“There’s no vocabulary

For love within a family, love that’s lived in

But not looked at, love within the light of which

All else is seen, the love within which

All other love finds speech.

This love is silent.”

Silent Love, T. S. Eliot

“But unless we are creators, we are not fully alive. What do I mean by creators? Not only artists, whose acts of creation are the obvious ones of working with paint or clay or words. Creativity is a way of living life, no matter our vocation or how we earn our living.”

from Walking on Water, Madeleine L’Engle

All creativity grows from silence. A child grows in the womb, a seed grows in the earth, a work of art grows in the mind and the heart. The two main facts of my life are that I was created, and I am creative. The basis of my biology is creative – I was born, I married, I bore children of my own. I also write, cook dinner, knit, love my husband, invent games for my children, clean my house, talk about books and music that I love, learn every day how to be a better wife, mother and truer version of myself. All of these are creative acts.

It’s messy, hard, and good, good work. This is me trying to make sense of it, and finding beauty and joy even in the messiest bits.


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