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What do you do when you are invited to create? Do you dive in? Do you hesitate, unsure of how to begin?

How does the blank page feel to you—fresh and full of possibility, or lonely and mocking?

 

The beginning of the meditation on the image of the well is an encouragement to notice what happens when you approach your starting point. Each of us has a different reaction to that unknown space before we act. For some, it is thrilling, a challenge to be conquered. For others, shame skulks around, whispering messages about how insufficient or inept we will turn out to be if we begin at all.

This is where prayer begins. In the surrender of our reactions to beginning (or beginning again), to the one who calls us his masterpiece, his poem.See Ephesians 2:10. The Greek word translated “workmanship” (KJV), “handiwork” (NIV), or “masterpiece” (NLT) means “that which is made or done; a work, workmanship, creation.” It is the word, poema, from which we get the English word “poem.” As we pay attention to our interior movements, however anxious or excitable, we meet inside us the ready presence of Christ. Ready to engage. Ready to guide. Ready to love.

And so, we begin.

Notice where you are most drawn in the image, and start there. Choose whatever colors you feel most appealing, regardless of whether they are “right” for the picture or not. Don’t feel afraid to color the earth pink or the sky black.

For those of us who are not visual artists, the joy of drawing and coloring got sacrificed on the altar of perfection. At some point, someone told you that you weren’t good at representation, or perspective, or even just choosing colors that don’t clash. At some point, you looked at something you had created at though, either by comparison or simple evaluation, and instead of thinking, “That’s not very good, but I can learn from that,” you thought, “I can’t draw.”

The delight of creation was marred by the introduction of pride. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

This image of the well invites you to repent of the ways we judge, criticize, and condemn—ourselves, others, and our desires. Instead, we enter in, trusting that God will meet us on the page, in our strengths and in our weaknesses.

Coloring is truly a collaborative process, not only with the artist who created the image, but, prayerfully, with the Artist who created us. As we let go our obsessive modern need to understand, to articulate, to control, we sink into a deeper space in the soul. As we focus on the sweep of marker or pencil on the page, our busy minds start to still. The fraught relationships, the projects at work, the parenting concerns, the struggle with finances—all of these melt in the communion of color. We become present to the creation work before us, as Christ continues His creative work in and through us.

Resist, if you can, the impulse to draw back and evaluate while you are coloring. Instead of leaning back and taking in the unfinished work, move as fluidly as you are able from one part of the image to the next.

Are you drawn to the knotted roots? Color there. Or perhaps the trees draw your attention, color moving up the trunks like sap. Maybe the stones are calling to you, their strength and stability a reassuring canvas for your heart. Only move linearly if your soul insists, but instead allow yourself to move around the page with the freedom of a child.

Perhaps you are drawn to the waters first. Here I have an invitation. As François Fénelon writes,

 

True prayer is only another name for the love of God. Its excellence does not consist in the multitude of our words; for our Father knoweth what things we have need of before we ask Him. The true prayer is that of the heart, and the heart prays only for what it desires. To pray, then is to desire— but to desire what God would have us desire. He who asks what he does not from the bottom of his heart desire, is mistaken in thinking that he prays.François Fénelon, Spiritual Progress: Or, Instructions in the Divine Life of the Soul (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 2014), 11.

 

Allow your desires dictate your colors, whether the well is full or empty. Let your longings speak to your choice of pigment, intensity, pattern.

Spend as much or as little time on this image as you want. You may choose to complete it all in one sitting. You may choose to interact with it over a series of days or weeks, as you would build a building or tend a garden. You may feel that you need only color one part of the picture, leaving to rest open and unfinished, a kind of invitation to the Holy Spirit.

You might also find it helpful to journal a little while you are in between coloring sessions, or at least jot down some notes. Reflect on what part of the coloring was most difficult for you: What messages were you hearing inside you? What hesitations did you feel? Then, reflect on what part of the coloring was most joyful or fulfilling for you: What felt easy and light? Why? What felt particularly satisfying as it sprang to life on the page?

Once you feel your interaction with the piece is done—at least in color and line—set it aside for a while. That may be minutes, or hours, or a few days, but don’t let it linger longer than that.

When you are ready, consider the well once more, this time as a compassionate observer.

What do you first notice as you look at this image? Where is your eye drawn primarily?

Do bright colors surprise you? Is there a dark cast overall? Have you used colors that you normally dislike; God asking you to stretch into places that you may have written off as not your style or beyond your desires?

Do the shadows disturb you? Do you wish you’d chosen something softer, or are you being invited to search for the treasures of darkness?See Isaiah 45:3.

Where is God inviting your eye to linger? Do the colors you’ve used in the roots point toward a slow untangling God is doing in your circumstances or questions? Or do they instead reveal a series of knotted places within you underneath the surface, things you’d through resolved or that you’d prefer to ignore?

What color are the waters of your desires? As you created, were your desires concrete things—healing for a friend, favor in a tense situation, the hope to witness more of the Kingdom? Or were your desires more wordless, contained in the colors but not in your own understanding, or, at least, not yet? What is God whispering as the Holy Spirit broods over these waters? What creation is He wanting to bring forth in you or through you?

Now the coloring, which has been a wordless process of prayer, can become a dialogue with Christ. While the questions above may guide you, you also may find other questions important to your journey with God right now. Lean into your relationship with the Holy One of Israel, asking without shame for an encounter through color, line, and shape.

You can use this method of prayer and meditation for any creative act, whether it’s coloring, photography, needlework, or dance. Being present in the experience allows us to be used by God to bring beauty, life, and redemption into the world. And reflecting on the process of creation brings the gift back to us, as the One who loves us so much that He sent His son speaks lovingly over our art-making.