I wrote several paragraphs of eloquent introduction to this topic. The page froze and the post disappeared into the void. I’m not good at rehashing. In short, I’m thirty-something which means I’ve had to do some emotional healing and assessment regarding where my life is headed. At some point, I realized I’d believed (and needed to overcome) a lot of lies, some of which pertained to writing. I committed to growing as a writer and pursuing it more seriously. But then several years later, the human question popped up again: Do I have what it takes?

Recently, several things I’ve been learning sort of combined to answer that question in an unexpected way.

In the prevalent culture around me (modern white Christendom), there is an unspoken idea that something is worthwhile when it achieves some kind of measurable greatness. Conversely, things that don’t achieve measurable greatness are looked on, even subconsciously, as a waste of time. (This is often true in the church too, but that’s another topic for another day.)

Every hobby becomes a side hustle.
Every creative effort is monetized.
Even activities that feel like they should be exempt, such as connecting with nature or raising children, become fodder to build a platform.

I can’t make it stop.
But I can fight that narrative from taking hold of my heart and mind.

Behind this question, “Do I have what it takes?” is the sneaky mindset that my creative work is only worthwhile if it is popular. I would never have said I wrote for other people’s approval, but that’s how I determined the value of my work.

Instead, we must learn to value creative works for their beauty and the sheer value in the act of creating.

It’s easy for me treat drawing and painting this way. I post mediocre, average and even subpar art on social media all the time. I enjoy painting and drawing. It adds a deeper layer to my perception of beautiful places and people. Just like snapping a photo and putting it on my feed, I don’t care much if you think it’s good.

But writing feels different. Writing is deeper. It’s the creative endeavor I’m most passionate about.

If I had to trade all the drawing, painting, floristry and fiber arts to write, I wouldn’t think twice. Good or bad, it’s ingrained in me somehow. (This is why thirty years old was far too late to hone my craft.) I think God wired me to write. And if I’m doing it for his glory and not my own, then “measurable greatness” looks much different.

It doesn’t mean I should fall into a rut of so-so writing.
It doesn’t mean it’s wrong to want my writing to be read by lots of people.
It does mean that every story can be an offering.
It means I can be satisfied with my best creative efforts as a follower of the Creator-God.

In high school, we had a friend with Down’s Syndrome. He loved Jesus A LOT. When the worship music started, he was jammin. Bro sang at the top of his lungs, rarely the right note. And yet, I think his creative act was the most beautiful offering proceeding from the room. I think he meant every word with 150% of his heart and soul. From the stage, I know I was often more worried about singing and playing with excellence than with my whole heart. (IF I wasn’t worrying about how I looked to the drummer nearby.)

The way you bake sourdough, raise your family, play, heal, grow, make…don’t have to be well-liked or the top of your field. They can simply be.

You can hone your craft. It can be great. But it can also just be. It is worthwhile.

Do I have what it takes? I do. Because I’ll keep writing and growing and writing some more.

I believe creativity (and connectivity to Nature and Creation) is vital to our physical, spiritual, mental and emotional health.
Your creative effort does not have to be a commodity.
We have to stop cheapening our worship (whatever that may look like for you) by trying to attain others’ expectations of measurable greatness.