Cultivating a Maker’s Life is a column that explores creative living expressed in a whole life. Generous, creative living is not something that is confined to a studio or workspace. It is conceived in the garden, gestates on hiking trails, nurtured in cinnamon-scented ovens, and matures at family dinner conversations. Come with me while we explore all the stages of making and living.
Do you have any of those microwave bacon cookers? I see other potters make them, and I really want one in your style.”
“Garlic graters? Garlic keepers? Salad bowls that you rub garlic in to make the dressing?”
“You know the little sponge holders that have the drain that goes over the edge of the sink? Do you make those?”
These are only a sampling of the requests I’ve received at art fairs and farmer’s markets. I pretty much always have to shake my head apologetically to the wide variety of queries, although once or twice I did have a garlic keeper jar.
In-person shows are a strange and mysterious world to me. The interaction with customers can be lovely and encouraging. Last weekend, an absolute treasure of a customer drove two hours to see my booth and meet me in person. It blew me away. We chatted about kids and art and the unexpected and, I think, were both refreshed and nourished by the few moments. But it’s not always so. Sometimes, the questions become redundant and odd. After several hours of customers asking politely, “Did you make these?”, I’m afraid my naturally curly sarcasm begs to be unleashed.
Nope, I picked all of this up at a tag sale last weekend.
Microwaving bacon is a hanging crime in our house.
What is it for? It’s for soaking your teeth.
I can usually smooth my snarky nature back into place before it escapes and runs wild.
On the whole, my work is pottery—humble, practical pieces for everyday use. I don’t dip too far into the ceramicist realm, which is defined more as high-art for display. I like to strive for details and elegance, only occasionally leaning toward rustic beauty in my designs. Once in a great while, I make purely decorative “shadowboxes” or sculptural Christmas ornaments, but I like my pots to be used, not just admired. I want them to hold and be held—to offer something more than the sum of their clay and glaze.
This past summer, I had three in-person events, and they were all within four weeks’ time. Three really isn’t very many for most makers or artists, but for this fully-full-time mom, it’s a LOT. I normally allow myself one event in the summer and maybe one in the fall. What this means is I spent two to three months wildly slinging clay around my studio with gusto and enthusiasm. I made hundreds and hundreds of pieces in preparation for the summer’s events, pausing once in a while to come up for air and regroup.
In those moments, I tried to look for holes in my inventory. Do I need a few more sunflower pieces? Is that enough pitchers? One more large platter would really look nice. I don’t know if that’s enough kraken mugs. Inevitably, when I’m running through lists mentally or physically, the questions and demands I’ve received in the past from customers surface once again in my head and heart.
“Where are your soup mugs? Travel mugs with silicone lids? Skull mugs, but without the ‘Christian stuff’ on it?”
And here, I doubt.
Maybe—just maybe—I should make some garlic graters.
My husband and I are currently teaching our oldest to drive. As a classic overachiever, I have never been one to aim for the low bar. I have many times joked that my homeschooling motto T-shirt should say, “I think we can do a little better.” But with driving? We are delighted with the low bar! Overjoyed! In this case, the minimum standard is that our son hasn’t hit anything and stays (mostly) in the right-hand lane. We have no expectation for him to drive the NASCAR circuit and are exultant that he doesn’t want to exceed the speed limit. We’re not laying unrealistic requirements on his driving abilities. It’s amazing how simple life becomes when the mark of achievement is staying in your lane and not running into other people.
Whenever I picture that light and easy yoke that Christ refers to, I used to imagine myself getting dragged along by the neck, bouncing across the ground, while Jesus runs joyfully through the field oblivious to my plight. That really doesn’t sound much like a kind and gentle Shepherd. A couple of years ago, I saw an advertisement for a backpack with helium balloons attached so that the wearer was actually buoyed by the pack rather than burdened with it. I think that’s what the yoke and burden offered by Christ is supposed to be. It’s not just a slight weight that’s relatively easy to carry. Rather, I believe the Word when Jesus says, “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light,” it means it! Light! Carrying His burden makes ordinary living easier. All I have to do is stay in the good way and walk in it.
Thus says the LORD:
“Stand by the roads, and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way is; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls.”—Jeremiah 6:16 ESV
No, I don’t have to make wind chimes. No, I don’t have to offer bacon cookers. I don’t have to have something for everyone. I can stay right here, on the ancient path where Christ calls me, and try not to hit anyone.
That, my friends, is peace. Just quiet, simple faithfulness to our calling equals peace with the One who calls us. And His calling to me? To hold and be held—to offer more than the sum of my clay and breath to those around me—to offer Living Water.
The featured image, “Tablescape for Jordan,” is courtesy of Lancia E. Smith and is used with her glad permission for Cultivating.
Jordan Elise Durbin is a cultivator of five wondrous children, a slightly out of control garden, and a small-but-efficient pottery studio. Her laundry piles can attest to her many activities and willingness to do anything but manage said piles. She can frequently be found running Ohio’s magical trails with her children, baking large quantities of buttery goodness, and writing about the woes and wonders of medieval chickenry. She is the author of The Chicken Pox: A Feathery Retelling of Hansel and Gretel, Periwinkle, and The Prodigal Fox. She has contributed to Cultivating since 2018. Jordan is the curator for the column “Cultivating A Maker’s Life”. She looks for the glory of God in every corner of creation and regularly finds it.
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