Hemingway Meets Jelly Roll

 

“I hate the man I used to be, But he'll always be a part of me, right now looking at my past…I know it’s unpretty.”--- Jelly Roll

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?” ---Hemingway

 One classic struggle, two men, two souls. Hemingway seems a man broken by tension. A man’s man by reputation. The four wives, the whiskey and emotional polarity, all hint at a soul not sated. In contrast his experiences were bigger than life. His writing rich and vibrant, he poured himself into everything he did.

Jelly Roll is the biggest artist on the country music scene. Not the man’s man Hemingway was. Incarcerated for much of his young life, his daughter Bailee was born while he was in jail. That crushed him. He turned to the gospel he’d heard as a child. His music is his story. He plays it close to the bone. It resonates.  

Both struggling with darkness and their love for whiskey. Hemingway certainly; and would have benefited from current pharmacology. Jelly Roll shares part of how he was healed from self-pharmacology through 12-steps, “Hardly sobered up, already wanna quit quittin’, sweaten’ in an old church basement, wishin’ I was wasted.”

At 19 Hemingway was on the frontlines delivering candy when he was hit by machine-gun fire and 200 metal fragments. A priest administered last rites. As a result he converted to Catholicism. Later, he “more formally” converted” upon marrying his second, Catholic, wife. Some credit these ‘conversions’ to his vision and moral landscape. Whether he was committed to the framework of the church or to the risen Christ, his writing reflected the three great transcendentals of truth, goodness and beauty.

Knowing God doesn’t guarantee good art. Faulty coping mechanisms aren’t easily slayed. It’s surgery. In Christ, in art, in healing, fulness necessitates leaning into the blade. “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Rembrandt Has A Pauper's Grave

 

Rembrandt has a pauper’s grave,

The museum tourbook read,

A reminder that my life’s appraised,

By others when I’m dead.

 

How could he lie in such a pit?

My confusion here I’ll confess,

Master of both brush and light,

Off canvas so distressed.

How real he draws the prodigal,

Feel the beggar’s plight,

Oh might your heart be so gripped,

With the words that I would write.

 

His paintings are in the Rijksmuseum

Some are in the Hague,

Bankrupt of wives, children and home,

Possessing only the plague.

 

 

Pursuing Your Giftedness. We Got This!

 “Risk is essential. It’s scary. Every time I sit down and start the first page of a novel I am risking failure. We are encouraged in this world not to fail …  We are encouraged only to do that which we can be successful in. But things are accomplished only by our risk of failure. Writers will never do anything beyond the first thing unless they risk growing.”---Madeleine L’Engle

“I’m not good at this; Why bother?” Before butt hits the chair and fingers start typing the thought is there. All of us have heard the whisper. It’s not specific to writers. Every artist, counsellor and teacher is familiar with it. Comparing my craft to others makes it obvious I’m not the best. But I am unique. Is that a reason to do it? Why pursue art? Here are some convictions to quiet the clamor.

You may as well rip off one of my arms or legs. I can’t not write. This is a parameter not a proof. I’ve no desire to be the zoo gorilla flinging feces. You need not venture far to find samples of people without gifts that think they have them! I once wrote 50 Sydney of Australia* stories and sent them to a tour group anonymously! The burning is an indicator.

Hear what the voices outside your head are saying. And yes, could be everybody’s too nice to tell you the truth (see gorilla analogy). Are there objective comments? Early evidence of giftedness? (thanks for the encouragement mom!) All art connects the artist and the aesthete.

Art is (per L’Engle) the small stone tossed into a lake. We contribute beauty to a world in desperate need of it. The biblical picture of donating the widows mite; the talent invested and not buried. Sure, I want “fame and fortune and everything that goes with it.” Conversely though, my soul, and hopefully yours, is fed through every small pebble I skip out onto the water.

To quell the whisper I entertain these other voices. The shout of my writing heart. The satisfaction of the perfect skip of the stone on water; fulfillment of my giftedness. At small risk to self, beauty framed and displayed.

*superhero very loosely (the women especially) based on the Batman genre

Photo by Y S on Unsplash

Investing Your Talents

I heard a teacher say that you should use your art like the talents in Matthew chapter 25 (The man with the two talents also came. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘you entrusted me with two talents; see, I have gained two more.’) Write or teach or draw,  whether you teach or write or draw for one person or a hundred. The thing is being faithful with your gift.


God surprises us in His faithful use of our gifts. We don’t know how more talents will be gained but God gives interest on our investment. He is glorified by our use of the talents He gives us. The joy is in seeing the unique by product our investment brings.

Tonight while leading the discussion at Bible study God allowed me to use my time in Leviticus to illustrate His holiness. A couple of guys saw God’s holiness clearer as I shared God’s heart in Leviticus. Our responsibility is to apply diligence in sharing our gift. God will supply the increase.

“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’”