afield collective

Originally written August 28, 2015 while traveling through Scotland

“And in your fear there is no light at all.” –Alexi Murdoch (Scottish/Greek songwriter)

I boarded a train a little after 2 o’clock in the afternoon. The sun had come out to illuminate the soft green of the fife across the Tay Firth, the coastline of which gave home to the train station. That very morning, as often is the case in Scotland, had been grey, cold and rainy. An odd experience for a Floridian to walk outside into during the month of August. I have had to retrain my expectations for the climate as I have been in the UK. The thin blood I gained from living on the Gulf of Mexico and Floridian Atlantic Ocean, for such a large portion of my life, runs rapidly through my veins as I venture further and further north into the UK. Probably because running is supposed to keep you warm. My packing preparations for my journey were mostly centered on my being in the Mediterranean over the summer. Thus, flip-flops, shorts, t-shirts, and sunglasses (yes multiple because I lost two and am on my third) seemed to fit the description. I expected I would be briefly stopping in London at the end of all of this travel, so I threw two jeans and an un-thought-out choice of jacket into my luggage. I had no idea that I would spend more than a few days in London and, in fact, travel further north up into Scotland, where the grey and green highlands sing old songs with cold breath. Luckily, I was able to make a stop in Aberdeen (a part of northern Scotland which is but a stone’s throw away from Norway) to pick up a proper coat that would tend to my thin blood’s needy demands quite nicely.

The grey misty weather turned rather rapidly, around noon-time, into white clouds, whose cracks reveal a glowing and radiant blue. The McConnell family had been more than gracious and hospitable to me. They welcomed me into their new home in Dundee and treated me as family. I have gained a new appreciation for finding glimpses of home when one is out on the road. Today marks 105 days since I left the States and had a sense of permanent belonging to one place. So the times that I am able stop in and experience the inclusion and belonging that family brings, are very precious to me. However, Jesus has been showing me what it means to travel alone with him into the mysterious and adventurous unknown. He has filled my soul with creative energy and vision and I am searching for means of release. A dear friend of mine, who left the incredible community that has formed in my friend-group in West Palm Beach to pursue the vision Jesus had put on her heart, gave me an important word in parting that I didn’t fully realize the importance of at the time. Release. The first step is receiving vision and realizing passion and there are unfortunately many who struggle to find the bridge connecting them with this place as it is. But once you are there, the next step, that I think many more of us struggle with, is releasing that vision and passion into something tangible for others (and yourself) to experience.

Many office workers have pictures or screen savers of mountains and oceans and incredible scenes of nature that decorate their office. In reality, this is, in most cases, far more than decoration, but reminders and longings to experience the freedom that the concept of nature brings. There is longing in our hearts to be united with the vision and passions that we have inside. Yet we often run into barriers that prevent our full release of what has been bottled up within our chests and heads. I am focusing in on this idea of release in my life right now. It is an essential part of what we were created for. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Even great creative vision can fester and grow stale and turn to sadness if it stays in the confined studio workspace of our minds and libraries of our hearts. Our lives are meant to be in constant motion (which does not exclude the ability to rest). The flow we were created for goes from rest to visionto release and we were made to dwell in the house of community and family, but always called to take strolls outside of the house into the woods alone with Jesus now and again or as often as we feel a cloud has swept over our ability to see and hear him. When we step out to be alone with him, he never ceases to fill us and provide for us.

At the train station, I inserted my tickets into the machine, which then illuminated a green light, informing me that I was able to pass the rotating metal bars in my lane. I slid past and walked down a staircase, pulling out onto the train platform to my left. The digital sign above spelled out “Edinburgh” in orange pixels as big as my knuckles on a black background. I was sad to leave the lovely family that I had spent the past week with, but still excited to carry on the venture with Jesus.

Standing on the brink of going to a new place always holds its fair share of questions and brings nerves. Train stations paint a visual picture of this internal experience pretty nicely. I’d never been to Edinburgh and, though I was excited to arrive, I did not know what to expect. I pulled out my guitar, which had not felt my fingers in longer than I would have liked. I softly picked out different tunes, some that others had written and some that were of my own design. After a short while of filling the outdoor station walls with gentle string-songs the lady sitting a little ways to my left on another bench stood up and approached me. She was dressed in business professional attire; a dark red undershirt covered by a neat black jacket. She asked me if I wrote music and expressed her delight in hearing me play. We talked a little and she said that she works for a company based in Edinburgh that is designing its website and she would love to contact me about recording a couple soft acoustic tracks that they could loop on their promotion DVD’s and material. She said they are still a ways off from having everything up and running, but that she would love it if I would consider recording some music for them. I said that I would be delighted and gave her my email address so that we could stay in touch.

I think Jesus wants us to simply be intentional about being true to the passions and stirrings that he puts in our hearts. Even and especially when we have no idea where they may be leading. As I have stepped out, a spark for creativity and expression has lit in my soul. I want to pursue the sparks that I sense inside. This, if nothing else, allows God to open and close doors as I walk forward. I think the best way to “find God’s will for our lives”, as so many people are desperately searching out, is to simply start moving and break the routine molds that we have allowed to congeal around us. Jesus will always go before us to guide us, but he won’t force us to move. He leaves that part up to us. And because God does not move our feet and legs like a puppet, causing motion, we sometimes grow so comfortable in the places that we are that we become afraid to initiate any sort of movement. In doing so, I think we can shut out God’s direction in our lives, not because he is not offering it, but because we are not receiving it.

I don’t know what will become of her commission of me to record some music for their company (or if anything will come of it), but to me it is an affirmation of what God is stirring in my heart for creativity. He wants us to release the vision he has placed in our hearts and minds, but this release feels beyond our reach so often because it seems crazy. We excuse ourselves by saying that God is a God of order and will not cause us to do something rash or that does not make sense. I believe that all this is true, but I also believe that God’s sense of order is far greater and broader than ours. We must not reduce who God is and how he moves to our own limitations. He knows the story before us. He sees the good behind what he calls us into, but within our limited perspective, it often feels crazy to us. I want to encourage not to shut out the calling of God at first notion simply because it feels a bit crazy or “out there”. God is infinite and is constantly growing and stretching me. It seems that every time I think I’ve figured him out or really “hit my stride” as a Christian, he destroys the boundaries and box that I had set for myself and calls me out further than what I expect is reasonable or possible. That is because as we go further up and further into his presence and kingdom, on this journey of life that we are on, there is an eternity for us to travel with him and he will never cease to blow our minds with goodness. So often, this true goodness that he wants for us to grow into lies on the other side of what looks crazy and impossible or even foolish. This is called faith. Faith bridges the gap between our logic and the boundaries of our understanding and the journey we are on with Jesus.

I boarded that train and made my way to Edinburgh, without a real clue where I was going, but with comfort and delight in my heart and confidence that I still wander without being lost. Initiation of the journey we are on (and the one that stirs in the desires of our hearts and minds) comes without a clear understanding of the ending. I just read in The Fellowship of the Ring the walking-song Frodo speaks as he sets off on his journey, while overlooking a misty morning that shrouded the forest from the softly glowing red sun as it slowly climbed its steps in the sky. It goes:

The Road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet,

And wither then? I cannot say.

-J.R.R Tolkien

I think this poem is a good expectation for what lies before us when we release the visions we have and allow our feet to get moving. In short, we must be bold when we act upon that which we have envisioned and that which we have heard called to us on the tides of the wind. May we never lack the faith to release the stirrings at the core of our being.

This is the final post from our friend, Johnny Hedger.

You can check him on Instagram @hedgerjc or jump over to The Cell and the Coracle where he shares his adventures.

“And then there is time in which to be, simply to be, that time in which God quietly tells us who we are and who he wants us to be.” Madeleine L’Engle – Walking on Water

“There’s a time to talk about it, a time to live it up, a time to sit in silence; a time to cry about it, a time to laugh it up, a time for stillness in the water; be, my daughter.” Foy Vance – Be, My Daughter: a song of encouragement written to his daughter

**Written earlier at various intervals and locations throughout the evening of August 17, 2015**

I am currently in downtown (central) London, sitting in a great coffee shop called The Department of Coffee and Social Affairs. It has a really great vibe and pleasing aesthetics and is only a few doors down from one of my other favorite coffee shops that I’ve thus far been to in London called Prufrocks. I have a double shot cappuccino with one scoop of brown sugar and a glass of water, after walking a long time through many streets to get here. Good spot to write an update, though I must warn you, this entry is a bit of a raw and honest look into what I have experienced over the past two days in particular. I think that coming to a spot of authenticity is a necessary step to becoming whole, so here’s a bit of my recent journey of sifting through sand to find hidden treasure.

I sit and watch days pass me by; I do not like this phrase, but it feels right to say here. However, it is inaccurately stated because it makes it sound as if my days are melancholy and empty, which is far from true, though the weight and consistency of time does seem to elongate slightly when one travels alone. In most ways, it seems to go more slowly, particularly in the immediate wake of having spent two and a half months straight with a very close traveling companion and friend (in this case, my brother Stephen). Though days now seem more full of vacant minutes, traveling alone allows huge chunks of time to be put towards reflecting, processing, praying, writing, reading, and exploring; activities that I sadly found quite difficult when I was working my 9-6 job. It gives time for observing and thinking. It has caused me to confront myself and uncover stones that I didn’t know needed to be uncovered.

It began yesterday. After Marty (my Australian friend and mentor who has opened he and his wife’s home to me outside of London) and I dropped Stephen off at the Stansted airport, tears came to my eyes and as I gave him a final hug and we walked away, those tears actually turned to weeping. I wept for the next half hour. I was incredibly embarrassed (and at the time, would have been embarrassed to write this on my blog), but Marty smiled and enthusiastically said, “Let them come! Don’t hold it back. This moment can define you.” He prompted and gently encouraged me to find the root of those tears.

At first, I knew it was connected to Stephen leaving after such a long time of companionship and active brotherhood. That sort of parting hurts a bit. But I knew there was more. I dug deeper. In digging, Jesus uncovered more of the full truth behind the tears. It is easy to try and put up a tough exterior… at least for a while, but if that “toughness” is not rooted in truth, then it will crumble like a paper-thin wall eventually. I had not fully been honest with myself in confronting what I am afraid of. I came to terms with the reality of the fact that I am now truly treading uncharted territory.

Though I have been traveling for three 3 months (as of today), any “plans” that I had made in being overseas have now expired. I no longer have a café in Malta to work at and a flat of my own that I know I have keys and access to at any time. I no longer have a church and missions organization to serve or meals provided for me because I have paid in advance for them and they are part of the itinerary. I have no home address or job to return to back in the States. I have no clear vision for the next step in my life; nothing specifically to work towards in an immediate sense. Most of my inner circle of closest friends are in serious relationships with lovely girls and are taking steps towards a different kind of community than I am used to.

In probing deeper into my tears, Stephen’s leaving, to me, was the catalyst of a huge emotional release. I feel that I have come to the end of myself and the end of my strength, which brought forth insecurity, doubt, fear and a sense of helplessness. I realized that I had not come to terms with the fact that what I consider solid ground has been taken from beneath my feet. Marty encouraged me not to run from those feelings, but to confront them; to name them. As I confronted them and processed aloud, Jesus showed up.

He told me not to be afraid of my tears or letting them flow. He desires authenticity from me, which means he wants me to come as I am and not pretend to be or show something I am not. Faking strength is no strength at all. It is paper-thin. When my tears first came, I felt that my manliness was being stripped from me because I felt weak and vulnerable. My initial response to crying (particularly in front of another man) was shame. As I spoke that out, Marty asked what my spirit had to say. I immediately responded, “That that’s bogus!” I then heard Jesus saying, “In your weakness, I am strong. Do not be afraid. Courage, dear heart. When you come to the end of yourself, you will find me every time.” He said “no” to the lie that my tears showed a lack of manliness and strength. He said “no” to the shame I was tempted to feel. False strength is no strength. This means that authenticity is strength. I felt him assuring me that my tears are manly because they were necessary in me finding who I am.

As I spoke my processing aloud, the tears didn’t stop at first, but the feeling behind them changed. I no longer felt fear, intimidation or that I was lost, but I felt loved and I felt hope and I felt protected. I saw the painted picture in my mind of a little boy taking slow (and sometimes wobbly) steps towards his loving, strong and gentle father, whose smile never fades. The father’s love and fondness and care for his boy never changed or waned in the slightest, no matter how shaky his son’s steps were. Jesus’ affection for me is not shaken by my shortcomings or moments of uncertainty. His smile widens, his eyes fill with light, his strong arms spread out and he just stares into my soul and says, “Come to me.”

I found a new meaning and reason behind the tears. My heart and mind had been so full that something had to come out as Jesus came in. The tears were an overflow of the excess stuff that didn’t need to be there and was pushed out as Jesus made his way in. In the process, he led me from darkness into light and I could see clearly. I had Shalom peace; I could see that he was with me and that everything was in its right place. In that spot, he was not calling me to plan the itinerary of my life, but to simply be.

The call to be. What an anti-western mantra. The society that most of us in the west experience calls us to do and creates pressure for those who are not doing according to the standards of society. And yet the call of Christ for each of us is to simply be and not exhaust ourselves in constantly trying to do more and more. In any case, the best actions and outcomes are sprung from a place of peace and a proper understanding of identity. When we are driven by the desire to constantly be doing something, we often times lose the value of what it is we are doing. But when we can properly be, and be whole, then everything is put in its right place and from this right understanding, we are drawn or rather lead into activity.

***

The day before I left Greece, our team had the opportunity to sit and speak with an Orthodox priest. I wondered at what differences there might be between us and was honestly a bit ready for some relatively eloquent and yet empty words, observing the grandeur of God, but void of his intimacy. I was pleasantly surprised and humbled to find that I whole-heartedly agreed with nearly everything he said (yet another reminder to me of how much I dislike the division that comes through viewing the church through denominations rather than understanding that we are all one under Christ, who brings unity and draws all men unto himself). We asked if there was anything that we could pray for him and his church community about. I think he may have slightly misunderstood us to be asking, “what should we pray for – period” or even, “how should we pray”. In either case, his answer had beautiful resonance and insight. He said, “We don’t look at God’s hands, but into his eyes. We don’t pray to get something, but to be something.”

If you think about it, our call to be is mimicking our Lord, who called himself, “I am”. We are to be much in the same way that Jesus is. To be for us is to accept and own our identity as his sons and daughters. It is also to be present in the seasons that he puts us in and brings us through.

You cannot effectively be yourself if you don’t know who you are. When we know who we are, this brings us to a place of power and strength. This enables us to be filled with the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit unites us with our purpose and calling. We do not find our purpose and identity in what we do, but in what he did. Because he has already done everything that needs to be done in order to free us and give us life abundantly and to the fullest, all we have to do is accept it, breathe it in, rest in it and just be.

When we can actually be who we are, who we were created to be, this opens our eyes to our story. It sets us free to live it. Suddenly, our passions come to life and new ones are born. We are one with Edmund Dantes, Jean Valjean, Maximus, William Wallace; given a purpose and mission to live and fight for good, and the ability to accomplish it. We are awakened to the Holy Spirit and the power within us to triumph over evil and vanquish our foe. We carry with us the light of life, the secret flame of heaven, and no darkness can ever extinguish it.

Travel with me for a moment, all you who have read or seen the Lord of the Rings, to the scene where Gandalf stands up to the fiery demon of the deep called the Balrog. Gandalf has been the faithful and knowledgeable guide of the Fellowship throughout their journey. Up until this point, no one has really seen his true power displayed, but we mainly see his wisdom and his fondness of the Hobbits. Then, deep in the earth as they passed through the mines, they are pursued by this Balrog, a giant beast, cloaked in dark fire and possessing a power greater than any of the Fellowship… except for Gandalf. He told the rest to run to safety, while he turned to face this ancient creature and unveil his true power. He lets loose. In that moment, he speaks out his true identity, the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor, and light envelops him. The dark creature falls as the power of the Secret Fire within Gandalf is released. That is the power within us.

1 Corinthians 2 talks a lot about the power of God and what the Spirit brings us. I specifically love verse 7, which says, “But we impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glory.” We possess this secret wisdom; we are wielders of the light of life; servants of the Holy Fire. When we understand this, we walk with peace because we know we have power. And as this light draws us home, we are called to simply illuminate the darkness around us so that others can see the path that leads home as well.

When we finally come to understand who we are and the power within us, what beautiful adventures await us. Jesus is taking us to places we could only have dreamed of. He has a beautiful path unfurled before each of us when we accept who we are. The hero is the one who does not back away from the road ahead, but seizes his calling and the journey that it takes him on. As Tolkien wrote in one of his books,

Still round the corner there may wait,

A new road or secret gate,

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I,

Shall take the hidden paths that run,

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

I think we all want to take those hidden paths that lead to glory.

This is the second installment in our current series from blogger Johnny Hedger.

You can check him on Instagram @hedgerjc or jump over to The Cell and the Coracle where he shares his adventures. 

“’I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.’ [says Gandalf, to which Bilbo replies]

‘I should think so — in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!’” – J.R.R Tolkien, The Hobbit

“Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.” – J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter: The Half Blood Prince

I have now been in Malta for a little over three weeks and it is amazing how much in my heart and soul has changed in that time. I don’t mean in the slightest to speak less of or degrade the situation in which I was previously living, but it is as though a door has been opened to me and in walking through it I have entered into another dimension of life. This dimension feels, once again, as if anything were possible. Romance has come back into my life, and I do not mean romance as in referring to some sort of relationship or love with a woman, but I mean Romance with a big fat capital “R”. I mean it as the Romantics of old meant it. The optimistic understanding that life is full of adventure and that experiencing the fullness of life requires risk, but is the only way to truly live life. The dictionary definition of a Romantic (for those unfamiliar with more of the literary implications of this word) is “being idealistic, amorous, or soulful” and “characterized by an emphasis on feeling and content rather than order and form, on the sublime, supernatural, and exotic, and the free expression of the passions and individuality”.

Now there are some of you who will roll your eyes and even cringe at the thought of the Romantic ideals. Of course, I think that the best route is to find the line of balance between the two extremes, but I also think that we all could use a healthy dose of Romance in our lives, because often times this deposit in our souls has run dry. I find that the norm (in the age and culture in which I have grown and learned) is to put aside notions of the Romantic lifestyle because it is impractical, foolish and childish. We learn from an early age to suppress any thoughts of idealism and adventure because we learn to idolize safety and stability as one of the greatest values by which to govern life and we lose our ability to hold onto ideals because we learn that those are simply the fuel for disappointment. (For a couple really good reads that go deeper into a particular area of this topic, I would recommend reading C.S. Lewis’s On Three Ways of Writing for Children and maybe even tap into Tolkien’s On Fairy Stories – both of which bring up relevant points to the fact that the purely “adult” and logical way of understanding life, is not always the best). I believe that a proper understanding of Romance is what brings beauty and passion back to our lives. For my purposes, I will describe Romance as the search for adventure, passion and feeling at the risk of safety and stability and the relentless pursuit of the ideals that bring us life and make our hearts beat (or something along those lines). I have not fallen in love with a woman, but once again, I have fallen in love with life itself and the myriad of opportunities that await us all if we have but the strength and will to see the door and walk through it.

I often think of Bilbo Baggins who lived in the pleasant realm of the Shire (from the wonderful book The Hobbit, by Tolkien). He was used to a comfortable way of living, but had a deeper sense of adventure that was dormant in his lineage, and more importantly, in his being. There was a call to and desire for something more, deep in his blood, though he was often times not even conscious of it. Finally, Gandalf came along and extended the invitation, offering an opportunity for adventure. This invitation to come on the journey is offered to each of us. It represents the call to live valiantly and live the lives we were made for. A life that doesn’t shy away from risk and danger, but faces it boldly, knowing we will not be overcome. Bilbo was skeptical and very much opposed to joining in the beginning. He didn’t see any reason or logic to joining this stranger and his companions on a very long and very dangerous journey. There was so much about this thing called “adventure” that contradicted the lifestyle he had grown comfortable with and come to understand so well. And yet, there was something missing from that lifestyle.

A life with no adversity is a dull life indeed. Conflict and difficulty are some of the only things that cause us to learn and grow. Without them, we will grow lazy and dumb (I don’t mean to speak too harshly, but it is true). If we do not overcome the obstacle to workout and be physically active, we tend to gain an unhealthy amount of weight (in the common tongue I believe this is called “fat”) and lose the desire to be active. If we do not choose to pick up a book and force our minds to make sense of the string of words that lay before our eyes, then we will forget how to be critical thinkers and lose the ability to understand life at a deeper level. If we do not overcome the difficulty of killing our pride and humbly and honestly apologizing to a close friend for wronging or offending them, then we will quickly lose all of our friends. Adversity and difficulty, in every area of life, should not be avoided, but should be navigated. We should not be the type of people who run away from something simply because the task before us is difficult, but we should seek to be people of character who have no fear in facing the challenge, seeking to learn and grow from whatever it may be.

Bilbo never would have learned what true camaraderie and companionship was should he have passed up Gandalf’s invitation. He would never have found that there was courage within him to live heroically and be a vessel for goodness to express itself. Evil would have had a step up in the world if he never left the average and mundane life of comfort and safety behind him for something more.

It is important to understand that “adventure” does not always consist of leaving the country and finding some mountain to climb and starting an entirely new lifestyle with new people (though there are times when that can be exactly what is called for). Adventure is recognizing the opportunity to live more as you were meant to and choosing to seize it and not allow it to pass you by. We seek to align our lives with truth and pursue that at whatever the cost might be. Adventure comes when you find that seed of passion that lies deep in your heart and decide to pursue that, regardless of the obstacles and negative talk that you hear from those around you. Adventure is pursuing that thing that makes you come alive, even if it doesn’t lead to a rich and glorious lifestyle, according to the standards of this world. Adventure may come easier to us (and more desirable) if we reevaluate and adjust our own standards. Is our standard for success and a good life based on how secure and predictable our lives are (aka how “in control” we are)? Is it how much money we have accumulated (or can accumulate)? Is it based on how much other people like and admire us or give us their approval? It is important to search deeper and take a look into what we are living for and examine what that goal or pursuit leads to in the end.

If our pursuit is safety and predictability, we will live dull lives and know exactly what to expect from this point forward. Physiologically, in our brains, there is a dosage of dopamine and endorphins pumped into our systems that causes happiness and excitement when we encounter something new. It stimulates us and basically causes a light to go on. Living with predictability as your goal will cause a very boring and overall sad life. Living with money as our ends leads to emptiness as well. The desire for money can never be satisfied. It only leads to a desire for more money and money has no actual value in and of itself. It is a vain and empty pursuit. It can buy inanimate and soulless “stuff” that really give nothing back to us, outside of fleeting entertainment and distraction. I’m not saying that money does not have use, but as a goal, it leads to distraction and a thirst for more of itself. Putting people’s thoughts and opinions of us on a pedestal will also cause disappointment. As the Avett Brothers say, “You can’t make everybody happy all of the time”, and why would we try to? Living simply to please people will cause you to lose touch with who you really are. The loss of understanding our own identities and sacrificing this at the cost of others peoples fleeting and shallow thoughts of us is a sad place to be and will lead to dissatisfaction and horrible self-esteem issues.

I am not saying that each of these areas are completely bad and empty and that we should steer clear of each of them at all costs, by any means. I am merely bringing up the point of evaluating what our standard for a life well lived is and how we measure worth and success. Jesus has created us each with unique and different passions that are meant to serve an eternal (and not temporal) purpose. When we align our lives with this truth and deeper meaning, we find that an explosion of beauty and worth erupts within us. That is why it is so important to have a healthy dose of Romance in our lives. A reckless abandon of the things that we hold so close that are actually acting as blinders to seeing something better. Once these blinders are removed, we don’t see the obstacles as something that can in any way hinder a life lived in abundance. We will more clearly and distinctly be able to see the richness in all areas of life. Perhaps we will also have the courage to not just see the richness, but boldly take a step towards this adventure that lies before us. We can see that life is only mundane for those who allow it to be and those who are pursuing the empty goals.

For me, rekindling this Romance of life has taken the form sacrificing something comfortable and predictable and pursuing the unknown, but knowing that I go with the ultimate guide and adventurer who knows exactly what makes me filled with excitement and joy and knows exactly what makes me come alive. I didn’t exactly understand the decision when it came time to make it, but I have found that often times walking in true faith can feel irresponsible and at times like foolishness (because we have such a desire to have every decision we make perfectly understood and the situation under control). I quit a good job where I worked with amazing people and gave up living with a hand full of my closest friends who know me at my core, not knowing if our paths will give us that opportunity to live together again, in order to volunteer my time at a café (and various other places that I will travel to) and live with people I didn’t know from different parts of the world. And in doing so, I feel that Jesus has poured freedom and passion into my life in a tangible way. I do not say this to elevate the decision I made, but simply to give testimony to how Jesus is so incredibly faithful to fulfill us when we trust him as our guide and step out in faith, not fearing the adversity and questions that come in making such a decision.

That is how adventure comes. It is not in going somewhere simply to see something new, but it is a lifestyle of not fearing the unknown and recognizing what makes us come alive and living in pursuit of that. This is how the embers of hope are rekindled into a blaze of Romance in our lives. Freeing ourselves from the tethers of the mundane and allowing ourselves to dream a bit. For dreams and ideals are the kindling for passion and once you have found your passion(s), your life can begin to practically change and take shape around it. As a reminder, my understanding of “passions” is inextricably linked to the purpose that God has created us with.

So just like good old Bilbo, we have a choice that has been laid before us. We have the power to go on allowing our lifestyles to be contained within the walls of safety and predictability that promises a life of droll routine and relatively useless and shallow foresight, or we can follow the adventurer within into the wild and unknown, understanding that Jesus (as is wonderfully illustrated by Aslan in the books of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis), “…is good, but he isn’t safe,” and has a world of meaning and “coming alive” that is waiting if we will just step with him into the lives we were created to live. We will uncover a heart of adventure and not just the appearance of adventure. We too often wait for adventure to come to us and fail to recognize that it is already offered and it is up to us to make the next move. Yes, there are seasons for waiting and working towards some of the bigger things that God has called us to, but we are never called to “fall out of love” with the lives we have been given. We can live valiantly and meaningfully in any season we are in and need to have the boldness to know when it is time to step out of one season and into the next. When it is time to leave the Shire and take up the journey.

This journal entry was contributed by our friend Johnny Hedger. Johnny has a passion for travel, adventure and artistic endeavor, which we love. You can check him on Instagram @hedgerjc or jump over to The Cell and the Coracle where he shares his adventures. 

Jagged peaks were what drew us further up the mountain side. It seems odd to the majority of people that some would subject themselves to such hostilities. And for what? Why do people embark on a hike or a climb? What is their purpose for spending the time, money and energies simply to hurt, stink, and at times, be miserable?

The beautiful film 180 degrees South refers to us as “conquerors of the useless” for obvious reasons. There appears to be no accomplishment in the summit of a mountain or the completion of a long trek. Indeed, if there is any type of accomplishment, it is self serving at best, they say. But a sick, masochistic self serving, I think. However, what has really been accomplished is much richer than self, and it has no concern for appearances.

There was a period of our climb when we were crawling at a slug’s pace upwards of 19,000 feet when my thoughts were impossible to sort through. Had anyone been able to actually make sense of the incoherent meanderings of my mind they would have found a young man who was quite sure he was experiencing something almost indistinguishable from death. Anything short of totally miserable does not accurately describe my troubles during the ascent. And what I conquered was pretty useless. I hated being at the peak. The views were astounding from what I can remember, but it was terrible.

Back below 16,000 feet I was able to lasso up my thoughts and begin to organize my feelings. I loved it. I wanted more and what I had just experienced seemed to me not even close to enough. I put my arms around my companions as we continued away from my misery at the top. We laughed as our knees gave out from walking downhill for so long. The pain didn’t matter.

The truth is that pain only fortifies the joyfulness of our experiences in the mountains. People are communal by their very nature. Even the most introverted of us must have the communion of at least a few others. The mountains help us to live our relationships in HD. In everyday life we only get the grainy, standard definition picture of life. Out there, we get it in a beautiful 4K format. Experiencing creation in a way that hurts brings people together. There is something so rich about an experience like this. Many people in our generation are starting to see that, I think. In a way we are seeing a mass exodus to the mountains. People want more from life than they can get in the city. That is why we go. Really, the top mattered very little to me.

A few of our guides taking a much needed rester. In a cloud. 

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Nazaret, a velvety voiced mountain man. 

The taste of a blackberry fresh off the vine,

The sight of grapes dangling from an arbor,

The smell of lemon thyme when a hand is brushed across it.

While these represent the reward, the fruit (if you will), of the gardener’s labor, they are not necessarily the reason for planting a garden. The fruit is the final result, after the dew, the tender drizzle, and the drenching rain.

After the soft morning light gives way to the scorching heat of midday and the coolness of the night is no more.  

After the sprouting seed turns into a tender shoot and struggles to grow roots, deep and strong.  

After the leaves make their appearance, along with the thorns and eventually some delicate blossoms.

After all of this…fruit! It still amazes me, every time!

But the fruit is not what draws me to the garden day after day.

It is the process itself that I love.

From the feel of the dirt on my hands as I prepare a new space for planting, to the designing of where to put what bed, to the lifting of the flagstone to construct another pathway, to the pruning and retraining of the vines as they grow along a trellis.  It is a never-ending process. Each season brings its own set of rewards and problems, so many life lessons lived out among its inhabitants. Lessons about abiding, sowing, reaping, soil, pruning, toiling, resting, watering, growth and, of course, fruit.

“…and you will recognize them by their fruits.” (Matthew 7.20)

Kelly’s Creativity Through Will’s Eyes

Whenever I gaze out and see my mother in her garden, the reality of beauty is clear before my eyes. She toils and pulls constantly, hardly taking a break to wipe the sweat from her brow, just to bring forth that short moment of flourishing. Though in the eyes of admirers, my mother seems to have a green thumb, causing growth in abundance to everything she touches, (I would not disagree, she has quite a gift!), her gifting lies in her toil, not in her produce.

She knows better than most that you must sow 90% of the time to reap the harvest for 10%. But we must toil, and how rewarding it is!

This picture of my mother in her not-so-paradisiacal Eden reinforces daily a concept I treasure deeply in my heart.

Beauty is born in the struggle.

This is why we work hard. This is why we get back up. This is why we fight. Like a seed that fights the hard ground to break to the surface, we find our life when we find ourselves in the thick. These are the moments that shape who we are and point to who we are becoming. The seed does not explore any other options but to rise into what it knows it must be!

This is what inspires me about the creativity inside my mother.

She shows me the realities of truly living, loving, and flourishing. That the highest treasures require the highest sacrifices, that the most beautiful creations require the most persevering creators, and that the way to true living lies in painful dying.

But we will grow into something truly beautiful.

As we have seen from the eyes of the maker and the perceiver, creativity goes beyond the hands that wield it to become something new in the eyes each individual.

Each day within my home is a great invitation into uncharted waters. Though often I incline my ear to that convincing voice that tells me to not leave the docks, I find each stroke of the oar with the voices of inspiration that I get to call my family (“Ho!”). Though my story is still being told, you have heard a great deal of it within the voices of these individuals. They shape me like a potter and his clay, and I am increasingly grateful that they are some of the ones behind the potter’s wheel.

My story is what it is because it intermingles with theirs.

I hope these observations inspire you to look for inspiration in the world right before your eyes. The people you fight and laugh with, the home you live in, the communities you come together with.

You don’t have to look far to find the very things you are looking for.

And I hope that you will join me on this journey far from home.

Originality. It’s a hard thing to come by these days. Maybe it’s always been a hard thing to find – there is nothing new under the sun, after all. And what’s funny (and by funny I mean frustrating) is that when you do happen to find it, or at least something that could pass as originality, it almost feels wrong. That’s when that voice in your head speaks up.

“This is unique, I’ve never really heard this said or done this in this way. It must be wrong, or worse, not ‘cool.’ Throw it out.”

And such is the war of creativity that is a joy and a nightmare to partake in. We all have those creators (artists, musicians, writers, etc.) who inspire and influence who we are as creators. We love them. We love their work. Who they are shapes who we want to be in many ways, tangible and intangible. But nobody wants to be a cookie-cutter, exact copy of their influences. The originality of their work is what draws us to them in the first place, so to mimic them would be to sacrifice everything we love about them. I think deep down we know this. I don’t want to borrow their voice, I want to find my own. And yet, how many times do I find myself lending my ear to that voice in my head?

“So-and-so wouldn’t have written that. Or if they had, they’d say/play it way cooler. You’re terrible at this. Stop trying.”

And too often, I listen to it. I let it suck all the vigor and zeal to create right out of me. I let it tell me that I’ve got nothing to say. Nothing to add to the conversation. Nothing of value to bring into the world with my creativity. And I am tempted to put the pen down, hang my instrument up, and let my voice stay silent for good. But after a certain amount of time (sometimes much longer than I’d like), there’s always another voice that chimes in from a deeper, more real part of my soul. It drives me to create again because it tells me that while I have access to the same beauty and truth that everyone else does, only I can say it as the unique person that I am. Only I have walked the exact path in life that I have. Only I can speak the truth I’ve learned with the voice I’ve been given. And that will always look at least a little bit different than anyone else, which is something to celebrate, not to run from. Even beyond that, it reminds me that I was created to participate in creating. I was endowed by the perfect Creator with some of his ability to bring new things into reality. What a blessing and a joy to think about! To not partake it in would be a tragic sacrifice of part of my identity.

So I wish I could say that I was writing this piece from the other side of the mountain that is the creative journey. But in truth I am still climbing it, with all of its heights and pitfalls. I wish I could tell you that I didn’t have to deal with that stupid voice in my head even while writing this piece. But in truth, I had to stop listening to him as he told me my thoughts weren’t good enough to even finish it. Instead, I listened to that other voice telling me that these thoughts are worthwhile and could even be helpful to someone else, so I should stop thinking about myself and finish it. I hope you listen to that voice too, and I hope you keep creating.

Cody’s Creativity Through Will’s Eyes 

When I watch Cody in the midst of creation, I witness something truly spectacular and honest that sums up what creativity is in our world. I see a clear picture of how normal and ‘everyday’ the creative process is.

As Cody is creating, I feel like I witness a war with many battles in between.

Some of these battles are won with hardly a scratch, but many are lost in a seemingly hopeless defeat.

And this to me is the very raw nature of creativity. To many, creativity is a mystical ritual resembling of the supernatural elements within our world, based on whim and spirit-led inspiration. In Cody, I see the very humanity of creativity. We were made to be humans and creativity is a very human process. The very thing that makes it supernatural is its normalcy.

When we speak of love, we speak of it as an ethereal presence that abides within the walls of our world, guiding and consuming where it goes. But when we see it in action, it seems to be a very common and uneventful thing. When we look beyond the actually dirty work of love, we do indeed find something very unnatural. And this is the same within creativity.

Creativity is a very common process that yields seemingly supernatural results.

The real spectacular element of creativity is the creator’s courage to get back up. Every day, I get the privilege to watch Cody begin that journey up the river hoping to reach that spout with which it pours from. Though many days the stream flow is too strong, he continues to paddle forward in hopes of reaching that place. And I find so much hope in witnessing this push because:

Creativity isn’t about being there; it’s about the journey there.

Whenever I see Cody, I see the trenches. I see the fight to win the war. As many wise men have elaborated on, the time to do anything is never ideal. It’s when we do it anyway, though we are discouraged, beaten, and struck down, that we find life arising from these ashes.

Kindergarten, elementary, junior high and especially into high school art has saved my sanity. It has been a refuge for me when I feel overwhelmed by learning, thinking or everyday struggles. When I was little, I would sit and get easily bored with trying to pay attention to the pastor. My hands went immediately to origami and I would draw and make like no one’s business. The thing in this was, I heard everything the pastor said, what seemed like a huge distraction was actually a gateway to help me focus. Of course I took this habit to school. In a place that I dreaded, I had hope in doing something I loved! Even now as a (going to be) senior in high school, art daily plays a role in my learning and expressing myself. The expressing myself gave me troubles at sometimes.

Creativity is something I have always felt myself struggle with.

As an artist, there so often is a lack of inspiration in which you feel frustrated and confused.

How is it possible that people come up with new ideas to draw? How do they find new ways to express their thoughts? Fed up with the barren place I call my mind, a thought would creep in to look at other people’s art. When this would happen, I would be shocked because I wanted to have my own style, to be able to draw in my own way. I took a computer science class junior year (seriously like a few months ago) and discovered something pretty cool. For a good bit of the class we talked about copyrights and their role in society and, well I guess you could say art!

In discussing all the legalities of copyrights it was made known to me in a weird way that looking at others people art wasn’t stealing at all but finding things I love, things that inspire me. In a way, I was remixing them.

I was shown that creativity doesn’t mean trying to rip some odd unique never thought of idea out of the deepest part of brain, but instead it can be taking what I love, what I think is cool and inspiring and putting my twist on it! A creative remix, if you will.

Also in thinking I realized the world could be pretty lame if no one ran with ideas others left off. Music genres would be limited, art would be lacking from the world just because someone else’s art couldn’t ignite someone’s creativity. What a blessing it is that we can remix what God has already done, it is His creativity that first sparked creation. Knowing afield collective’s motto:

“Community | Creation | Creatives”

reminds me that community and creativity go hand in hand. Through my art, I have been inspired and encouraged by family and just the art community. Right there is probably my most favorite part of art, is that it is unique to the creator, inspired by something else and shared in (bringing people together).

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”

Colossians 3:23

Ty’s Creativity Through Will’s Eyes

Watching my little brother create is one of the most treasured things in the world to me. The way creativity spills over out of his saturated brain into an unquestioned, self-unaware, and unblemished work blows my mind. The thing I love most about Ty’s creativity is that it is totally his own. He doesn’t check to see if what he’s doing has been done or if what he does looks like anyone else’s work. He simply does it.

Art is his own signature.

Ty does not create to display, but instead creates simply because he can. Whether or not he gets any credit or confirmation, he makes just the same. Within Ty’s art, I see creativity in its most pure form. Creativity is only confined in the mind of the creator, and Ty does not settle in confinement.

To me, art is a glimpse behind the eyes of its maker. In works of art, we find a very tangible picture of what the artist sees with his own eyes and how he interacts with it.

Each piece is unique simply because the person making it is unique.

The deepest crevices of who we are can be found within our art. Art exposes us for who we are. Creativity is one of the most honest processes in the world. Negatively, if we wish to be seen as great in our art, our work will reveal our desperation to find recognition. If we are trying to come across as unique, then our art will reflect our desperation to be our own. Positively, if we are genuinely searching for answers, our art will reflect that seeking. If we wish to convey our sorrows, art will tell of them well.

Art articulates who we really are within us and acts as a sort of mirror that exposes what is within.

In our hearts, we are constantly searching for new paths to follow, trying to make sense out of our daydreams and this wakefulness we call life. Even when we are still, we dream of new horizons to gaze upon, new adventures to get lost in, trying to find the culmination of that thirst within us for something greater. In this search for wonder, I’ve had to move surprisingly little to find exactly what I was looking for.

When I discovered through creativity I could outlet into things unknown and unexplored within myself and the world that play in,

I realized that a great journey was right before me.

Under the vocation and call that creativity has in my life, I learned that in whatever I do, I could walk in newness and originality with only the limits and rules that I make for myself. This, for me, is how everyday becomes an adventure into the vast unknown. Whether in faith, failure, or familiar monotony, I search for new rivers to carry me into that tremendous ocean where I realize that I was not made to conquer, but to forge my own way through its currents and storms.

That being said, I have been fortunate to see inspiration permeate through the walls of my own home in almost every fashion. I wish to take this time to show you all the ones who inspire me every single day. As seen in the vision of afield collective, I wish to show you the different perspectives of creativity in community from the minds of creators to the hearts of the onlookers.

- Will 

I threw this little video together after a short trip down into southern TN. Although it was biting cold the whole time, we still had an incredibly pleasant trip. Afield Collective is about little stories like this one where four quite ordinary people decided that a weekend outside together (even while freezing) is better than sitting around doing nothing. This video is simply a fun and creative way to help remind us of what life can look like in the dead of winter. 

- Daniel 

I was halfway through my 4 month solo Western U.S. road trip when I wandered into the state of Montana and stumbled upon a genuine family that made me rethink everything I once assumed about other people. Montana was once described to me as “God's country”; a place where the valleys are wide, mountains are tall, and the forests deep. How fitting it was then that in a place so perfect and grand, I encountered an unlikely adventure that taught me a lesson of life that I'll never forget. What was only supposed to be a walkabout through the woods of Montana soon became an adventure within myself that I never could have expected, taking me clear across the valleys and mountains of the Big Sky state.

I first met my friend Tom somewhere deep in the wilderness of Montana while wandering along a few muddy trails. From the start, this wasn't like any other human interaction I had ever had before. A typical encounter (like one of the thousands I've had in my life so far) would consist of a swapping of names, a handshake, and a smile to put forth a good face. But this introduction was different in that there was one question before all others that begged for an answer: “What are you doing out here?”. For me it was simple, “I'm just checking it out”. For Tom the answer seemed simple as well, “I'm getting myself an elk”. So our reasons for being there differed, yet a shared passion for the enjoyment of the simplistic outdoors fueled us to become friends. I enjoyed our talks about the wild around us and also enjoyed sharing what it personally meant to each of us. Meeting Tom deep in the wilderness was like throwing fuel on an already internally burning passion for the outdoors, but it was the day after I left this remote wilderness and said goodbye to my new friend Tom that this friendship really began to show me its true purpose.

Tom was the adult son of Mr. and Mrs. Ouellette, a wonderful older couple who lived all their long lives enjoying the peace and calm that comes from a life in the far northern reaches of this country. For 80+ years, Mr. and Mrs. Ouellette both spent their days appreciating this place they called home. When the trials of life brought changes and times of strife, neither lost their passion for what Mrs. Ouellette called “God's country”. I immediately knew this to be true the first time I met them on a cold fall night in Hamilton, Montana. Tom wasn’t in town that night, but I was, and the Ouellette’s still wanted to share some warm hospitality with me. A simple dinner invitation from two strangers into their home was an experience I knew I wouldn't soon forget; but right from the start I felt a wonderfully unique aura of kindness, hospitality, and wisdom that made me think that maybe this night was about more than just a hot meal.

Going into that home that night, I believed to them I was just some stranger their son met deep in the woods; but then my mind began to change after spending a night with them. Very quickly, a dinner invitation turned into an opportunity to do laundry, take a hot shower, and sleep in a warm bed. It was after all this that I realized I couldn't have been more wrong about how they viewed me. Listening to both Mr. and Mrs. Ouellette tell me the charming, honest story of their lives, I quickly realized they both knew a lot more than me. It took a few more months of reflecting on that night as well as me reading Mr. Ouellette’s obituary before I realized exactly why I happened to stumble into Tom in the middle of nowhere. Mr. and Mrs. Ouellette both saw me that night not as a stranger, but rather as an untold story. All night long, they were uncovering my personal story as we talked about nature, life, and everything in between. They taught me that night that people are nothing but untold stories. Everyone has a story to tell and everyone's life is a story of some type. The lesson I learned from this wise couple was to treat people exactly like that, and to me it's quite obvious why I met Tom and his parents when I did. A rare, fleeting opportunity was presented to me in the heart of Montana to listen to the final words of a wise life, and to take away a lesson that will live on through me. Never again will I let an untold story pass me by.

Written in Memory of Ben Ouellette (1928-December 2, 2014) At the end of your life and the beginning of mine, you instilled in me a valuable lesson, a lesson that will forever be a part of who I am. Thank you for this Ben.

-Warren 

A few weeks ago I took a trip out to the Llano River (about an hour and a half trek from the bustling metropolis of Austin, Tx) with a few friends, two of whom love fishing. And when I say they love fishing, I mean these dudes looove fishing, probably more than they like some people in their life. So, though the main purpose of this trip was not to fish, because we were within the 100-mile radius of a river, fishing became a top priority. We arrived to the cabin where we were staying that night, the river flowing only 50 yards away. Even then they couldn’t deny the allure of the rushing water so we went to take a look, but darkness covered the beauty of the river-worn granite landscape that lay before us. Tired, we headed to bed and fell asleep to the soft hiss of the river and an incredible array of stars, the type that you only remember exist on those rare occasions when you are far enough away from a city to really see the sky. They were going to fish in the morning, and though I have zero skill and have yet to truly catch the fever, I decided to join them with my camera, something I also am developing skill and passion for.

We awoke early the next day to crisp morning air and the rising sun. A cup of coffee later, we geared up and made our way down to the river.  

(Jake and Wes. They are twins. They rule. You should try to meet them. Also note the joy and anticipation)

What awaited us was truly an incredible sight. The morning light was now revealing what had been shadowed by night: a glassy and enchanting riverscape comprised of small chutes and large pools all laid within the borders of pinkish granite rock, covered with occasional shrub or patch of tall grass.

We hit the river at golden hour, just as the sun was cresting the tops of the short trees that line the shore. It was magnificent. And lighting was killer, any photographer’s dream. So as they began to fish I began to snap away.

I mean, I knew it was going to be good morning, but the longer I shot the more I realized it was going to be goooood morning. It was one of those times where as a photographer, but more so as a person, you realize you are enveloped in a truly incredible moment, when the lighting is grade A and everything just feels right; the sounds, the smells…everything. Sitting on the bank taking the picture below, I found myself compelled to give the only response that felt appropriate, an “Agghhhhhhh” from my chest. It was almost impulsive, instinctual even. I don’t know if you have ever felt this, maybe I’m weird (probably so), but there are those instances in life that elicit a guttural response from the deep recesses of your soul.  For me, it’s times when I am confronted by the sheer beauty of a moment, and I cannot but observe in awe and respond in the way nature often does, with sound.

There is something that draws us to moments like these, something that we can’t quite put our finger on, something we can’t explain. There is something intangible about the joy that comes from being with your bros, on a river in the light of the sunrise, trying to catch fish or pictures; about getting up early, seeing your breath in the cool morning air and only having one cup of coffee to share; even about watching other people do what they are passionate about.

(Remember when I said they love fishing. Just look at their faces. Pure joy. Also they’re single)

I can’t explain why, it just is. There is no formula to these moments, and, despite how much we want to, there is no way to truly capture them.

I find that temptation often with my photography; I try to control and keep these moments, to take hold of them, but I can’t. Photography enables you to capture a split second of something that won’t happen again. You can even discover things that you didn’t have the ability to perceive at the time - a fleeting facial expression, the path of motion for an object. But this is as far as it can go.

A picture falls short in the sense that it can only recreate the visual portion of a moment, but even in that, it lacks the full extent of what you experience with your eyes. For me photographs are reminders of moments like these, where my heart is singing in my chest and I just want more. They serve to drive me to seek out more ones like it.  

I’m an engineer, and as such my mind works in numbers and axioms; unstructured is not something I’m great with. Give me routine; give me formulas; that’s where I thrive, that’s where I’m comfortable. This, as you can imagine, has posed quite a roadblock for me in my attempt to develop my photography skills, namely because art by its nature is subjective.

(One of the only fish caught)

Of course there are rules and principles that exist as guides, but ultimately you develop your own style, something which, in and of itself, is not typical for many engineers to have (the stereotype is unfortunately true in more ways than one). I want to know the best method, the right steps to take to get the best looking results, desperately wishing someone would just show me the right way. But in many ways the development of your own preferences is a part of the entire experience of creativity, and my desires to get the best results immediately, if they were possible to satisfy, would rob me of the joy that comes from the journey.

Eventually, as the light grew brighter and I took about every angle and shot I could possibly think of, I tried my hand at fishing, with little to no success. But in the end it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that half the time I was fishing I was getting the line untangled from the branch, and the other half not catching fish, or that many of my pictures were out of focus. It didn’t matter. I was with my dudes, surrounded by incredible scenery, and caught up in the beauty of the moment.

My heart was full.

A few weeks ago we had the great opportunity to do some work with a local Nashville make up artist. We made this fun little video and got to ask Chelsea some questions about her passion. 

How/When did you first get into makeup?

Honestly, when I was about two years old. My mom always reminds me of stories when she use to catch me getting into her makeup and getting it all over myself. She says I used to call it “Mac Mac”. I even asked for a vanity makeup set for Christmas.

My love for makeup began to grow when I started competing in pageants throughout high school. That is where I truly established my passion. I later decided to go professional with makeup in 2013 at which time I graduated from the Academy of Makeup Arts in Nashville, Tennessee.

What’s your favorite part of being a makeup artist?

There are so many rewards to being a makeup artist. Not only do I get to play with color and lighting, but I also get to work with some remarkable individuals. For me, the best part is being able to make these people recognize their natural beauty. Each of us has our own unique features and what I do just enhances that. It brings me so much satisfaction to see a client look in the mirror and feel confident and beautiful.

How do you think that you express creativity through your makeup?

I like to look at each of my clients as a blank canvas. Each canvas is different featuring various skin types, shapes, and facial characteristics. Not one person has the same face. I believe it is important to customize each product to each client. I create every foundation color, mixing it with the right skin tones to match the client’s natural complexion. I work with color and lighting while shading and blending. Every step of what I do is intentional.  

Describe how being a makeup artist connects you with the broader art community.

As a makeup artist I am able to meet lots of other talented people in the art community. Every shoot I am working with fashion curators such as photographers, stylist, designers, publishers, and models. Each one of us is working towards creating a bigger image of expression beyond ourselves. We are all striving towards a particular aesthetic and emotion that is to be represented.  

How does being a makeup artist enhance your life?

I love what I do. Every day I am allowed the opportunity to create something new with my very own hands. It is just my God given raw talent.

Every time I adventure off somewhere new, I find myself wandering into little corners of unexplored territory. Often those traveling with me will stand amazed at the grand view before them and traverse into wide open fields, climb the rock faces jutting out in front of them or rush head on into the waves. I, however, tend to gravitate toward the quieter places, the little nooks and crannies of creation that cry out for a companion, and as an introvert, I find that these places have heard more of my soul than many of my traveling friends. This adventure was no exception.

Three weeks of traveling over 3,000 miles with eleven others through the Midwest would prove more exhausting than I could ever had planned for. After a week of no solitude or moments of rest, our group decided to take a detour on our way to Montana and head to Custer State Park in South Dakota.

We wound through fields sprinkled with herds of Buffalo, narrowing in on our destination. After a long day of driving in packed vans, we piled out at Sylvan Lake and began the journey of taking in the view of rocks protruding from the earth like sets of dull knives, luscious green fields, towering forests, and a simple blue sky situated on top of us like a baseball cap. The whole scene seemed to hug us closely on all sides, welcoming us as an old friend would.

My heart seemed to release all of the tension that had built up over the past week as soon as I saw the glassy lake and bright kayaks lined up on the dock. I knew that no matter what everyone else decided to do, I needed to get out on the lake and paddle where the current took me.

The others decided to hike and climb, but I knew that this was one of the only moments I would have alone for the next two weeks, so I grabbed a life jacket and hopped in.

The lake was by no means gigantic, but it was large enough that I was greeted with wonder at every turn I made. The noise of my group and the other surrounding tourists faded out as I paddled away from the dock. Anxiety wept out of my soul, and for the first time in months I felt like I could let go of all I held inside.

Little corners offer solace for my weary, anxious heart. They promise to keep my whispered secrets tucked neatly away until a rain comes and washes them into the soil only to sprout into dainty wildflowers. Little corners judge not, but offer shade and relief on a journey where I often feel like I am hiking in circles. They all seem to know I need a unique place of solitude where I can hide and rest before I journey onward into unknown lands.

Sylvan Lake was full of little corners where the tip of my kayak would kiss the land and push me back out to keep paddling. The breezes that came and went that day hold some of my dearest secrets that spilled out from behind my lips when I felt like I had no energy to offer.

I think the little corners whisper quietly to my soul, so quietly that my ears don’t even hear, that it’s okay to come as I am to them, to lay down all of my burdens, and rest for a while, while also taking in a stellar view before I continue onward.

This story was lived out by our good friend Callie Burnett. You can find out more about Callie and her stories on her website - Also, explore her photos on Instagram 

It’s fair to say that I’ve never given myself to a hobby that involved creating something. Most of my hobbies center around the outdoors, like fly-fishing, duck hunting and skateboarding. I’m pretty sure there will be a clear river winding through the mountains in Heaven somewhere and God will be in waders next to me, slinging dry flies at monster trout. (I hope that’s not blasphemous). That’s exactly how I’d choose to spend every waking hour of my life, and every dreaming hour for that matter. I’m obsessed with that stuff. However, this little thing called “work” and the “real world” exists, and for that reason I have to be responsible and when you’re being responsible, you can’t pack your shotgun, fly rod, and a PB&J and hit the river every day.

In my first year after graduating college, the “real world”, for me, looked like a corporate job in the great state of Rhode Island… how is that a real state anyway? I was 1,694 miles away from anybody I ever knew in my whole life, in a job that I wasn’t super pumped about, throwing myself the biggest pity party that ever was. And one other thing…WINTER EXISTS IN RHODE ISLAND. Like, really exists. I’m talking three straight months of snow higher than Wiz Khalifa and temperatures as low as my self-esteem. I’m wimpy but that’s tough for a Texas boy. Not only was I confined to my little apartment that looked like a 1980’s ski lodge/summer camp, but I also couldn’t get out to the woods where I enjoyed life. I was struggling big time…

Before you start getting annoyed with my whiney voice, I just want to explain why I’m putting you through the agony.  Because without hearing the crap of my life first, you wouldn’t understand how leatherworking kept me sane. The first project I ever finished was a shoddy fly-reel case that I made from scrap leather. I made it using half the tools it typically takes to hand-stitch leather because I was too excited to wait for the rest of the tools to come in the mail.  My hands were bleeding from pushing a dull needle through low quality leather, none of the lines were straight, and the stitching wouldn’t pass my grandma’s eyeball test, but that sucker got done. It wasn’t beautiful, I won’t even pretend like it was, but it was handmade and it was awesome.  

Leather making was a virus and I was infected. And the more I got into it, the less I thought about everything else I was missing out on. I haven’t mastered the craft and I still can’t cut a perfect line, but I’m creating things…finally creating things with my hands and it feels good. I like teaching myself new ways to stain raw leather so that my finished product doesn’t make people want to barf when they look at it. I like the look leather takes on when it’s been in my back pocket for a few months and the dye from my blue jeans has bled into the waxed sinew and the hide develops a dark brown shine. When I give a wallet to a friend or make a journal cover for my sisters, the moment they take it in their hands, and they touch the smooth face of the sanded leather and the waxed edges rubbed together with a bone slicker, I’m happy. I’m happy because they’re happy. I’m happy because I have a new hobby. 

I’m happy because I’ve got a PBR in one hand and some tanned rawhide in the other while I look outside and it’s 12 degrees and snow is falling…again. And I’m happy that doesn’t upset me. I’m just happy.

It was an hour or so past midnight by the time we peeled off the main highway for the forest roads. Our goal was to navigate through these crumbling back roads to find an adequate place to hang some hammocks, pitch a tent, and start a fire.

We had only departed Portland some 6 hours ago in the heat of all of the other worker bees desperate to get to their next adventure. We flew down interstate 5 as fast as we safely could, and after a little stop in Eugene, we split off east to run through the mountains. Six dudes, tons of gear, and a whole lot of anticipation were all packed super tightly into a Jeep. A recipe for success just about every time, if you ask me.

We located the perfect spot to set up camp, and we had barely gotten out of the car before we had a warm fire roaring. To go along with the fire we also had some delicious Oregon brew to help us sleep a little sounder. Some of us stayed around the fire while others went wandering around in the dark trying to shoot the stars. At the end of this marvelous summer night, we all settled into our respective sleeping arrangements somewhere deep in the forests of southern Oregon. I remember laughing to myself about the guys who were in hammocks. “They are going to freaking freeze their cheeks together (& I don’t mean their face cheeks),” I thought. Turns out, summer nights can still get pretty chilly, and the next morning found 4 grown men crammed up sleeping in the car.

Justin doing his best wraith inpersonation

After we had stumbled around in the cold and eaten a couple cliff bars, we started our drive into the park. I was reeling with excitement, and we were all chattering back and forth about what it would actually be like to look at this miraculous lake. School girls could be considered tame contrasted with the way we were acting - it was awesome.

We drove up to the rim and threw the car into park. Six grown men piled out of the car with our cameras in hand and began the steep climb up the slope to the overlook. This experience alone was totally worth all of the build up. I realized then that no matter what was on the other side of this hill - the crazy awesome lake that I had seen in pictures or a terrible excuse for something amazing (the result of expectations that were way too big) - it didn't matter either way. I was already having all the fun I had hoped for, and I had not even laid eyes on the lake, much less gotten in! Of course, Crater Lake blew my expectations away.

Bluer than blue

We spent the day climbing up the crater’s cliff faces and diving off into the bluest water I’ve ever seen. Crater Lake was, quite simply, one of the most magnificent places that I had never seen. I had a very small window of opportunity to actually see it with my own eyes - so naturally, I took the bait. Luckily for me I was able to convince (pretty easily) some of my good friends to join me on the short trip. I hold this experience up with some of my best ever. It was not the lake alone that shaped this story, although it was our inspiration. Rather, this story was shaped and still is shaped by each person who ventured out into the wilderness.

Greetings Friends,

As this is the first blog post, I should warn you of a couple things.

First, I must say, turn back now if you are of the faint of heart. If you have no interest in learning the deep things of life, then it would better for you to stay uninvolved. Close this page if you have no time for mohawks, sick tats, skaters, climbers, dancers, writers, lovers, thinkers, or doers. Please do us all a favor and return swiftly to your hobbit hole if you refuse to celebrate that which makes life beautiful. Indeed, that is our passion and our goal.

Secondly, community, creation, and creativity are going to shape much of what shows up here. These three things can (and almost alway do) make life much better (in our humble opinion), so we want to share the stories of normal people who are learning this fun truth for themselves.

We are not going to take ourselves too seriously. We love life and will try our best to get you on the same page. Life is beautiful, and it is meant to be enjoyed. Our hope is that you will find plenty of stories here to help inspire you to that end.