How passion for creativity quietly became an idol.

Where do wars and fights come from among you? Do they not come from your desires for pleasure that war in your members? You lust and do not have. You murder and covet and cannot obtain. You fight and war. Yet you do not have because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask amiss, that you may spend it on your pleasures. Adulterers and adulteresses! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. Or do you think that the Scripture says in vain, “The Spirit who dwells in us yearns jealously”?

But He gives more grace. Therefore He says:

“God resists the proud,
But gives grace to the humble.”

Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Lament and mourn and weep! Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.

James 4:1-10

I stared at my hands, the tools that had always brought my imagination to life. What if they were just hands, and nothing more?

The silence in my studio screamed louder than any creative block I'd ever known.I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a world without color, without shape, without the ability to translate my thoughts into something tangible. It was a terrifying void.

How did I get here?

Idols—a word that often conjures images of golden calves and Old Testament warnings. It's easy to dismiss the idea as irrelevant to modern life. I don’t bow to carved idols, and I’m guessing you don’t either. As an artist, I’ve never intentionally created anything to be worshipped. If tested, I’d like to think I’d choose the lion’s den or the fire first.

But what about the subtler forms of idol worship?

For years, I wrestled with the modern-day takeaway of these biblical warnings. I remember a talk by Louie Giglio at a Passion conference where he pointed to our devotion to brands like Apple and Nike. I was convicted—realizing how easily I defended my beloved Canon camera, my Golden paints, or the carefully curated items in my life and then I wondered…

… was I so devoted to my God?

That realization pushed me to examine my heart. I knew I didn’t truly worship these things, but my energy for defending them revealed a misplaced focus. I decided to give God the outward devotion I reserved for these brands—and something shifted.

Years later, in a conversation with a creative friend about art and life and God and destiny - all the good stuff that gets me up in the morning - the question arose, “What would you do if you couldn’t make art anymore?”

As an artist, the question hit me like a gut punch: What if I lost my ability to create? Art wasn’t just a skill—it was my calling, my tool to reflect God’s beauty and truth. The thought of losing it felt as unimaginable as losing a child.

Of course, I believed God wouldn’t take away my child. But the harsh reality is that children can die, and whether you think it’s God or Satan behind it isn’t the point. The real question is this: What will you think of God if you lost the most important thing to you?

Matthew 19:21-24 New King James Version (NKJV) “Jesus said to him, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.”

That question is raw, painful, and not something I ever wanted to confront. But it echoed in my heart when I asked myself: “What would I do if I went blind? Or lost the use of my hands?”

I didn’t even get close to the question, “Would you give up your abilities to follow Jesus?”

I fought back, pleading, “God wouldn’t do that. I refuse to even think about it.” But was that really faith? Or was I clinging to a false sense of control, hoping to declare God’s promises while silently shielding myself from a fear I couldn’t face?

But when I was honest with myself, I knew that deep down there was something far more dangerous at play. Deep down I didn’t trust God with my giftings, my talent, my creativity, my eyes or my hands. I made myself its protector.

That was ‘my truth’.

Once I discerned this deep dark ‘truth’(ie. nasty lie), that I had hid in my deceptive heart I decided it was time to dig it up and get rid of it.

What did this mean?

Somewhere along the way, I had come to believe that if I lost my ability to create art, my life would lose its meaning.

At first, I reasoned my way through it. If I lost my sight, I could still find new ways to make art. Painting wasn’t my idol, I told myself—it wasn’t the thing I worshiped. What if I lost my hands? Well, I could adapt. I could paint with my feet or turn to something entirely different, like dictating my ideas into words. I reassured myself with the conviction that creativity was untouchable, that the enemy could never take it from me.

But that’s not the point.

The truth was, painting wasn’t my idol. My identity as an artist was. Being creative had become my foundation, and I had disguised it as a right tied to being made in the image of God.

That’s the power of deception: it hides the lie within a veneer of truth.

ere’s the root of all the lies I believed (or “my own truths”): My life was out of order.

Art had become more important to me than God. I didn’t have a golden idol on a pedestal, but I had a studio that I loved to show off, tools I cherished, processes I obsessed over, and finished works I held up for praise. And oh, how I loved it when people admired my abilities and talked about them.

When that idol was exposed, I felt like my entire being was under attack.

I remember years ago when God took me through the painful realization that my kids were not mine—they were His. I came to understand: if I ever lost a child, I could still go on because I had God. After all, I already knew I’d have to figure that out once they grew up and left home.

While I came to terms with that, another idol was quietly taking root: creativity.

It grew deep into my heart and my life. And when God began pulling it out, it felt like my very soul was being ripped apart.

Letting go meant stripping away my reliance on creating.

I told myself, Fine, I’ll lose my studio. Gone. Fine, I’ll let go of my website, my school, everything I’ve built. Painful, but okay. I could still crochet—nope, gone too. I’ll bake. No, not that either. Decorating my house? Styling my hair? Even the smallest expressions of creativity—I imagined them stripped away, one by one.

In my heart, I was left standing in a desolate landscape, much like Louie Zamperini in his POW camp in Unbroken (if you haven’t heard of it its a book and movie worth your time). Despair and isolation pressed in from all sides. My identity—once built on my freedom to create—now loomed before me as a hollow shell.

I felt raw and exposed, clinging to defiance as my only lifeline. I thought of Louie, physically weak and broken, forced to hold a wooden beam over his head as a symbol of his unbroken will. Stripped bare of everything I had built, I felt like I was holding up my own beam. It wasn’t just the weight of loss I carried—it was the weight of my stubborn refusal to surrender.

And yet, in the ruins of what I thought defined me, I stood. Defiant, but exposed. Holding on, but asking myself: What am I really holding onto?

It was a struggle. But it was there, in the emptiness and the ruins, that I realized God was still standing in my heart. He promised to be the one thing that would never leave and never be taken away.

And I really did believe it.

And it really was enough for me.

Restoration

The amazing thing about God is that He restores; He doesn’t take away.

He tests us to see if we are willing to obey, and then He gives us what we truly need. I knew then that even if I lost all ability and freedom to create, He would still be there. He would provide and He would remain my purpose.

Surrender

So instead of waiting for it all to be stripped from me, I decided to surrender it and live that way now—with Him as my foundation. Not art, not creativity, not anything I could make or achieve. Just Him.

And from that place, I began to change and the fruit of the Spirit actually had room to grow. Things like peace, joy, longsuffering actually had room to spring up where weeds use to be.

Back To You

As you read my story did you think of any idols that have taken root in your life?

The life of an artist has potential to create many idols because our work is so closely tied to who we are.

Idolatry or as the bible also calls it, Spiritual Adultery, is no small talk. Please don’t gloss over this topic and think you have it covered.

Here are a few expressions of idols in the artist life. Pay attention to what lights up for you.

Self expression: Exploring my passions will lead to a deeper understanding of myself. Uncovering strengths and challenges lead to deeper fulfillment.

Becoming Better: We should not believe that we have already arrived, instead keep learning. More knowledge and skill will help us reach our full potential.

Validation: Is my art good? Does anyone even like it, does it serve a purpose?

Art for arts sake: I don’t need to show my work off to the world, art has intrinsic value, independent of any external justification.

It’s about the journey: the process of making the art is what actually matters, not the outcome. Are you serving the craft or the work itself?

Legacy: It’s for future generations, something enduring. I can leave an important message and maybe even be remembered for it.

Remember, none of the above concepts are bad in and of themselves, they are all good and noble ideas to go after. But if put in the wrong order, put before family, put before God, they become idols.

As you ponder these ideas, here’s a great song to listen to, Repentance by Gable Price:

I built my kingdom, it collapsed at my feet

I nurtured my idols, they betrayed me

And I saw You standing on my prodigal street

Mouthing, "I love you, My boy"

When the stars all fade on my golden robe

And my income fails to carry me home

I see You standing with Your finest robe

Saying, "I love you, oh-oh"

When every idol fails to comfort me

And my own skin and bones are stripped off of me

I'm gonna look at the Holder of eternity

And scream, "I love You, oh-oh