When I worked at the newspaper (feels like ages ago now) I had the honor of working on our Christmas window displays each year.
The office is located in one of those quaint little towns that still has citywide events (like Christmas tree lightings and patriotic parades) and so making sure our windows were pretty came with the job of being a community journalist.
When I left I knew I wouldn't miss council meetings (ick!) or tight deadlines (ewww!) but I was sad to lose such an interesting creative outlet.
Thankfully, this year my friend (and former coworker) invited me out to help! (And since I wasn't planning my wedding, like this time last year, I was happy to oblige.)
But while I do enjoy the project, working on window decorations always stresses me out a bit (a lot).
You see, while creating windows is fun, it is also a lot of work. Here’s what I mean.
First there’s the idea phase – this I love. Brainstorming whacky or whimsical display concepts is super fun. That’s the anything is possible phase… seeking out inspiration, collecting ideas, sketching snow scenes… it’s like being a kid again.
You get to stretch your imagination muscles. This part is awesome!
But then comes reality. Reality is way less fun!
Reality is procrastinating the task (for fear of failure!!!) until the last possible moment.
And reality is me rushing to the dollar store in an attempt to find something that can pass as carrots, frantically purchasing anything snow-related, hoping the wacky ideas end up working out. Buying into a vision that may or may not work, one kid glove and plastic snowflake at a time.
Reality is an office floor filled with fallen branches, scrap paper, and glue blobs. And a boss wondering why on earth you’ve destroyed the place.
Reality is sketching a plan D of snow people, which at the time are mere laundry baskets that look nothing like Frosty and friends.
And reality is a 9-hour shift duct taping, hot gluing, and trying to “make it work” as they say, praying all the while that it actually does work… that a mess of material and a head overflowing with ideas actually come together in a way that make sense to the outside world… praying at some point others can see what you see, not a pile of junk but a Winter Wonderland come to life... not a hodgepodge of recyclables and dollar store finds, but Christmas magic sure to delight the young at heart.
Reality is utter delirium, Christmas tunes for inspiration, a worry-filled DQ break, and an awful mess to clean up.
And reality is figuring out what doesn’t work, wanting to give up, and pressing on anyways.
Even when the lights you spent an hour wrapping around the tree limbs turn out to be burnt out, even when the spray snow won’t dry on the Styrofoam, and even when a woman outside the window laughs after seeing Momma Snow Lady still in progress, a skeleton of plastic and tape.
To everyone else this basket-boned Snow Lady is still a faceless piece of trash. She’s characterless to the outside world. And yet you’re already old friends (after all, she’s been a part of you since that first day dreaming up ideas).
It’s no wonder you’re pleading with her to stop losing her head, literally.
But it is a wonder that you don't abandon snow ship after several dozen setbacks. It's a wonder that anyone accomplishes anything the least bit creative without retreating at the first sign of trouble (or potentional embarrassment).
If you’re fortunate, with a lot of work and a little luck, when you finally take a step outside… when you get the perspective of the passersby, instead of the perspective of the Creator… you’ll discover that somewhere along the way magic happened.
Something without shape or form will have become something precious, someone really.
An array of recyclables and Goodwill gear will have become a family.
The crazy ideas will have met reality, and actually found common ground.
What I thought about life, while covered in “snow” and glitter, looking at a hodgepodge of junk littering the office floor, is that sometimes you have to ignore what you see, in order to believe in what can be.
I’ve often heard that sculptors look at blocks of wood or stone, and ask what must be taken away to reveal what’s really there, hidden inside. Where others see raw materials, maybe even junk, they see something precious... Something awe inspiring… Beauty just waiting to be revealed.
It reminds me of the story of creation, of a God that creates light out of nothing, order out of chaos... and later fashions human beings out of dirt and clay.
It's a God we’re told continues to see value in people, even the ones the world has deemed lost, expendable, useless.
A God who called His creation good.
I think it’s really easy to see ourselves as we are, as flawed human beings, with our struggles and scars… people trying to “make it work” while praying not to be found out… coming apart at the seams, held together by duct tape and smiles…
But deep down, below my own fear and doubt, I believe we are made to be more than the sum of our parts.
In many ways I think we spend our entire lives as blocks still being chipped away at, not as punishment, but so true Beauty can be revealed.
And maybe that’s too much to take from a day of playing with paper and glue.
But maybe, just maybe, it’s a wake up call.
For those of you who long to do something creative, I hope this will be an encouragement to keep pursuing your “crazy” ideas...
To work past the fears of failure and put something on paper…
Glue the sequin, pen the note, stitch the fabric, play the chord…
Just don't give up.
The world desperately needs to see more Beauty revealed.
And no attempt at unveiling It will be void.
(Even if your "snow" sculptures fall each time the door opens, make 'em anyways.)
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