I “got out” of standing for hymns during church. In fact, I’m not even singing them anymore.

Why? Because I draw during services and I hold my pens in my mouth half the time while I’m doing it (hence the no singing thing, but I do hum). People love sitting behind me now.

I’ve been doing this for three and a half years at this church. And for at least 5 years before that. You can find me, third row, most every Sunday, capturing what happens. Sermons, songs, baptisms, prayers. The whole experience on paper.

It started as a personal practice, but it’s become something many at our church experience and even participate in.

What Gets Captured

These aren’t just sermon notes.

They’re snapshots of an entire communal experience. What was preached, what was sung, who got baptized. Funny stories, powerful lessons. Guest speakers. Snowstorms that forced services online. Power outages. Communion weeks versus ordinary weeks.

The context of how people showed up during this time in our lives.

I like to think it’s become (and is still becoming) a living record. Not just of what was said, but of what mattered in the room.

Sometimes kids sit beside me and draw their own pictures during services. They show me their sketches afterward. Drawing helps them listen better, remember more, engage differently with what’s happening.

Turns out when you start drawing things, other people might want to try it, too.

Where the Drawings Go

These sketches don’t stay in the pew to be cleaned up afterwards.

They get posted on the church bulletin board. Copied and distributed in the sanctuary. After particularly powerful services, staff will go to the office and make dozens of copies to hand out.

They get sent to folks who can’t attend in person. Shared with families after baptisms. Distributed by care teams to people who need encouragement during tougher weeks.

The drawings become communal property.

Something special that this practice highlights, a question that I didn’t intend or know to answer at the start: How do you let a minister know they’ve been heard?

Those up in the pulpit rarely get immediate proof that their message landed. A drawing becomes physical evidence that someone listened. Someone absorbed it. Someone tried to make it visual.

Handing a sketch to someone after they speak creates a powerful moment. They can see their words reflected back, captured, and honored.

The Transaction Is Different

I give my artwork away once a week, no matter what.

It’s part of how my creative practice stays grounded - in service rather than just output.

The church pays nothing for these drawings, but I think the people who want to see them really value them.

This feels different from corporate work. There, the drawing is a deliverable. Part of a contract. Sometimes it gets treasured, sometimes it sits in a corner.

Here, it’s a gift. That changes how it’s received, how it’s treated, how it moves through the community.

Some Sundays the drawing matters to just a small handful of people. Other Sundays 40 copies go out the door and people text me about it during the week.

I never know which it will be, and that’s part of what makes it meaningful.

What would it mean to give your best work away regularly? I’ve done this 185 times to date.

Making Meaning Visible

This is how I interact with the world.

By creating artifacts so people can remember what mattered.

Most times, I don’t know what happens to the sketches after handing them off. They went somewhere, served some purpose, or they didn’t.

It’s the weekly practice of showing up, paying attention, capturing what matters, and letting it go to whoever needs it.

That is the rhythm that keeps the work honest and keeps it about service instead of accumulation.

Oh, and also, it keeps me from having to stand during hymns.

Grateful you are here,

Wade