“Mom, I’m so glad you’re painting again”

Update on the Gently + Quietly project – Part 2 . You can read Part 1 here

I had just carved out some time to myself. The baby was asleep, and I tentatively pulled out watercolors and a Derwent HB pencil, opened a new guided sketchbook, and hesitantly began to scratch out marks, dabbing them with splashes of paint.

No sooner had I battled the urge to get up and do something “productive” like laundry… No sooner had the house grown quiet, and I began to allow myself to enjoy this glorious waste of time, than David (the son who called me the Hulk earlier that week) ran in and coming to a halt near my desk exclaimed, “Oh, you’re painting!”

I immediately felt like a schoolgirl caught doodling when I should have been taking a test. I instantly knew this was foolishness to think I could grab an afternoon of quiet to refuel my soul and rest my body.

But then he surprised me with arms thrown around me in an uncommon preteen embrace. “Mom, I’m so glad you’re painting again.”

Seven words, and they shook me.

Seven words that stopped and explained everything.

Where amidst dishes, dinner, laundry and carpool did I forget to paint?

When did I decide that the only way I could serve was through building a platform, writing posts, speaking to crowds, and juggling my children’s schedule and schooling?

Why did I no longer believe painting is prayer?

I’m sure there is a book I could read to relearn what I knew when I was five, but it wouldn’t have been as immediate, simple, and fresh as my son’s seven words.

He is glad, that I am painting. Again.

Because he paid attention and remembers that when I paint my soul is fuller and his is quieter.

He does not need to argue or persuade. When you are twelve you just know that it is the correct thing to paint. It is a very essential and important thing.

Two and twelve year olds know this. I had forgotten.

So this is part two of my update about this gently and quietly journey, and this is something I have learned or been reminded of…

In order to not be the Hulk, one must feed one’s soul. One must sit quietly and waste time, pick up a paintbrush, or dig your hands into dirt because…

There is no way to become who you are meant to be without doing what you love.

You must do what you love in order to become who you are meant to be.

For me that means painting tiny teacups on a white page, and planting bright flowers all in a row.

These are the simple things I have to share – picking up a paintbrush might help you not turn green.

Tell me, what silly thing do you love to do?

What have you set down silently out of shame, thinking it is not needed in this world – thinking it is not an efficient use of time?

What might prompt your child to wrap arms around you and say, “Mom, I’m so glad you’re _______________, again!”