Alumni Post: Katelyn Fajardo
Lately, I’ve been reading and listening about all the highs and lows and nuances of making creative work. I’ve been involved in visual art and music since I was young, and my friends are all endlessly creative--in illustration, photography, singing, writing, ministry, even with their bodies in yoga, dance, or other physical fitness. Every source I’ve turned to who has something to say about any of these pursuits shares a firm belief that if you want to make good work, you will inevitably make work that stinks along the way. I’ve been making pottery, photographs, and songs, and each of these endeavors reveals to me daily the limit of my ability. The thing about creative processes is, they don’t just reveal the limits of our bodies or our intelligence, but they seem to reflect something of the limits of our whole selves (scary!).
In their book Art & Fear, authors David Bayles and Ted Orland discuss, among other things, what makes artists stop creating. One answer they offer very plainly is this, “To not work is to not make mistakes,” meaning avoiding the work itself is really the only way to avoid coming face to face with those limits. And it follows that the only way to make the work we want is to risk making the mistakes we were hoping to avoid. Strangely enough, the conviction I felt after reading that sentence led me not to roll up my sleeves and take another crack at some songs I’ve been working on, but to prayer. Of course, the next time I sat at the potter’s wheel, picked up my guitar, or loaded my camera, I was more prepared to embrace and learn from any of the mistakes that I was sure to make, but where I needed to practice this the most was in my time with the Lord.
Prayer is vulnerable, and prayer that consists of more than just “thinking up” is hard. I think that’s why so few adult Christians can honestly say they have a consistent practice of prayer. How mortifying to think you’ve just given it your very best shot and shared with the Creator of the universe all the things you think you ought to and you’re only met with silence. Or sleep. It’s never been a question for me if the Lord hears my prayers, but what if he doesn’t like them? Or what if he thinks it’s especially audacious of me to come to him asking for something like a good night’s sleep when he knows I have unreconciled anger with a friend or unconfessed sin? The truth about your art and mine is that no one very much cares whether we make it or not, outside of our friends. But our prayers are like incense before God. This means both that they matter and that they are cherished by Him (who, by the way, probably isn’t critiquing them).
Lectio Divina is Wesley director Ryan Ford’s favorite practice of scripture reading and prayer to share with the students at Wesley (and it kicks my butt every time). Centered around silence and patience before the Word in order to be addressed by scripture directly, Lectio offers little to no immediate feedback to know when you’re doing it right or wrong. The practice includes minimal time actually talking to God (to leave room for God to do the talking), so for the majority of the time, you can’t count on a checklist of prayer requests to let you know when you’ve done what you set out to do. But I think that’s just the blessing of it, and I think with the lack of a scale by which you can measure your success or failure, you’re left with nothing but the knowledge that God is enough and that he is going to save, nurture, and strengthen you completely independently of your own aptitude.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses… For when I am weak, then I am strong.
So make bad art and come before God in all your poverty in prayer because Christ felt and overcame all of the weaknesses that seem to call our identity and worth into question. Bayles and Orland say that the humanity that is all tied up in our failure and our fear is the “ultimate source of [our] work.” This is true, but most importantly, it is in that humanity and weakness where Christ’s power is perfected.
Katelyn Fajardo is a beloved alum of the Wesley Foundation and graduated from Louisiana Tech University with a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology. As her post suggests, she is incredibly artistic, skilled in multiple fields of music and art. Those who worshiped at our ministry during her time as worship leader and have had the opportunity to know her have been blessed by her beautiful singing voice, fun photography sessions, bright laughter, and devotion to the Body of Christ. Katelyn is currently living in Charleston, SC, where she hopes to continue to pursue her music career.