“O Good Shepherd, would you teach me how to rest?/ I’m rushing on, will you make me to lie down?” These words from The Porter’s Gate song “Slow Me Down” hit home. Why is it that we need to be taught how to rest? Life doesn’t have to be a frantic hurry from one thing to another. It doesn’t have to be that way. The year - and this life - isn’t a sprint. Our Maker designed us. He knows that we have limitations and He knows that we need reminding of that fact. Repeatedly.

Did you know that you are learning new things everyday? But are you learning purposefully? Are you pursuing the joy of learning and then sharing that knowledge with others? There will be those that know more about a subject or are able to accomplish things better than you. But don’t let that stop you from learning more about God’s amazing world and exploring ways to creatively enjoy it!

I recently spent a weekend away on a retreat exploring what happens when we ask God for guidance. As a Christian, it’s important to me to hear from God and understand where He is leading. I like to think I’m on the right track, but every so often I have to reevaluate. Am I living the way I believe God designed me to live? Is my body giving me signals I’m overcommitted? Am I prioritizing the people who matter most to me? The weekend away helped me think through these questions, and also consider how I experience God’s leading.

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t creating costumes. Some of my earliest memories involve draping my Barbie dolls in scraps of fabric held together with hairband belts. They only looked great from the front which was probably a clue that I would one day end up in a theatre where the razzle-dazzle is all in front of the curtain. Once I learned to sew, my brother and cousins became my canvas, and I created an endless assortment of gowns, tunics, and capes so that we could stage elaborate Narnia-inspired adventures in our backyard.

As consumers of art, we often have a voyeuristic perspective as we take in the scenes around us, looking at figures within the frame while we remain outside of the image. I would argue that we far too often remain viewers in life when we encounter others. There is a certain level of distance that we enjoy. It’s safer to look than to engage. It’s safer to view someone as an “other” than as a neighbor.

I greatly enjoy spending time in the classroom working with children. I thrive there, and one of my most adamant desires is to see my students reach their full potential – much the same as God wants each of us to reach our full potential; using the talents He has given us to serve Him and the body of Christ. A main aspect I employ in aiding children to do this is exposure to as many different edifying areas as possible.

I’m a fiber artist. I spin a wheel to make my art. Spinning yarn often requires a calm tedious type of patience. This patience requires me to purposefully slow my mind and heart. Yet just like in life, this can feel aggravating. Same problems at work. Same issues with kids. Same health (mental and physical) struggles. Same relationship issues. Our wheels keep spinning to find a way out.

How do we cultivate an ordinary place so that it grows into a sanctuary? How do we turn commonplace walls into shelter? We begin with a dream or a desire. No, not a desire for rustic shiplapped walls or white subway tile shining like a flawless smile. Those desires are as fleeting as the commercial break between one home makeover television show and the next. As much as we may want those things, we know there will always be something new to want tomorrow.

Bill has developed his art form through a lifetime devoted to metal working but it was one specific event that changed his understanding of how God desired him to use his gifts. We invite you to learn more about his passion for sharing the Gospel through salvaged metals.

When the Lord called me to paint for Him in 2007, I said yes to that call. As time went on, I began to see myself as an artist that painted for the Lord. Without realizing it, my identity became more about what I did than who I was without my art. This was an error in my thinking that the Lord wanted to correct.

We are privileged to share with you a brief interview we recently conducted with Dr. Day Butcher, a licensed art therapist and professor at Lancaster Bible College. We invite you to learn about her journey and passion for helping others through creativity.

Encouraging creativity in my children has not always come easily for me, the type-A, Mom of three that I am. Just the thought of a gigantic mess as a result of crafting with my kids is something that, at one point in my life, was anxiety inducing, if I’m being honest.

In my own experience, it is difficult to grow in my artistic craft, whether it be writing, singing, or setting up travel photos, without purposefully studying varying methods or niches involved in that craft.

A few weeks ago, I heard Pastor Andrew Brubaker present a message that stood out to me. It's not about art, per se, but at its heart it is about something that each artist is seeking: forgiveness, hope & freedom. We pray that your heart is encouraged as you are reminded of who you are and where your true freedom is rooted.

A little over two hours north of Lancaster, Scranton is the state’s electric city, the name paying homage to its historic innovations in electric lights and streetcars. The city still holds its history in high regard, [but it also has] a deep appreciation for art. Like Lancaster, Scranton holds First Friday events dedicated to celebrating the work of its local artists.

What makes art so beautiful is its chameleon-like nature. Artistic inspiration and interpretation come in many forms, with two individuals being able to view the same piece of art and draw entirely different conclusions from it.

A majestic edifice emerged on the horizon as I approached the Capitol building by way of State Street. Created in the American Renaissance style, I was about to realize that the main building's 272-foot, 52 million-pound dome was only a taste of its opulent interior.

As autumn brings us into the shifting cycles of life and rebirth, and we look forward to a season of holidays and a new year with a fresh start, I am again reminded of the shift that takes place during this time. Days are shorter, the inky nights longer, and we wrap up our bodies against the cold as we anticipate wrapping up the journey we’ve been on for the year.

A friend recently sent me this photo of a painting I did when I was a student at Ringling College of Art & Design. It was a landmark piece for me. Not because it was anything great, but because it was my first piece after a spiritual breakthrough. At the time, I was having panic attacks and questioning whether art was a worthy vocation for a "man after God's own heart."

Many of life’s most pivotal moments are unexpectedly thrust upon us. Choices must be made and, as much as we would rather not be responsible, we are appointed to answer. These unavoidable decisions often come with personal risk. Risk, that if allowed, can paralyze us with fear. As creatives, we realize the need to enter into these decisions with unique perspectives.

As creatives, we are often reminded to collect our work and curate a portfolio that represents our talent and experiences in various ways. But as Christ-centered creatives, it’s incredibly difficult to hone our God-given abilities while marketing ourselves and seeking new opportunities.

I don’t remember the book, but I do remember what my teacher said about it. She said that its illustrator added hidden squirrels in every book she illustrated. I imagined how fun it would be to hide clues to a big mystery in my drawings. If never found, they’d be my fun secret. That was when I decided I wanted to be an illustrator.

Creating art is a wonderful thing. It can be exciting and fulfilling. But sharing your art with the world can be a scary thing. Rejection and ridicule are both possibilities. And this is your personal work. You put yourself into it, right? If a piece of you isn't part of your artwork, chances are the artwork is not very engaging. Great art inspires.

Christians who work within the arts frequently wrestle with an underlying tension: what does it mean for us to be Christian artists? We may find ourselves caught between a Scylla and Chaybdis of two extremes. On the one hand, we’re afraid our art may get too “preachy.” On the other, we don’t want to produce art as the world does.