The Artisan Soul (16 page)

This narrative is a stark reminder that often the life we live is not at all a reflection of the life we long for. We may not get to choose the canvas, but we can choose the painting. We live in a multidimensional reality, and for the most part we all work with the same material. Objects have height, length, and width, the dimensions to create depth. In some way or another, our art is bounded by these realities. But what happens inside these three dimensions is apparently endless in its expression.

When it comes to life, there are similar dimensions we use to create depth. The height, length, and width of the art of life are our relationships, accomplishments, and well-being. If you want to assess how your artistic expression is progressing, simply evaluate these three aspects of your life. In the greatest expressions of a life lived as a work of art, we find beauty and artistry in our relationships. The artisan soul knows that everything begins here. We cannot live our lives as works of art and not hold people as our highest value. We humans are designed for relationship and find our greatest fulfillment in intimacy.

No single attribute creates more beauty in the world than a life lived out of love. Imagine how the world would be different if each of us left every person we ever met better than we found them. Imagine a world where love was the rule, where love was the boundary, where it was unthinkable to violate this principle:
love your neighbor as yourself
. It is not incidental that when Jesus was asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” his response was, “Love.” “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). Whatever else we may accomplish in our lives, if we neglect this arena, if we diminish the importance of human relationships, if we live our lives for any lesser principle than the principle of love, our lives will not be our greatest works of art. Love creates a beautiful life. As an artist, you must never forget that your principal canvas in life is relationships.

The second dimension of our canvas is accomplishments. Just as we are all created to belong, we're all equally driven to become. The human spirit is designed for progress. In that sense, we are created to create. In an ideal world, this creative energy is to be used to create the good and the beautiful and the true. If in relationships we are to leave each person better than we found them, in our accomplishments we should leave the world better than we found it.

The romantic imagines what his life would look like if love always prevailed, but our romantic fantasies do not end there. It's inherent to the human spirit to imagine what our lives would look like if we fulfilled our greatest potential. Whatever language we use to describe it, we all have a sense of destiny, or at the very least we long to find meaning in our lives. Our lives will become our greatest works of art not only when our relationships are a beautiful expression of love, acceptance, and intimacy, but when we have a deep sense of purpose that produces accomplishments that express, for us, success and significance.

But just as height and length need width to create depth, so the human experience needs a third dimension as it becomes a work of art. Beyond relationships and accomplishments is the arena of well-being. If relationships express how we treat others and accomplishments express our stewardship over our talent, then well-being reflects how we have cared for the health of our soul.

I think it would be fair to say that all of us, as we become more self-aware, become more aware of our own neurosis. The healthier we become, the more clearly we see our imperfections, inadequacies, and faults. Well-being is not a journey toward perfection, but a journey toward wholeness. Well-being is not a destination; it is the realization that the journey itself brings fulfillment and even creates happiness.

It has been popular to diminish the importance of happiness and focus on the more substantial value of joy. Happiness has been seen as a superficial emotion—entirely dependent on our circumstances—while joy is understood as a more substantive state, being akin to inner peace or contentment. I would never diminish the significance of joy, but I think it is equally vital to reflect on the critical importance of happiness. Somewhere in the Dark Ages, we became convinced that spirituality and happiness were mutually exclusive and that happiness was the playground of children and joy the best adults can hope for. After five decades of living and interacting with thousands upon thousands of individuals across the world, I can tell you that there is an undeniable relationship between happiness and resilience. People who enjoy life make life more enjoyable for others. It's strange, but one can be profoundly loved and still lack the wholeness to experience that love. One can be unimaginably accomplished and not be able to enjoy the benefit of that success due to a lack of personal well-being. Yet well-being is often neglected by the artisan. Far too often they imagine beauty and leave it to the ideal, while passively accepting that tragedy is the only human experience they will ever know.

All three of these dimensions demand engagement if our lives are to have the depth demanded by the masterpiece we long to create.

I am reminded of the simple words in the Scriptures, “Do this and you will live” (Luke 10:28). Jesus's echo of that promise is, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). Clearly God does not feel limited by the human canvas. He is more than certain that he can work with the material of our broken humanity to create a life that is nothing less than divinely inspired.

The question is not, “Who are you?” That's simply the result of taking time to identify the material. The question is, “Who will you decide to become?” That's the measure of the artisan soul. The canvas is only the context for the creative act.

I
mentioned Emerson in an earlier chapter. During the writing of this book, Emerson and his wife Christina have been guests in our home. They are the Latin version of Prince Charming and Snow White—beautiful in every way. Emerson and I not only work together but have become good friends. I admire him both as an artist and as a person. To experience Emerson is to experience a beautiful combination of strength and gentleness. He is that rare combination of ridiculous talent merged with unexpected humility. You can only imagine the surprise I felt when he shared with me that he was an ex-convict. It seemed like he was telling someone else's story. Or if it was him, it had to be in another life.

He explained how he met a girl when he was sixteen and fell in love. He was a person of deep faith who felt as if his life was coming together like a work of art. After they were engaged, the love of his life began showing signs of sickness. Though Emerson knew something was wrong, his fiancée's family kept hidden that she had been diagnosed with cancer. Though Emerson was fully committed to her, she called off the wedding a week before the ceremony. He was devastated. This led to the end of his faith and the beginning of a life that would end his freedom.

Through distant relatives, Emerson got involved in a San Diego drug cartel. For the next two and a half years, Emerson ran drugs and money for the cartel, until at the age of twenty-four, he was caught with 7.6 kilos of cocaine, worth $230,000. Under normal circumstances, this crime would garner a sentence of seventeen years in a federal penitentiary. Because he tried to make amends, Emerson's sentence was reduced to five years. A month before he went to prison, he met Christina, who would later become his wife. Emerson and Christina were married on November 3, 2007. Today they live in Los Angeles, where Christina works for a film company and Emerson is on the leadership team at Mosaic in Hollywood.

Michelangelo once said, “In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.” Emerson was a work of art trapped inside a block of marble. That's the beauty of the masterpiece of our lives. God chips away at the rough walls that imprison us until the beautiful emerges.

Remember, the only world we can create is the one that reflects our soul. All art is an extension of ourselves. That may be in its simplest definition what art is and has always been. Art is an expression of the human need to create. As artisans, our story tells the story of all of us. When art is both universal and intimate, it becomes transcendent. We find ourselves in the masterpiece. It tells our story and reveals our hidden selves. The masterpiece both exposes us and inspires us. It is both authentic and idealistic. It touches both our pain and our hope. Artists do not paint simply for themselves. Art is stewardship of the human story and the great quest to come. It only finds its meaning when it resonates with, reveals, and re-creates the soul.

It is the same with our lives. When a life is a work of art, it is always more than simply an expression of ourselves. Life becomes a work of art when we live it not for ourselves but for others. We live and tell our story, and through it we carry the hope of the world. The masterpiece is a life lived with courage and faith, with integrity and intention, with love and passion. We know we've seen a work of art when a life inspires us to be more—to live more fully and authentically.

It is here that I find Jesus to be my greatest inspiration. He points me not only to the divine but, even more profoundly, to what it means to be fully human. His life was a masterpiece—a subtle, elegant, and brilliant work of art. His was a life painted with light and vivid color. And that light and color were profoundly contrasted with the harsh, dark background of hate, betrayal, and suffering. Yet in the midst of it all, he never failed to emanate grace and truth. To engage the life of Christ is to watch an artist at work. Through his sacrifice, he turned the cross, that barbaric instrument of death, into a symbol of beauty and hope.

Great art not only tells the truth but elevates the human spirit by pointing to beauty and hope. In this sense, great art paints a picture of human ideals. It carries within it the story of the best of us interwoven into the story of any and every art form. It is not only the story we know to be true, but the story we hope is true. Great art inspires us to become our most noble selves. It inspires us to greater courage, to greater sacrifice. Great art reminds us that in the midst of tragedy there is always beauty. The masterpiece refuses to leave us in the mundane and demands that the human spirit soar to a divine level. If art exists to remind us that we have a soul, the masterpiece is a glimpse into its divine nature. There is a difference between timely art that brings us pleasure for a moment and timeless art that points us to eternity, reminding us of the uniqueness of being human and the power that comes in our shared experiences.

Have you ever trusted someone untrustworthy with a particular responsibility and later said to yourself, “You knew what he was. What did you expect from him?” Intuitively we all know that the work we receive from a person is an extension of who that person is.

This reminds me of Jesus's first miracle. If his closing act was the Resurrection, I find it incredibly odd that his opening act was to turn water into wine. I mean, it's kind of underwhelming. When you heal a leper, the importance is self-explanatory. The drama of saying to a paralytic, “Pick up your mat and walk” (John 5:8), is awe inspiring. I don't imagine Jesus actually had a limit on how many miracles he could perform while he was here on earth, but we can be certain that he had limited time. It seems strange to waste a miracle on turning water to wine.

This is how Jesus chose to introduce himself to the world. It all begins at a wedding. A celebration is taking place. I imagine there was dancing and drinking and laughter. It is nice to know that Jesus spent time enjoying experiences like this. The curious part is being clearly unprepared for either the number of people who joined them in the celebration or the volume of alcohol they were going to consume.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, comes and informs him that they are out of wine. I know it's Jesus's mother, but this request seems out of line. Even Jesus seems irritated by her request. His mother, like every mother in the world, ignores his resistance and acts as if he has every intention of fulfilling her request. But it really isn't Jesus's problem, and in any case, solving the problem doesn't fix anything in the world—not even for a moment. At the very best, all it does is add a bit more joy and celebration for a few people in an obscure part of the planet. Surely God has more important concerns than our enjoyment of life. But it's not outside God's intention or his desire to meet us in the common places of everyday life. And it's possible that the same God who makes the blind see finds equal pleasure in increasing our happiness. But it's what happens in the midst of the miracle that is critical for this particular part of this artistic process.

Jesus takes the six stone water jars used by the Jews for their ceremonial washing, each of which holds from twenty to thirty gallons, and has the servants fill the jars with water. After that, he tells them to draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet. The master of the banquet tastes the water that was turned into wine. He has no idea where it came from, though the servants, we are told, know exactly what happened. The master of ceremonies calls the bridegroom aside and says, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now” (John 2:10).

There is so much nuance in this moment. Clearly, an expected part of the culture was to serve your best up front while people were still sober, then bring out the cheap stuff later, when people were too drunk to notice the difference. This approach was quite the opposite of how Jesus engaged the moment. He produced for them, out of nothing but water, the best wine they had ever tasted. This detail is too nuanced to be incidental. But like we talked about earlier, a person's work product reflects his or her essence. All that can really be said is, what did you expect? What kind of wine would the Creator of the universe make after all? Can you imagine in any universe that the Creator of the entire cosmos would put his signature on anything less than the most extraordinary expression of his work? You do not speak light into existence and then create a $3 bottle of sangria.