Life is a funny thing. When it begins, it feels like a dream. The days are rather nondescript. Oh, there are the big, memorable moments every so often, but the majority of my life story is pretty bland in the early years.
I ate, slept, played, and laughed, but it didn’t feel very much alive.
Then a funny thing happens. The teen years are quite the roller coaster! Drama, drama, and more drama. You’d think this is what it meant to be alive, but no.
I chose the perfect outfit, worked hard for “good hair,” and played competitive sports. That wasn’t being alive—that’s what it meant to be all about me.
Graduation. Work life. Crazy-busy adult life begins. That should be “really living,” right?
I made all my own choices—my job, my home, my husband, my child, and a dog. Did I ever learn what it meant to be alive?
No, when I learned what being really alive was, I was shocked.
One day I picked up colored pencils (when I had no skill or inclination). I ventured into the world of art when I’d always told myself and everyone else, “I don’t draw.” I borrowed someone’s paper, pencils, and brave. That’s when it started.
When I asked God if he would sit with me while I was drawing—then I knew what it meant to be ALIVE!