Willing: Painting on each other's easels

It's an undercurrent we know well as writers, whether acknowledged openly or implied, addressed with honest confession, wrestled with, accepted or denied.  This world of stats, readers, following, popularity, platform. I can't say I know it well, as I have little more than a handful of official 'followers' of my blog, but I've dipped my cupped hands in the waters and drunk enough to wet my tongue. It's enticing, that's for sure, an easy cup to drink and drink until you don't notice how you crave it, until you require more and more for your thirst for affirmation to be quenched. 

And I won't lie, sometimes I get my worth crisscrossed with my writing and responses to it, or lack thereof. I don't look at stats very often, but I check often enough for comments, like I'm waiting for a check in the mail. Many days, the checks don't come, and I don't say that with self-pity. I need to be real, beginning with myself: I'm not much in the writing world. And I have to remind myself that's ok. It's where I'm at, and this lack of greatness is the breeding ground for character to grow. The place where weeds and intentions are worked out in my heart and I learn if I can be great enough to be small. 

I'm not there yet, but I long for this.

And you know what I've been realizing lately? I need to love well the ones I've got. The friends of all sorts who grace me with their presence and words in my blogging home. I want to be a better friend, encourager, cheerleader and hope-giver of others' dreams and journeys. I've got a lot to learn in this small place I've been entrusted with, and I want to confess to you, here and now, I've not loved as I would like. I've been more wrapped up in my own home than I've been invested in the homes of others, and I'm so sorry. 

The other day, I wrote a post that sparked inspiration in a dear friend of mine who faithfully comes to visit here and loves me with her presence and encouragement. She painted this gorgeous picture of a bird singing, a picture of hope, adding layers of color and beauty and life to the words I'd written. It nearly brought me to tears. In my heart, I felt myself fall to my knees and wonder at the glory of such a gift, that this call to write is so much bigger than me. The power of grace that spills over when our lives intersect and we allow each other in. Because we'd let each other in our homes already, shared our hearts deeply with each other, she felt free to walk in and set up an easel in my living room and and painted - oh, how she painted. 

Painting by Karmen Madan

This is the true payoff, if we can call it that, in writing. To see our easels splashed with paint from each others' brushes, our lives altered in some big or small or yet-to-be-seen way, simply by being seen and known and loved and believed in.  To have others come in and set up their own easels and paint their lives across the canvas.

It puts numbers in perspective. In a moment, the 'one' is infinitely dear, invaluable. For who can put a price or stat on one life that is willing to enter into yours and be touched, and you by theirs?

So I want to thank you for your graciousness to me, friends. I'm learning where true value lies, and I've a ways to go on this road, but I want you to know my door is open. I need your paint on my easel, and I thank you each time I am allowed to splash my colors on yours.

This is glory.

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Joining Lisa Jo and the wonderful writers of Five-Minute Friday. Let me be clear, this was NOT a five-minute post, but I do love being part of this community, regardless.  :-)