Smallness

In second grade I was in class with a very bossy little girl named Krissy. I wasn’t a big fan of Krissy, mostly because she made me wet my pants by locking all the bathroom stalls before I came in one afternoon. I thought they were occupied until it was too late. But that’s beside the point and I only mention it because it would be a shame not to. 

One day, when the teacher left the classroom unattended, Krissy stomped up to the front of the class and sat in the teacher’s chair, looking smug with her chin held high. She told everyone to get to work. When all the other kids said she needed to go back to her seat, she rapped on the teacher’s desk and yelled, “Quiet!” In response, everyone got louder. In a desperate attempt to get the class back in order, Krissy stomped across the room, yelled, “Shut Up!” and slammed the door. The window in the door shattered leaving a pattern in the glass that looked like a giant spider’s web. I still remember how round Krissy’s eyes were as she ducked her head in shock. 

It’s important to know your place. Every journey begins where you are. Not where you think you should be, or where you wish you were—but where you actually are. If you begin like Krissy did that day, pretending to be someone you’re not, you’re likely to find yourself embarrassed and surrounded by irritated people. 

In the universe, and in history, my place is small. Really, really small. And I think that smallness is a good place to start, and a good place to come back to mentally if I get lost or find myself in someone else’s chair, so to speak. 

Smallness…

Have you ever stood at the base of an enormous tree and wondered how many generations of people have stood there before you? Or looked up into the sky during a meteor shower? Or watched in awe as lightening flashed across swelling ocean waves at nighttime? If you have, you know that each of those things make you aware of your smallness. Not in a bad way—not like you might have felt in school when you walked into a crowded lunchroom not knowing where to sit. That’s the smallness nobody likes to feel—the kind that intensifies self-awareness, highlights comparisons, and stirs the fear of rejection. It makes you want to hide. But the kind I’m talking about has the opposite effect. It reorients you. It helps you transcend self-focus and leaves you marveling like a child. It makes your eyes twinkle and your mouth smile. And if in a sense you do become self aware, it’s really an awareness of the inexplicable honor that you get to be a part of this scene—a tiny character in a vast landscape of mystery and beauty. The fact that God chose to include you in this glittering, sprawling universe—it means you are both small and valuable. You started off as an idea in God’s imagination. Think of that!

Smallness brings with it it’s own peculiar kind of creative power. Consider: If you’re big, then every decision you make, every word you speak is also big. There’s a lot riding on you, and if you make a mistake it’s going to be a very big deal. That’s how mistakes are for big people. But good news— you’re small like me! You have room for mistakes. They probably won’t even make it into a history book. Isn’t that wonderful? 

When I’m creating artwork, embracing my smallness drives away fear— fear of failure, of rejection, of being misunderstood. Because those things are only a really big deal if I’m a big deal. We all become big deals in our own minds sometimes. It’s just a lack of perspective. We are the main characters in our own stories. It only make sense that we forget to consider how many stories are out there. Remembering that I’m small and valuable makes room for me to risk. And once I’m aware of that room, I can use it to reach boldly towards beautiful, hope-filled ideas.

~Amy