. It’s a constant negotiation between expectation and acceptance.

When we meet people, we ask how they’re doing. “I’m okay.” “I’m alright.” Simple words that cover so much. Sometimes they’re true. Sometimes they’re placeholders. And sometimes, they’re shields we use to keep the deeper, heavier parts at bay. Lately, I’ve started to wonder — what do I mean when I say I want to be okay? Is it peace? Is it progress? Is it simply a quiet wrinkle in time where everything doesn’t feel like it’s pressing in? Am I hoping for a point in my life, or my work, where I can be completely alright with what is? And if so… does that place even exist, or are we forever chasing it, catching only glimpses as it moves just out of our reach?

I’m learning that maybe okay isn’t a permanent destination. Maybe it’s a fleeting pause — a breath — a fragile alignment between what’s happening around me and what’s happening within me. It’s the moment I stop measuring, stop chasing, and simply allow myself to be. Today, I’m in search of an okay that may not be a finish line or a reward, but a quiet, honest moment where I can say to myself, I’m alright… as I am, right here, right now. And maybe for today, that’s enough. So if you find yourself searching too, know that sometimes, okay isn’t a place you arrive at — it’s a moment you allow.

A Timely Investment

As an artist, my life revolves around the creation of beauty and meaning. I pour a part of me into each stroke of my brushes, mark of my pen or pencil, and every conceptual decision. Art is timeless. But ironically, the pursuit of creation can sometimes make me lose sight of something even more precious than creativity: the value of time itself.

Time, unlike money, is a finite resource. No matter how much money we earn or what we achieve, we cannot stretch the hours in a day or rewind the clock to recapture moments we’ve missed. As a family man this reality hits close to home. Especially when my daughter walks across the room and I see that she’s a foot taller than she was two days prior. Sometimes she will ask whether I have to go to work that day. Of course my answer is always yes. But will I really remember that I missed that day off work just to hang out with her? While I strive to honor deadlines and push boundaries in my practice, I’ve had to confront the moments when my family and friends—the people who ground me most—felt sidelined by my work.

The truth is, you can always create more wealth in terms of dollars. A new commission, an additional workshop, or even a clever pivot to monetize your creative skills can generate the flow. But no amount of money can bring back any of my children’s first laugh or bike ride, an easy like Sunday morning with loved ones, or the quiet joy of simply being present for the people who matter most.

As an artist, my work is rooted in storytelling and legacy—in capturing essential moments that transcend time. But if I neglect the life around me, I’m failing to honor the very inspiration behind my work – my why. Art imitates life, and life is richest when we’re fully present in it. Yes, that may be a challenge to do but it is doable.

I’m still learning and yearning to embrace a feasible balance. That balance may never be evenly distributed. Some days, it may mean saying no to a project that doesn’t align with my core values or stepping away from my studio at a reasonable hour… to stay later another evening. Other days, it’s finding ways to integrate my family into my creative process, allowing my daughter to paint alongside me or sharing my vision with loved ones. These moments remind me why I do what I do in the first place.

For anyone struggling in the balancing of work and family, particularly in creative fields where the demands can be unpredictable, I encourage you to reflect on what truly drives you. Our success is not solely defined by accolades or financial milestones. It’s about the quality of your relationships, the memories you build, and the integrity you bring to your life and work. Really, time is the most valuable currency. Let’s invest it equitable with those who inspire us and for the moments that matter most.

Sabbath

Just over a year ago, I resolved to honor myself through, by, and for the work I do. Yes, I recognize that the work is the path to purpose, the production. However, there is no production without a producer. Therefore honoring myself with adequate rest and rejuvenation became more of a priority. I admit, however, with my imagination output and the resulting schedule, it’s been no easy task. It’s easy for me to run my body at breathtaking speeds and relentless productivity levels, simply because it will. I also know that it is not sustainable. At some point the piper must be paid.

As a child, I grew up in an ultraconservative religious household. Each week beginning on Thursday afternoons, we began preparation for the Sabbath. I recall one of my task was to use mayonnaise to clean and gloss the plant leaves. That, I did with tenderness and pride, leaving the leaves shiny and radiant. We shined the silver, did the dishes, ironed clothes, and Mom prepared the largest meal of the week all in preparation for our time of rest. By sunset Friday a calming hush had come to our humble abode. For the next 24 hours we were immersed in restfulness, reading, nature, communion, and religious services. The sabbath would be closed out with song, “day is dying in the west, heaven is touching earth with rest…” We recognized the sabbath as the seventh day of the week as noted in the Torah in the book of Exodus, verses 8-11. From a little tot on up, each week we would recite the verses beginning with “Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.”

The ultimate reason for the sabbath was rest. No just a casual rest but a deep abiding, reconnecting rest that would bring healing from the week and prepare us to meet the week to come.”Six days, it says we have to do all of our work but the seventh day, a day of rest, belongs to the divine, to rejuvenate and recreate us as sound human beings to maintain the embodiment of that divine. Otherwise we find ourselves depleted, scattered an mind, body, and spirit, operating in a capacity far lower than our capabilities. This weakened state affects us in every aspect of our existence from our individual health to our relationships. Yet we continue to push, push, push, until we crash. We consistently circumvent our internal preservation mechanisms, crying desperately for the slow down, by drowning it out with artificial adrenaline we call caffeine. Eventually, as I stated earlier, the piper will be paid.

A few weeks ago, I picked up a book entitled Sabbath, by Wayne Muller. The understated cover of the paperback book reached out to me from the shelf. It felt soothing in my hands with it’s earthy colors woodland imagery. It’s subtitled Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight In Our Busy Lives. For me it was a much needed reminder to reincorporate the joy and balance of the Sabbath in my life. The verse admonishes us to remember the sabbath, as though it was known that we would be prone to forget it. The sabbath is for everyone. We can start by designating specific times each week for rest and reflection. This sacred time can be marked by personal rituals—like lighting a candle or spending time in nature—to signal a transition into relaxation. Disconnecting from screens and social media during these hours allows for true rejuvenation, while engaging in meaningful activities—reading, hiking, or connecting with loved ones—nurtures our spirit. Incorporating mindfulness practices can deepen our presence, and sharing this time with family or friends fosters community and connection. Reflecting through journaling can also provide clarity and purpose. By intentionally embracing these practices, or different ones that serve you, we can reclaim the essence of the Sabbath, fostering a deeper life beyond the rat race pace that goes beyond mere existence and invites of to be a pART of the remedy toward healing our rest deprived world.