I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes it’s an invitation to the journey inside.
Not only would I love to have a print of this artwork to hang on my wall, but the cover itself, in its beauty and care for detail, embodies the message of the book in a way I’ve rarely seen.
Andrew Peterson is a winsome singer, songwriter and storyteller, and his new memoir is called Adorning the Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling and the Mystery of Making.
In essence, this book asks What if? What if YOU (yes, you: even if you’re not a writer, artist or artisan of some kind) are meant to create something beautiful? Even if you don’t describe yourself as a “creative,” don’t you carry the image of your Creator in some way?
- Reading this book refreshed my sense of wonder. As a bookworm and a writer, I remembered the joyful power of words, and how amazing it is that little people like me get to write!
- Andrew reminded me of the way God rescued me, too, from self-consciousness: of the relief in aiming our work outwards, in service to others.
- He called me back to the discipline necessary in the artist’s life.
- He told the completely unexpected tale of his journey into making and sharing art as part of a community.
- He made me laugh. And somehow, I’m not exactly sure how, he helped vanquish the “stage fright” that’s been plaguing me. I put down Adorning the Dark and picked up the project that I’ve been simultaneously fearing and longing for over the last months — and even years.
Having reached the end of the book in just two days (and reread it since), I discovered that not just the cover, but the entire text is an invitation — a doorway — into the life of creativity, which is manifested in as many ways as there are human beings on earth.
The best illustration I can think of is Pilgrim’s Inn, a novel by Elizabeth Goudge. In this tale, a matriarch and a young woman gifted in unselfishness are given equal power of creation alongside painters, actors, and troubadours. “Pens and paint, a good voice production, and grease paint and things aren’t the only means of expression,” wrote Elizabeth. “Some people express loveliness just by loving.”
Art can be unselfish. It can serve others. It can tell others about Jesus — beautifully. It can express love. And it can fill a crying need.
One day (nearly a decade ago now), Peterson and his young son Aedan met a baby rabbit in their yard. First upended by a flood, its life ended in the jaws of the family dog. Aedan saw it all, and cried — and then apologized. “I feel terrible and stupid that I’m crying over a little rabbit when there are people dying all over the world. It was just a rabbit!”
But to Andrew, it wasn’t just a rabbit. A reminder of our broken world, it was not too small to mourn. He wrote, “The little things matter, and the big things matter, and hearts far and near need hope.” And then, a little unexpectedly, he ended his post with an artist’s benediction. Why? Well, we create beauty because the world is dark:
That anyone at all in the world would set their sad heart and tired hands to working beauty out of chaos is a monument to Grace. … It gives the heart language to rejoice and language to mourn.
Let those in Christ whose hands paint worlds, whose tongues limn loveliness, whose ears hear astral strains–let them make, and make, and make. And let the made things adorn the dark and proclaim the coming Kingdom till the King himself is come.”
Note: This review is based on a complimentary copy of Adorn the Dark I received as a B&H/LifeWay blogger. The opinions are my own.
For a really excellent interview with Andrew, check out The Cultivating Project.