Look what God did: bearing witness

Sometimes I feel a little bit like a fraud.

I tell people to make ugly art, that what they make doesn’t have to be beautiful or meaningful to anyone else. And then I post my art online, and it’s often the pieces I think look the best. (Though I do try to be transparent about the process and all the messy pages that come in between…)

I tell people not to make their spiritual lives performative but then I share glimpses of mine publicly. And I worry if that makes me a hypocrite.

I’ve been sitting with that tension for a while now. Not trying to solve it too quickly, just noticing it. Because the truth is, the internet only ever shows a sliver of anyone’s life. Mine included. What people see online is not the whole process. It’s really just a glimpse of what grew from it.

Most of my art never leaves my notebook and most of my prayers are wordless and unfinished. Most of the ways I meet God are quiet, ordinary, and completely unshareable. They happen in the margins of the day, in the quiet spaces, in the moments when no one is watching and nothing looks particularly meaningful.

But that hidden space matters to me. It’s where the real work happens. It’s where I’m not trying to say something wise or create something beautiful or offer something helpful. It’s just where I’m showing up honestly.

So why share anything at all?

I think because sometimes what grows in secret becomes something that can serve other people. Not as proof that I’m doing it right or as a performance. But as a kind of witness.

Like saying, Look! This kind of prayer is possible.
Or, Look! God can meet us here too.
Or even just, You’re not the only one trying to figure this out.

There’s a difference, I think, between making something for people and letting people see what has already been made in the quiet.

One feels like performance. The other feels more like testimony.

I don’t always know where that line is. I’m still learning. I still check my motives. I still ask myself whether I’m sharing from a place of honesty or from a place of wanting to be seen a certain way. But I’m also realizing that hiding everything isn’t necessarily more holy. We’re shaped in secret, yes. But sometimes the fruit is meant to be shared. Not all of it. Maybe not even most of it. But sometimes a small piece of what grows in the hidden places can become an invitation for someone else. A reminder that God is at work in ordinary lives, a gentle encouragement to keep showing up.

Most of what shapes us will always remain out of sight. The roots go deeper than anything we could post. So maybe sharing the occasional blossom doesn’t mean the roots are performative. Maybe it’s just a quiet way of saying, Look what God grew here. He can do it in you, too.