have never heard a voice from a burning bush, or indeed any clear, unambiguous voice, how-ever still and small. The one thing that is clear to me, however, is that I have been abundantly blessed beyond all imagining with the things of this world. I walk around full of wonder at all the weeds and bugs, the shapes of pipes and hinges, the colors of clouds and cars. I walk in a world of gratitude for that wonder, and out of that wonder and gratitude come my art. My art is about things. I love things. This may not seem like a very Quakerly trait, and simplicity, at least in decor, is not one of my gifts, since I can't help collecting all kinds of interesting, beautiful, fascinating things. But at least many of the things I love are simple things, like dandelions and starlings, or unappreciated things, like industrial sites and octopuses. I am like some of the early Quaker botanists, who studied plants as a way of glorifying God's creation. Every time I make a piece of art, it is a celebration of creation. Merely by spending the time to observe an object, study its shapes and patterns and the value of its colors, I am celebrating God's creation. By carving its image into wood or rubber, I am pro-claiming its worth and importance. By printing the image, I am making reminders of its beauty. Decorating the walls of my house with these images is like praying without ceasing, because as my eyes fall on one piece or another, I am again reminded of the beauty that God made.

I teach middle school art. Working with children ensures that I dabble in many media, because I always do every project I assign to my students. However, I keep coming back to printmaking. Opposed to the simplicity of the images themselves, I enjoy the surprise inherent in printmaking. Even though I plan the design, I never know what it will look like after carving and inking. Accidents of carving are often frustrating, but sometimes give the print that mark of the hand which makes it more interesting. It is a reminder, again, that I'm not doing this by myself. I am not the Creator doing whatever I please, because I haven't got that level of skill. Instead, I am just reflecting on creation, out of gratitude for the real thing. Sometimes I am frustrated and disappointed by my inability to capture the beauty I see, while other times I am excited to see how far a piece goes beyond what I planned.

I'm grateful also for the material blessings that allow me the physical space, the leisure time, and the financial security to work on something beyond the needs of survival. I am constantly aware that making art is a luxury. It seems right, therefore, that it should be a joyful activity, concentrating on the wonderful things I've been given, and never ever feeling self-pity. (Yes, of course, I can't deny that I feel grumpy and sorry for myself sometimes, but my art itself is never unhappy, or never expresses unhappiness.)

Does God speak to me through my art? I don't know. Is art God's major purpose for my life? I don't know, although I must say that I doubt it. But not knowing these answers doesn't seem terribly important. The children I teach don't worry about whether their art is "deep" enough and neither do I. I make art because I enjoy it, and it is a way to celebrate life and express my joy in creation. Isn't that enough? Make joyful art unto the Lord, all ye hands!

Anne Nydam is a middle school art teacher. Her illustrations have appeared in George Fox and the Valiant Sixty, Tall Poppies, and a new edition of Resistance and Obedience to God: The Life of David Ferris. Anne is a member of Cleveland MM and attends Wellesley MM where she lives in Massachusetts.