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Creative Differences

You remember the dumbest things from childhood. Mine was a PE coach. Not that she was dumb, but that she did something completely innocuous that emotionally destroyed me one day.

I was maybe in third or fourth grade, standing in a line to come in from the playground. I suppose the PE teacher had said be quiet, but I was turned talking to another child. It was then she came over and gave me what was at the most a little pat of correction on the bottom.

Though I felt no pain, the fact she’d shown disapproval utterly crushed me. I remember going home and blubbering to my mom as if I’d been beaten with a tire iron. I think she even called the principal. I just hope the poor teacher didn’t get in trouble for it.

Now, it would be easy to blame my extreme overreaction on my relationship with my dad, who was emotionally distant and a harsh disciplinarian. But the truth was it had nothing to do with that. It was completely to do with me…

I’m sensitive. There, I said it.

If my wife is reading this right now, she’s rolling her eyes because she knows it better than anyone. Lord, please give her patience. She’s often joked that my “periods” are worse than hers, and she’s probably right as far as how I react. 

Mine aren’t “periods”, they’re exclamation points!

Any criticism I get as a pastor (and that’s a regular part of the gig) will honestly devastate me for a while. Every time someone leaves the church, sleep is lost. The off-hand remarks most people brush off after a moment’s time I twist and turn over for days.

It’s a curse. And a blessing.

This is what is known as having an “artistic temperament”. That’s how creative people get labeled when they overreact. Just talk to any boss and you’ll find the staff members they have the most conflict with tend to also be the most creative ones.

“All I told the music director was that the new song he did Sunday wasn’t my favorite. Now he won’t make eye contact with me!”

Well pastor, you didn’t mean to, but you probably crushed his soul. He loves that new song and thought it would set your sermon up perfectly. Heck, he may have even written it and didn’t tell you. Now he feels like a failure, but don’t feel bad. That’s just him.

If that sounds unreasonable, it’s because it is. No, it’s not your fault. It’s just the flip side of his gift. 

When you are a “creative”, the upside of your sensitivity is part of what makes you great at artistic expression. When you sing a song you love, your sensitivity means the passion will spill over the top and into the congregation. They’ll be moved and God will infuse the song with His Spirit to heal many.

Your art works so well specifically because you’re so sensitive. Because you feels things more deeply and intensely than others, and that intensity is what gives your art power.

But…that same sensitivity can make you overreact in the extreme sometimes. Even when others communicated correction in the kindest possible way, it can crush you. It makes no sense to those around you. They tried to be gentle. And yet, you’re still destroyed and feel rejected.

It’s funny how God uses that sensitivity, even when wounded, to create something beautiful. I remember one Christmas something happened during the day that crushed me emotionally, but I had to go play for a group of carolers the same night. I sat down at the piano to play some very non-challenging carols, very basic arrangements. But because my emotions were raw, I played with a level of passion the event didn’t really even call for. I brooded over the keys, pouring my soul into something I wouldn’t have been thinking much about normally.

I remember the carolers all applauding, but with rather dazed looks on their faces!

I hate to admit it but I was pretty awesome that night. And ironically, that’s because I was hurting. I’ve also noticed I preach some of my best sermons after people have ticked me off before the service. Give me a little opposition, get me a little riled up and whoa Nelly! It’s gonna be a fun Sunday!

But there’s a big downside to the artistic temperament. This is why so many actors and musicians struggle with depression, substance abuse, and often suicide. When you’re wired so extremely, you do great art. But without spiritual healing and discipline that comes from God, you can become self-destructive and burn out early.

King David is the perfect Biblical example of this kind of personality. He was a warrior on one hand, but wrote tremendous poetry and songs in his solitude. There was a common denominator in both his fighting and his songwriting.

What was that common denominator? Passion

If you look, you can see his mood swings all through the Psalms. He’ll go from a joyous explosion of worship in one to wallowing in self doubt in another. And look out for what theologians call the “imprecatory Psalms”. Those are the ones where he’s so mad at his enemies, he’s asking God to do crazy stuff like smash their kid’s heads on the rocks! 

When he nearly destroyed his kingdom through sexual sin with Bathsheba, he evidences the need of creatives for discipline in their lives. It was only after he got lazy and neglected some of his kingly responsibilities that he was tempted into an affair. Then add to that his murderous attempt at coving it up. His lack of control caused one man to lose his life.

David illustrates the positives and negatives of the artistic temperament. But even with all his extremes and horrible sins, the Bible calls him “a man after God’s heart”. 

How can so much potential for both good and bad be in one person?  Well, it has to do with whether that person has learned to let the Spirit of God lead and discipline them.

If the person I’ve been describing sounds like you, you’re in great need of something you probably avoid at any costs: spiritual discipline. 

Most creatives I know are naturally wired as free spirits. We dislike rules or anything that puts boundaries around us. What we don’t often realize is boundaries are in fact our friends. It’s when the governors are completely taken off and boundaries are crossed that we get into trouble and careen out of control.

Interestingly, we also create better art with boundaries. If you ask me to write a song, I’ll ask you what about. If you say, “Oh, anything”, that’s the worst answer you could give. Because without a clear goal and specific borders, I’ll flail about and probably not end up writing anything. But if you say, “Write a love song about autumn”, you’ll have something in less than a day! That’s because I know specifically where to head – you have given me a defined boundary that keeps me from wasting time.

Specific parameters help focus the artist on his goal. And defined boundaries in the creative’s personal and spiritual life work in the same way. They keep us on-task and from giving in to excess and self-indulgence.

The way to deal with your own artistic temperament is to first acknowledge you have one. Understand that your reaction will often tend toward the extreme. Know that how you want to react is probably about 25% more than what the situation actually calls for.

Also, find someone you trust and become accountable to them for your spiritual health. If they are a friend, they probably already know some of your tendencies but just don’t have a name for them yet. Give them permission to talk with you honestly when they see you operating in the extreme. 

Most of all, STAY IN THE WORD OF GOD. Seriously, this is not just “preacher talk”. God will speak to you through His Word and talk you off the ledge if you’ll listen. But if you let depression or excess cause you to ignore God, you make it harder for Him to speak to you. So a daily discipline of prayer and Bible Study will save your spiritual life.

It might just save your physical life as well. Artistic people are prone to depression and substance abuse. Note, I’m not saying all creatives have drug problems – I’m only saying many struggle with substances that strongly affect the emotions. When you feel pain deeply, you may try to self-medicate that pain. Understand that Satan will use this very thing to try and destroy you, especially if you work in a ministry. 

For Satan, the fact you are so creative makes the stakes high. Your creativity reflects the nature of your Creator, so your Enemy will hate that about you. He’ll try and use your sensitivity, the very thing through which God has gifted you, to destroy you.

Just remember when you’re hurting, that’s just the down side of your gift. Pain is the price you pay for having God work through you in such a dynamic way. God can use you dynamically because of it, but not if you forfeit your calling because you lack discipline.

So understand yourself, and do what David did. When everyone had turned against him, the Bible says David “encouraged himself in the Lord” (1 Sam 30:6). Seems he had learned from experience how to ignore what he was feeling and trust what God was saying instead.

Your feelings are a true gift, but your faith is the greatest gift. When you have to choose between the two, go with faith every time. It may just save your gift, and your life.

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.