A Reflection on Creating and Community
My four-year-old daughter, Presley, recently learned how to dress herself.
I am, of course, proud of my daughter’s latest exercise in independence and creativity, even though she frequently appears in the living room donning a backward outfit, shoes on the wrong feet, or—my personal favorite—one arm fully in her sweatshirt and one arm fully out. She smiles and twirls with an adorable “ta-da!,” and I can’t help but laugh at what resembles toga party attire.
I don’t mind her rocking an asymmetrical top when we’re lounging around the house, but heading out in public is different. This is where I intercede, gently offering to guide her other arm through the sleeve. This is also the precise moment where the meltdown occurs. Because nothing sends my darling daughter spiraling into a tizzy quite like her mom trying to—pause for dramatic effect—help her.
I’m often tempted to roll my eyes when my daughter stubbornly insists on doing every little thing on her own. But I have to stop myself, because that self-sufficiency apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
When it comes to both motherhood and creativity, I have frequently defaulted to an “I can do it myself” mentality as well. I spent my early years of motherhood carting around an entire baby registry in my diaper bag (too proud to need anything from anyone), just like I spent my early years of writing and photography asking Google 300 questions (too proud to ask a real person). Too often, I stubbornly resisted the generous gift God had put right in front of my face: a community of people to help me.
Now, a full decade into motherhood, I can confidently confirm: that old saying, “It takes a village to raise a child,” is, undeniably, true.
And what I’m also learning, time and time again, is that it takes a village to make art as well.
***
At the beginning of 2020, I approached three friends about starting a mastermind group. At the time, all four of us were working on book proposals, and I thought we could share resources with each other. Looking back, my original vision for this mastermind group was mostly utilitarian. I assumed that’s what I needed most to write a book: practical, tangible support. I needed feedback on my writing. Group brainstorming. Extra eyeballs to proofread my work.
Little did I know, the tangible support would pale in comparison to what God would ultimately provide through this small community.
The four of us began talking daily on Voxer—about writing, yes, but also about faith and marriage and motherhood. We regularly swapped recipes and sermons, book recommendations and mom hacks. We laughed. We cried. We prayed. We carried each other’s burdens.[1] Every time one of us fell down, we picked each other up.[2] We relied on one another through thick and thin, sticking together like sisters.[3]
Like so many others, our group has been through the collective gamut over the past few years: surviving a global pandemic, yes, but also cancer, a miscarriage, and devastating marital strife. Through it all, though, we have continued to write—together.
In the midst of brokenness all around us, we have continued creating beautiful things that glorify God, writing stories that whisper of hope beyond this world. This has not been an easy task. We’ve lamented to each other probably a hundred times: not writing is so much easier than writing! Every one of us has considered quitting altogether. Some of us have even tried.
But that’s where the strength of community comes into play.
***
In Exodus 17, when the Israelites went to war with Amalek, Moses and Joshua split up, divide-and-conquer style. Joshua led the army into war, while Moses went to the top of the hill with the staff of God in his hand and two friends by his side.
As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites started to win.
After a while, Moses (understandably!) got tired of holding his hands in the air. Enter Aaron and Hur. Moses’s friends took a stone and put it under him, so he could sit down. And then, according to Scripture: “Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side. So his hands were steady until the going down of the sun” (Exodus 17:12).
What a profound picture of friendship.
God could have easily equipped Moses to keep his hands raised. He could have given Moses the strength to keep his staff held in the air—just like he did when Moses parted the Red Sea—but instead, God allowed this to be a moment of weakness, met with a moment of provision. God didn’t leave Moses at the top of the mountain alone, powerless and struggling. Rather, he provided Moses with a friend on each side—both of whom were willing and able to play an essential supporting role in the victory God had already ordained.
By God’s grace and gift, Moses was presented with a very real opportunity to accept and receive help, to literally and figuratively lean on his friends.
***
As a new mom and amateur writer, God could have easily given me instant expertise or a Mary Poppins-esque diaper bag that never ran out of supplies. He could have equipped me with endless strength and courage, talent and confidence that never wavered.
Instead, each moment of weakness I’ve faced—both in my mothering and my creativity—has been met with a moment of provision. And, more often than not, that provision has looked like a friend showing up on either side of me.
Part of the reason I am still writing, and still creating, is because every time I’ve become weary, every time I’ve been tempted to give up, to quit, to throw in the towel once and for all, a friend has come alongside me to hold my arms up, to pray over me, to remind me that God has given me these creative gifts on purpose, for a purpose.
I don’t say this lightly: every good thing I’ve ever made has the fingerprints of other women on it. And I’m starting to believe that is by God’s design.
We can choose to mother and create in isolation, but why would we want to? When we insist on doing everything by ourselves, we end up like my daughter having a meltdown with one arm hanging out of her sweatshirt: frazzled, weary, and defeated.
Community is one of God’s kindest gifts to us. Let’s thank him for this provision. And let’s never hesitate to be the kind of person who climbs a mountain with a friend and offers to hold her arms up, too.
[1] Galatians 6:2
[2] Ecclesiastes 4:10
[3] Proverbs 18:24
