Living an Artful Life

If you could come to my house today, walk inside and have a look around, what would you see?  My feeble attempts at beautification amongst the mess that having children necessitates.  A mason jar with flowers next to a dusty photograph atop of the mantle. Fingerprints (and worse) on the windowpanes.  A full laundry basket on the stair.  A sink full of dishes waiting for me.  A half dressed hooligan (or four), a smattering of cheerios crunching beneath your feet.  A stack of paperwork dangerously swaying atop the counter, threatening to bury the one who knocks it over in a massive avalanche.

The funny thing about art is that it isn't restricted to the perfection of the subject.  Art is in the brushstroke, the framing, the viewpoint of the one creating.  Artists do not restrict their paintings to the perfect, the extraordinary.  Paintings have been made and appreciated out of the mundane.

It comes down to perspective.

Art is in the moments that we live.  Each and every one of them, not just when the house is beautiful and I've had a shower and the kids are getting along with one another.  Every moment is art.

I'm not always good at seeing the art in my life.  My kids messy rooms, my overgrown yard, my disorganized bookshelves.  My soul longs for order, craves order.

In letting go of that insatiable need and reframing the mess and the dust and the crumbs under the table, I can embrace that, too.

Look around with fresh eyes!  God only paints masterpieces.


Being at home and having the insurmountable tasks of keeping everyone clothed, fed, the house somewhat organized, beds made, can distract from the bigger picture.  In the end, the very end, this is all so very small. 

Its all how you look at it.