This Friday, I submitted some of my drawings into my college’s art show (which was, you know, the first time I’ve ever publicly displayed my drawings…ever. No big deal haha). The part that really stood out to me was that Thursday afternoon, however.
I walk in the door, and it’s a flurry: people at desks, in chairs, whizzing back and forth between tables, materials strewn everywhere. I only knew one girl there (bless her beautiful heart, she literally helped me with everything). So, I walk in to this artistic madhouse and–while Emma cuts foam board and matting to frame my drawings–curiously observe these artists, people-watching from my own little corner of the room.
And I notice something.
It started when I had to hand over my drawings to Emma and then a girl I didn’t even know. Now, again, I’ve never done this before. So, I wasn’t expecting the maternal instinct to kick in over a piece of dead tree alright, but boy did it ever. If you’ve ever created anything (art, poetry, a book, your blog even) and had to entrust it to someone else, you know what I’m talking about. You suddenly realize, “This is my baby” and don’t want to let it go. You worked hard on your baby. You hand-crafted it, you shaped it, you molded it, you designed it’s very being.
In order for the world to see my babies, my drawings, I had to let them go. I had to conquer fears of self-doubt, unworthiness, vulnerability, and remind myself that they are worthy.
Which was scary. But it opened my eyes in a way I never would have imagined.
As I handed over my drawings, and watched as dozens of other artists prepped their pieces for display, I saw the enormous love each one had put into his or her work–the same love I had put into mine. Watching all of them sweat over and perfect their art, I realized, this is how God must feel for us. He uniquely and individually crafts every single one of us, and then lets go of His beautiful creation into a crazy world–a world that judges and tears down and hurts. We even judge ourselves, nitpicking and degrading the parts of ourselves we hate, like God somehow messed us up.
I started to compare my work to other drawings, I won’t lie. The doubt started nagging in my head that maybe mine really weren’t good enough and why was I even thinking about entering them into the show? But looking around at the art, I stopped.
Every single piece was different. And to its creator, every single piece was beautiful.
To the Creator, it doesn’t matter what one person might look like next to another, like when I compare myself to another girl or when you compare yourself to someone else. Because to Him, each piece, each person, is art anyway–there’s no “better than” or “more worthy than”, we’re all just art.
Beautiful, worthy, special art.
You’re art. You are beautiful, you are worthy, and you are loved. I just want you to know that. ❤︎