What If God Designed Beauty to Help Us Heal?

I've been thinking a lot about stress lately. Not simply the kind that comes from having too much to do on a Tuesday afternoon, but the kind that settles into our bodies after years of carrying things. Sometimes we become so accustomed to living with tension that we don't even realize how much we're holding until something finally invites us to put it down.

My family has a history of depression and anxiety, and over the years I've had to learn how to care for my own emotional well-being. There have been seasons when medication was part of that care and other seasons when it wasn't. Both have taught me something important: caring for ourselves is rarely about finding one magic answer. For me, it has been about gradually learning what my body, mind, and spirit need in order to feel whole and well.

As I approach my 57th birthday, I know myself better than I once did. I know that I need quiet time with Abba and enough sleep. I need to get outside and spend time in nature. I need to be an engaged part of a community and intentionally nurture my friendships. I need margin in my days for play, joy, and simply being rather than constantly doing. And I need a regular creative practice.

I certainly don't do all of these things perfectly, but together they have brought greater balance and peace to my days and strength and wellness to my body. Of all of them, I've noticed something particularly remarkable about painting. When my mind is spinning, very few things quiet it as quickly as putting paint on a brush.

When the Mind Becomes Quiet

There is something about standing in front of an easel that brings me back into the present moment. Instead of following the thoughts circling through my mind, I begin asking different questions. What color is that shadow? Where does the light fall? Does this edge need to be softer? What happens if I add just a touch of blue?

Little by little, the noise recedes because my attention has gone somewhere else. I'm paying attention to color and light, to beauty and shape, to the movement of a brush across a surface. I become absorbed in what is directly in front of me rather than everything that has already happened or everything that might happen next. For me, painting has become a deeply restorative and healing practice.

Recently, I discovered there is research suggesting that something measurable may actually be happening in our bodies when we make art.

What Happens to Cortisol When We Make Art?

In a 2016 study published in Art Therapy, researchers Girija Kaimal, Kendra Ray, and Juan Muniz invited 39 healthy adults to spend 45 minutes making visual art. The participants weren't all artists. In fact, nearly half reported having limited experience making art. Researchers measured their cortisol levels through saliva samples immediately before and after the art-making session.

The results fascinated me. Cortisol levels decreased in approximately 75 percent of the participants, and overall the researchers found a statistically significant reduction following the 45-minute art-making session. Perhaps my favorite finding was that previous art-making experience was not significantly associated with the outcome. You didn't have to consider yourself an artist to participate or potentially experience the benefit. You simply had to create.

Participants also described the experience as relaxing, enjoyable, and freeing. Some spoke about becoming absorbed in what they were making, experiencing that wonderful state in which we lose track of ourselves for a little while because we're completely engaged in what we're doing.

[Read the original research from the National Library of Medicine.]

Of course, this was a small study of 39 healthy adults, so I'm not suggesting that painting should be considered a treatment for anxiety, depression, chronic stress, or any other medical condition. What I find intriguing is that the research gives us a glimpse into the physical response that can accompany something artists have experienced for generations: creating can change how we feel.

What If Beauty Is Part of God's Provision?

The more I thought about this, the more I began thinking about creation itself. God could have made a perfectly functional world. Trees could have produced oxygen without turning brilliant shades of crimson and gold every autumn. Flowers could have reproduced without peonies, hydrangeas, poppies, and sunflowers. Birds could have communicated without song, food could have nourished us without color and fragrance and flavor, and the sun could have risen and set without painting the sky.

But that's not the world He made. He gave us beauty in extraordinary abundance, including beauty that seems to serve no obvious practical purpose other than delight. I wonder sometimes if we've underestimated the gift of it.

What if beauty isn't frivolous? What if creating, noticing, and enjoying beauty is one of the ways God helps draw our scattered minds back into the present? What if He designed us not merely to work, produce, solve problems, and accomplish things, but also to notice, delight, play, rest, and create?

I'm reminded of the familiar words of Psalm 23: "He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul." I love the tenderness of that picture. He leads us toward places of restoration.

Learning to Tend the Life I've Been Given

I've spent a lot of my life pouring out, and maybe you have too. There are people we love who need us. There is meaningful work to do. There are homes to tend, relationships to nurture, responsibilities to carry, and people God has entrusted to our care.

But I've come to understand something differently in this season of my life. Caring for myself isn't separate from caring for the people I love. When I am depleted, I have less to give. When I am rested, connected, spiritually grounded, and creatively full, I am better able to pour into the people Abba has placed around me. I'm learning to see caring for my body, mind, and spirit as part of my stewardship rather than something I have to earn after everything else is finished.

Sometimes that stewardship looks like getting to bed instead of finishing one more thing. Sometimes it's taking a walk outside, sitting quietly with Abba, or having lunch with a friend. Sometimes it's leaving an empty space on my calendar simply because every space doesn't need to be filled. And sometimes it's standing at my easel with a paintbrush in my hand until the noise in my head becomes quiet.

I do all of this imperfectly. There are still days when I put too much on my calendar, stay up later than I should, or forget what I've already learned about myself. But now that I know the things that help me feel whole and well, I've discovered that the reward of tending them far outweighs the trouble of making room for them. When I am full, I am better able to pour out, and I believe I have a responsibility to care for myself so I can bring my best to the people God has placed around my table.

Maybe You Need a Little Room to Create, Too

This is one of the reasons I've come to love teaching painting classes. Yes, I want people to leave with a painting they're proud of, but that's not really the part that excites me most. I love watching people settle in. I love hearing conversation and laughter around the table and watching someone who walked in saying, "I'm not artistic," begin to realize that perhaps they can do this after all.

I also love providing a couple of hours when nobody needs anything from you. You don't have to answer the email, fold the laundry, solve the problem, or take care of everyone else. For a little while, you can sit down, pick up a brush, pay attention to color and beauty, and create something with your own hands.

My upcoming acrylic and watercolor classes are designed especially for beginners. You don't need previous painting experience, and all of the supplies are provided. You simply need to come as you are and give yourself permission to enjoy the process.

(Space is limited...click the images below to go to a sign up page.)

Maybe you'll leave with a painting you love. Maybe you'll discover a creative part of yourself you haven't visited in years. Or maybe you'll simply experience two peaceful hours when your mind becomes a little quieter and your shoulders relax a little more.

I'm beginning to believe that beauty isn't an unnecessary luxury God happened to add to the world. Perhaps beauty is one of His gifts to us, woven generously throughout creation for our delight and restoration.

And perhaps creating it is one of the ways we receive that gift.