In my sophomore year of college, I took a pottery class. I liked to take at least one creative class per semester to help blow of some steam and provide some sort of therapeutic break from essay writing and book reading, but mostly I took that class because it included a unit on throwing pottery. In other words, there was a large part of the semester that involved sitting at a pottery wheel, and that seemed like it would be a fun experience. Except there’s a lot of technique that goes into that. You have to get a hang for the right amount of moisture in the clay. Make the clay too dry and the clay won’t submit to the shape you’re trying to mold; too wet and it will be a sloppy, muddy mess that will either take forever to dry out or prove itself utterly impossible to mold into anything. There’s a learning curve to actually throwing the clay: where to put it on the wheel, how much clay to use if you’re just starting out, the methods of making the clay workable, how much height, depth, or thickness to make a good ceramic piece.

From the moment I was allowed to sign up for classes for my junior year of high school, there was one class that I was dying to take: photography. Little did I know, as I sat down on my first day, that I was about to learn an art that took a whole lot more work than the point-and-click photography I was accustomed to. Oh, no. This photography class dealt solely in film. We learned every step of creating a photo, leading up to the ever-exciting experience of using a dark room.

Sure, James. Easier said than done. That’s always what I think when I hear the above verses. The fact of the matter is, no one wants to talk about suffering much less go through it. And let’s face it: it’s always going to be easy for people who have never walked through your same test to tell you to delight in the fact that you’re being tested. It’s always going to be our first, knee-jerk reaction to say, “Well, it’s easy for you to say, because you’re not living with this trainwreck of a situation.”