On the Death (and Resurrection) of Dreams

Lazarus died. Several days later, Jesus raised him. What we don’t often think about is that Lazarus had to die again. 

From the time I was very little, I've seen myself as an artist. When I was in kindergarten, my brother's friend showed us a drawing he'd done of my dad's childhood home. It was that drawing that made me want to become an artist.

The next year, my first grade teacher posted my drawing of my brother's three-wheeler in the elementary school art show. After that year, I had at least one entry per year in our school's art show. In high school, I had a piece in our county-wide art show at Botanical Gardens in Birmingham. My senior year of high school, I got an honorable mention at the Birmingham-Southern College art show.

By the time I finished high school, I felt I was well on my way to pursuing art of some kind. I was planning to major in religion at the University of Mobile, with a minor in art. What I was planning to do as a career, I had no idea. (I'd also toyed around with the idea of pursuing a music degree in Nashville...). People said there was no money in fine art. It was alright for a hobby, but not as a career. It would be better to have a primary job, such as graphic design or engineering. Neither of those was an option for me: I hated mathematical precision and I wasn't interested in designing logos.

I took my first drawing course in college. I'd always believed myself a decent draftsman, but the weekly critiques exposed weaknesses in my drawing and compositions. But the critiques usually weren't about technical issues with my drawing, such as proportion or value. The main objection my professor and fellow students had about my work was that it wasn't interesting. I tried too hard to replicate what I saw. Looking back, it was more probably my injured pride that was to blame for dropping the art minor, and art, altogether.

I poured myself into studying theology and the Bible. As a growing Christian, I found that I loved to study the Bible. I loved it so much I felt called to teach it, which led me to twenty years of some form of church ministry. During that time, the only art I did was an occasional drawing for my family. Though precious to them, they weren’t very good. 

Pastoral ministry required so much that I tried to kill off the nagging creative at the back of my soul. I wasn’t an artist anymore, I told myself. I was a pastor, theologian, missionary, even a musician—not an artist. 

Then, in the span of a few years, I found myself as none of those things I’d tried so hard to be. I was no longer a pastor, and I didn't even want to touch a book of theology. Sarah and I watched a dream of being missionaries die, which was some of the worst pain we’d ever felt. 

2019 came and I was going through anxiety as I’d never experienced it. I needed something to occupy my restless mind, something good for my soul. At some point that year, before the anxiety really hit, I'd spent nearly all the birthday money I’d been given and bought supplies for drawing. I started by sketching trees near our home. I began dreaming of paintings. My soul did what I imagine a wilted flower does when it gets watered for the first time in a while. 

After I started to draw, I then started to paint. Then I started to sell. Commissions followed. Sarah and I rented a booth in an antique mall and sold a few pieces. Shops asked to sell my work.  A couple of galleries kindly showed my work. I was invited to participate in festivals. I was on the news showing a mural I’d done in downtown Silverhill. Silverhill’s mayor commissioned and purchased several pieces. With the US Army Corps of Engineers commission this year, the biggest I’ve ever had, everything seemed geared into the direction of an art career, as I’d dreamed since I was a boy. 

Then…I had to stop. Art had become my escape when I had neglected much in my life: my marriage, time for rest, my family, my home, my soul. It’s no small irony that an instrument of God’s grace can easily become a substitute for Him. 

I have many questions to answer about my vocations as an artist and minister. Art has been a dearly loved thing, but I don’t want it to become an ultimate thing. I’m convinced (mostly) that sales and commissions have dried up because God wants something better for me and the people closest to me. Dreams sometimes have to die, so they can be raised as something better and incomprehensibly glorious. 

Like Lazarus after his second resurrection.