I’ve never considered myself a creative type because I’ve never been “good at art.” I could trace the roots of that belief all the way back to childhood. It’s taken me into my 30s to learn that there’s so much more to creativity than the ability to paint or draw.
There’s something about the act of making that stirs up excitement in me—writing, organizing words on a page, taking and editing photos, building a webpage, even the occasional craft project. (Earlier this month I shared about my slow return to knitting.)
Maybe that’s because we’re all wired for creativity in one way or another. We bear the image of our Creator God.
This website used to have a different name, a different purpose, and (much) different content.
You ready for this?
I used to blog here, six or seven years ago, under the name ModPodge Mommy, and I wrote about crafting and cooking (yes, me, cooking—it’s okay, you can laugh). Pinterest, which I steer clear of these days, was fairly new. I was the stay-at-home mom of a toddler, and I was lonely and bored. So I decided to scroll through Pinterest for DIY projects and occasionally recipes, give them a try, and write about the process and the results.
There were some crafts I really did enjoy, and I gave away quite a few handmade items as gifts (some of which turned out amazing, and some I should apologize for). I also wound up with a stiff neck and recurring migraines from hours spent bent over my kitchen table with a hot glue gun. After wrapping up what I had dubbed “Crafty Christmas”—I roped Dan into helping me make all of our gifts by hand that year—I put away the glue and the fabric scraps and the yarn indefinitely.
Perhaps being that kind of blogger wasn’t the best fit. But learning to use my camera in manual mode, taking photos, and telling stories—even if they were stories about painting glass jars while watching Felicity on Netflix during my toddler’s naptime—that stuff was fun.
Something in me came alive as I wrote, regardless of what I was writing about. Working on that little site sparked something that would eventually lead me back around years later, this time with a different purpose in mind.
Every so often, I still get the urge to mess with yarn or hot glue something. When the feeling strikes, I embrace it. This time, I sat in front of the TV after the kids were in bed, wrapping yarn the color of mustard around and around and around a straw wreath. I added some fall berries and tied it off with a bow of twine. I threw open the front door to hang it, then stood back and admired this simple thing I’d done with my hands.
This is a month-long series on taking note of the beautiful in the mundane. Catch up on the rest here!