A Liturgy for Creatives and Those Who Wait

A Love Letter to Writers, a Poem for Faithful Creatives, and an Advent Essay on Waiting

“For some of us, we know that storytelling isn’t a choice. We have to write, whether we want to or not. And we know it will be hard. So, we come to understand—after some time—that rather than a choice, writing has always been a mandate on our lives.”

—me, “Writer, Take Courage”

HELLO, FRIENDS. PLEASE ENJOY THREE BEAUTIFUL OFFERINGS FOR FAITHFUL CREATIVES BELOW. Also, if you’re following our Advent Series: A Light in The Darkness, please be sure to read to the end for a sneak peek of

Deborah Rutherford

gorgeous essay, “The Liturgy of Waiting: How Our Encounter with the Nativity Gives Us Eternal Peace — THE WAY BACK TO OURSELVES.”

OFFERING #1: A LOVE LETTER TO WRITERS

Dear Writer,

There is something I need you to know.

A real writer does one simple yet impossibly profound thing—over and over again: They dare to show up.

That’s it.

They show up happy. They show up sick. They show up perplexed. They show up on Monday nights at 11:47 pm when they should be sleeping. They show up as they scribble thoughts on a napkin in carline or at the office when no one is looking. They show up even when they don’t feel like it—even when they are scared or uninspired.

And I know a lot of you (us) struggle endlessly with imposter syndrome and when it is that you (we) can finally say “I have arrived!” You (we) wonder when there will come a time when someone asks, “What do you do?” and you (we) can say without shrinking or hedging, “I am a writer.”

So, here’s the thing, in case you need to hear it tonight:

You are a writer because you write—again and again. And this writing habit of yours can become good writing if you are bold enough to tell the truth.

So, what is the truth? It is sitting in the exact place you are and dutifully reporting the beauty, the brutality, the mundane, and the holy as you see it. And if you are very good at choosing the right words and stringing them together in a cogent or lovely way that rings true—or provokes or summons or challenges something in someone somewhere—then you are a writer who might be read. But only if you get up the gumption to take yourself seriously and write the words, or perform the words, or publish the words.

And know this, too: If you are a writer who commits your life to the craft—again and again—and you’re willing to try and fail, follow and lead, live and get lost, read a ridiculous sum of books, and be fully awake in all that good stuff called living—then you might just become a great writer.

I tell my students, my writerly friends, my clients, the writers in TheWayBack2Ourselves.com community, and anyone who will listen to “Never say ‘no’ to yourself.” Yes, people, editors, literary agents, and readers all may come to tell you “no” from time to time—and sometimes far too frequently for any of us sensitive writer types to bear—but let them. Your only two concerns should be that you write—again and again—and never say “no” to yourself.

Saying “no” to yourself is the kiss of death in any creative endeavor. You will work yourself into knots of disbelief, and the writing will run dry. But looking yourself square in the heart and imploring it to just keep going—again and again—will change everything. When you believe that this is what you’ve been called to do and that absolutely no one else can be your voice and that God created you for such a time as this to be doing this very work you are doing to beautify his Kingdom, then you will write because it is a mandate on your life.

So, if you need it, tuck this love letter away for those stormy days that are sure to come as a faithful creative, and read it to yourself when the inner critic—or the outer critics—feel like altogether too much.

Creating something for nothing isn’t for the faint of heart. I see you. I admire your pluck. But more importantly, God sees you, your hopes, your dreams, and your gifts (he gave you).

So, take courage, dear writer. You were made for this.

You belong here,

me

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OFFERING #2: A POEM FOR CREATIVES

A LITURGY FOR FAITHFUL CREATIVES
by Kimberly Phinney (from my forthcoming poetry collection, Exalted Ground)

You are brave, 
and this is so hard:
the doubt you fight back
to create something profound, 
to bear your soul, 
to write the words, 
to sketch the form.
Your work is holy.
Your beautiful heart is holy, too,
shaped by your Maker to do what you do.

You struggle so much to know the weight of the world,
to carry all those buzzing feelings within you
and to push them through your art— 
so that beauty is known,
so that truth is told, 
so that God is seen and known and loved
in a world that so desperately needs what you have, 
yet forgets to see who he is—
and who you are.

You, who battles the darkness and finds the light 
on the dance floor, the canvas, and the piano,
or in the lines of the poem that struck you at midnight.
You know what I mean, 
in these words that I write. 
You, who battles self-criticism, cynicism, romanticism, 
and worst of all, imposter syndrome.

You are called.
You are not a fraud—
you are real as the day is long,
as the sun shines on, 
and the moon sings songs over all of us. 
And you are needed, too. 
And you were kneaded together in your mother’s womb 
for this very task that you assume:
to make art in this world and to make it last—
this single, unique spark of life that is you,
dancing with your wild heart for all to see—
wide open (and sometimes free).

He sings blessings over you.
I sing my gratitude.
You are needed. 
You are seen.
God made you for this.
May you believe.

Amen 

OFFERING #3: AN ADVENT ESSAY FOR THOSE WHO WAIT

The Liturgy of Waiting:

How Our Encounter with the Nativity Gives Us Eternal Peace

by

Deborah Rutherford

“Look up, you whose gaze is fixed on this earth, who are spellbound by the little events and changes on the face of the earth. Look up to these words, you who have turned away from heaven disappointed. Look up, you whose eyes are heavy with tears and who are heavy and who are crying over the fact that the earth has gracelessly torn us away. Look up, you who, burdened with guilt, cannot lift your eyes. Look up, your redemption is drawing near. Something different from what you see daily will happen. Just be aware, be watchful, wait just another short moment. Wait and something quite new will break over you: God will come.”

– Dietrich Bonhoeffer God Is in the Manger

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Just last week, God met me in the most unexpected way. I was stirring our bubbling oatmeal as my husband reported the headlines about war escalating overseas and looming snow squalls. Noting his weary face, I imagined mine as weary too, but from somewhere deep within and without, the Spirit enthused my heart. As I looked out the kitchen window, I saw a radiant light beam through the back-wood trees, and I said to my husband, "We will see the sunrise tomorrow, here, or in Heaven." In this somber moment—where there were wars and rumors of wars—our only comfort was the beautiful assurance that, as believers in Jesus Christ, we would wake up tomorrow, either here or in Heaven, in the loving embrace of our Savior.

Even with this intimate promise the Lord gave me—a literal light in the darkness—I woke up early the following morning with a racing mind. The end of the year was approaching, and I felt the uncertainty of a new career change. Then, the washer broke just after an unexpected deck rebuild. I scrambled for peace on my knees and prayed in earnest. As I turned my eyes to Jesus, peace wiped away the gathering clouds of anxiety, fear, and doubt. Sensing God's gentle nudge toward walking more by faith, I realized I needed this Advent season more than I knew because believing the promise is one thing, while living out the promise is something else entirely. We have the peace and hope of Christ to sustain us during troubled days and deep-set nights. But what does this look like in our daily lives, as we learn to wait for the coming Light?

The Advent season invites us into the beauty, splendor, and wonder of God's divine plan for mankind's redemption. It is a season of eager anticipation, a time for preparing our hearts for Christ's hope, transformation, and new beginnings. Advent juxtaposes the world's darkness before Christ and its continued darkness with the promise of eternal Light: that Christ has come and will come again. And it is this Light that will extinguish all darkness. God, in all his mystery, brings creation into this wonderful birthing represented by the seasonal darkness of winter and the return of light in spring.

KEEP READING

Deborah Rutherford

essay here: The Liturgy of Waiting: How Our Encounter with the Nativity Gives Us Eternal Peace — THE WAY BACK TO OURSELVES. Be sure to subscribe to

Deborah Rutherford

’s Substack and share her essay with someone who needs it.

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As always, thank you for being here. Blessed Advent and Christmas to you! Oh, and if you’re looking for more Advent goodness, please be sure to check out Christianity Today’s Advent devotional, which I was blessed to be published in! Find it here: A Time for Wonder - Christianity Today.

You belong here,

me

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