Fighting with God

I unfolded my heart today and what I found there was God.

Art by me.

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Definition of inspiration: “To be breathed into by God”.

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This week there has been rage aplenty – it always happens at the end of December.

I’m a sucker for the pressure to ‘plan a fantastic next year’ because I love to vision and dream. I join every class going to help me in the process.

It is very apparent to me what I ‘should’ be doing. Shopping for Christmas presents, working on the systems and processes behind my business, using the 80/20 rule to figure out what to spend more time doing with my work next year, decluttering to leave the old to make space for the new as the year draws to a close, upgrading my knickers.

Yesterday I took myself into the office, determined to do the thing I knew my future self would thank me for. Probably involving a spreadsheet.

However.

A blank canvas sat on the easel between my doorway and my desk.

Two hours later, covered in paint, the canvas and I, both complete.

One nil to God.

This is how it plays out:

Me: I’m going to work on the necessary thing. I know it makes sense. I do really want the things I say I want.

God: Paint.

Me: Next year needs to be all about restoration and detoxing from a speedy, noisy 2024. Creating a quieter life. A bit more treading lightly, more tranquillity, a little less passion.

God: Paint fast and listen to this while you do. It’s your anthem for 2025.

Me: My kid is going off the rails (again) and I need to come down on her like a ton of bricks to get her back in line or the consequences will be dire.

God: Be gentle with her.

Me: My husband is sick and I should be taking care of him.

God: Walk the dog in fury.

Me: I’m reviewing my year and it’s clear where my revenues are coming from, best double down there in 2025.

God: (Sigh)…..PAINT. Write, if you can’t paint. Trust me.

Me: OK. I wonder how much I should charge for my paintings and how many I will need to sell to be able to feed my family. The kids want to go to the Maldives next year.

God: Umm, feed your family? You’re going to donate anything you make from painting right now. 100% of it.

Me: Fucking fuck fuck fuckety fuck, fuck off God. My family will be destitute if I follow your lead. Just give me peace and acceptance with the sensible route, please?

God: (Shrugs). Go for it.

Ten minute pass spent researching SEO terms for my blog because my future self will be grateful for the traffic, I’m unable to focus as the desk is covered in paint pots, brushes and torn up bits of collage paper and I give up.

God: Told you.

Two nil to God.

Resistance is futile.

Yet seems to be part of the process, for me at least.

This has been my whole week life.

A contrary God, breathing me in directions my head is quite clear are not ‘correct’.

The frustration and confusion that storm through me when I’m trying to hold onto a leaf with my fingers because I know it needs to held in exactly this position, and the wind has more strength.

My writing here has the express aim of learning how to follow my head over my heart…despite the yeah buts.

It’s SO FUCKING HARD.

When I look around my tiny home office, the space in the house that is all mine to do with as I please, the space is dominated by the desk and armchair, set up for working and coaching, as it should be. The paintings are squeezed in around every edge; they are spilling out into the kitchen and dining room, denied the space they need in here to breathe.

This morning, in the tangle, I tried to move a painting from one position to another, knocked over an easel with one freshly painted canvas on it, face down onto the carpet. My attempt to catch it knocked another painting over and a pallet full of wet paint face-down onto the surface of another.

I’m pushing God into the corners.

I think we all know who’s going to win in the end.