“We believe in one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.”
I’ve just finished a draft of a new book. It’s thrilling to see a world wake up, to follow characters along uncharted paths, to discover a story where, before, there was nothing. Unfortunately, it will take several months before the book is ready to enter the publication process and after that, it will take months before it’s released into the world. From there, readers will have the chance to read it or not, and if they choose to read it, they will have the freedom to comment or not, to criticize or not, to care or not. By then, I’ll have moved on to another project, wondering all the while if this story meant anything to anyone anywhere, or if it was just for me. There are days when my work feels much like shouting into a canyon and hearing nothing in response but the echo of my own cries.
Over the last few years, as I suppose is natural, I’ve developed friendships with quite a few writers. There are those who are just beginning, making their first efforts at essays and poems and books. Others have spent years writing. They’ve finished multiple large-scale projects, and they’ve accumulated a great deal of expertise in their craft. But I am beginning to recognize in all of them the same vague sadness that I feel in myself. We all struggle to believe that our words matter. In a world filled up with words, with noise, with endless talking, in a world where words often obscure rather than illuminate, we wonder if we are merely adding to the chaos. On some days we wonder if, perhaps, we should find something else to do.
But writing isn’t the only such field. There are many professions, pursuits, and callings that require ongoing investment without any immediate return. Ever try to raise kids? You can spend five years teaching your child how to use the toilet in a timely and hygienic manner. Your efforts to emphasize the importance of cleaning up after yourself, of practicing that penmanship or those multiplication tables, of waiting your turn to speak, may take years, too. Very likely. And I haven’t even mentioned the task of building character. How long will it take to teach your children how to be kind? To practice self-control? To value hard work above quick fixes and short cuts? How long will it take for them to discover who they are? Who God is? And how many millions of tiny efforts will you make toward those ends?
We know from the start that this parenting thing will be a long haul. But we really have no concept of the time, energy, patience, endurance, and relentless faithfulness it takes to raise a child from infancy to early adulthood. We press forward, day in and day out, seeing little or nothing of the reward of our labors.
So here I stand, chewing on one phrase in the Nicene Creed while the rest of the congregation moves on, reciting in unison. I believe in the God of the “seen and unseen.” No question there. But I am wondering why I have always relegated the “unseen” to theological concepts with specific names. God is unseen. The Holy Spirit is unseen. The spiritual forces of heaven and hell are unseen. Yes. Of course. But I think I have underestimated the scope of the unseen. We are plunging, even now, through a sea of unseen realities, of plans set in motion, of consequences yet to be reaped and payments yet to be made. Behind the scenes, all around us, are seeds germinating in darkness, promises riding on the winds, investments growing by pennies and nickels. And all completely invisible. A whole universe alive with almosts and not-yets and on-its-ways. An unspeakably magnificent, unspeakably complex work in progress.
When did I become a materialist? When did I start demanding to see the numbers, to hold the evidence in my hands? Perhaps when I decided that the enthusiastic support of a million avid readers was more valuable than a shot of courage or a ray of hope for a single reader. Perhaps when I decided that my children’s stories were nearly complete, that my time of influence was running out. But who am I to say what fruit will grow from the miniscule seeds of my faithfulness today? I have cheapened the unseen, downgraded it to a consolation prize. While professing faith in the God of the unseen.
I am asked, day after day, to believe in One God, the Father, the Almighty, who is master of all that I cannot see. I am asked to make peace with my small scope of vision and hold His hand, to move forward, to teach my children, to love them, to be patient in their formation. I am asked to fling words into the empty air, or to cram them in around the edges of a world filled up with words.
This is my calling. No matter the seeming lack of results. So I plan another homeschool unit, write another post, and reaffirm the creed. It is good to speak the words with other voices ringing around me. “We believe in One God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.” All that is. Seen and unseen.
Photo courtesy of Donna Murray
She never saw any of this coming.
She also had no idea of becoming either a mother or a writer, yet here she is, living in Nashville with a husband and two kids and three published books to her name. She ponders the humor of God and the strange adventure of living while she drinks kombucha on the porch, or plans new homeschool units, or reads everything from Emily Bronte to Dave Barry to Betty MacDonald.
You can find her books and an occasional poem or some such at www.helenasorensen.com.
- The School of Wonder - September 18, 2023
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- The Junkyard Wonders - October 6, 2021
“…who am I to say what fruit will grow from the miniscule seeds of my faithfulness today? I have cheapened the unseen, downgraded it to a consolation prize. While professing faith in the God of the unseen.”
This reminds me of a conversation I had with a musician friend. He had made a record that stepped outside of the bluegrass genre lines. He said the record didn’t sell well – his audience didn’t buy many – but he ended up getting quite a few great opportunities through it. We never know exactly what God is up to with our work, and it may not at all play out as we’ve planned. We so easily fall for the world’s view of what validation means (usually that translates into “Validation = Lots of $ales”).
I remember reading an interview, I think it was Joni Mitchell, maybe, where she said an artist’s work can’t really be fully judged until the canon is closed – that is, when the artist is finished, whether through retirement or death, etcetera.
But it goes further than that. Our work can’t be fully judged until the end of all things – when we see the results in eternity. Temporally, think Van Gogh. His work wasn’t valued in his time. It is now.
Years ago I wrote a song called Jesus, Help Me To Stand, which we did on one of our records. A few years after recording it, a woman told me her daughter had listened to that song over and over for weeks – and then had died in a car wreck. It had given the mother great comfort and consolation.
Now, in terms of the actual value of anything, that’s a lot more bang for the buck than merely selling a lot of “product.” I’m not knocking sales, of course – we all want to make a living, fully or partially, doing what we love. And we all love the sense of validation when a lot of people like what we do (the success of Facebook rests largely in that sense of validation). But to think only in sales figures misses out on the vast universe of God using our artistic endeavors to further his eternal purposes.
Of course, all this can be used for excusing shoddy work, being lazy, wanting relativistic “self-expression” more than making good quality art. But that’s not what we’re talking about.
Tears before 8AM are a good thing in this case. Thanks, friend.
Yes!
I love this entire article.
This is John, Patty’s husband, but I know that my wife’s thoughts echo my own. As a missionary and a fledgling writer, I am trusting in the ripple effects of these ‘unseen’ activities, habits, choices, and an Unseen God that condescends enough from time to time to open the curtains of heaven and show me what He is doing. What you have said is so very true. That longing for affirmation is real. It is so hard to open the hands that clutch our creations and subject them to the harsh world, all the while praying that they are appreciated instead of ignored or even worse, disdained. Maybe the fear not only stems from the fallen world, but the fact that we are made in the image of God, and like Him, we put part of ourselves into what we create. For this reason, we fear not only our inadequacy as creators but the rejection of ourselves. But enough philosophy, I want to add a few words of encouragement.
I know this article was never intended as a plug for any books written or published through this site, let alone your own, but I would like to convey the blessing these books have been to us. First, Green Ember has been a joy for my children.Thank you, S.D. Smith. Second, Helena, your books have been timely, metaphorical, and insightful, in a way that I have rarely experienced through ‘modern’ fiction. The allegorical and pictorial way that you captured the dark world that we live in and the struggle of those that have very little to place their hope upon, was moving and challenging. Thank you for writing.
As a father, as a missionary, as a new writer, and as a person, I have been made ‘better’. My life has been made richer by tasting your words and experiencing your books.
(Helena- we even wrote a little song based off the picture idea of your book. I warn you, I am not a great singer, but if you would like to suffer through it, I will send you the youtube link).
John, it would be an honor and a pleasure to hear the song. I agree about fearing a rejection of ourselves and not just our work. The work is profoundly personal, and its such a challenge to separate ourselves from it. Thank you for your words of encouragement. They mean a great deal!
Whoops, John. I didn’t think about the fact that you might not be able to post the link here. I’m on Facebook, though. Under this name, too. 🙂
Helena, I posted the link to the video on your Facebook page, under this specific article. Thanks you for being willing to listen to it.