The first creative moment that I remember, I must have been very young. Old enough to have to sit in the church service, yet young enough to rest on my mother’s lap comfortably. My mother would place the church bulletin on top of a hymnal and doodle my requests.
“Draw a duck mommy, draw a duck.” I would plead in a whisper.
“Draw a mommy duck. Draw a daddy duck. Draw a baby duck. Draw baby ducks sisters.”
When I was little, I loved this book about ducklings who got lost from their mother, and she searched for them. It really stuck with me as a kid. I sometimes think because I felt maybe a little lost? I was the fourth of five girls, and though I was never physically lost (unlike my youngest sister), sometimes I felt lost. I think we all feel this way while we grow. Not just when we grow up, but just in general when we grow. I still feel lost when I push myself to paint a different subject matter or with a different medium. I still feel lost in seasons of spiritual growth. I still feel lost when I am being pushed. As a kid, I felt lost, and I didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t brave like my oldest sister. I wasn’t kind like my second sister. I wasn’t wicked smart like my middle sister. And I wasn’t cute like my youngest.
However, I was the one who had my mom draw ducks. Eventually, she taught me to draw my own ducks so I would stop bothering her in church. Jokes on her though… because now my ducks are pretty dang good now.