Are You Creative?

I made a statement at work a few days ago has proved to be pondersome:

Everyone is creative. It may not look the same for everyone, but in some field, in some way, everyone is creative.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is more of a "feeling" I have than something actually based on God's Word or scientific research or something with a hint of objectivity. So I've been looking for evidence that would suggest my point is true (I know, it's a very backwards way to go about doing research).

One major piece in my favor: we were all created in the image of God, who is obviously creative.

CREATIVE * having the ability or power to create. Productive, creating. Characterized by originality and expressiveness; imaginative.

It's the Imaginative part that strikes me as being the heart of creativity. Something you dreamed of that wouldn't exist apart from your unique way of thinking. Maybe you concocted a new vaccine; maybe you found a different way of looking at a legal case that would enable you to persuade a jury; maybe you have a way of putting lines on paper that makes them come alive; maybe you came up with a database structure that perfectly meets the needs of your website.

Mom says she thinks someone who is creative in one area is creative across the board, and this threw me for a loop because I kind of agreed but it doesn't fit very well with my first statement.

But perhaps "across the board" is too broad, or at least too vague. Someone who has an eye for the arrangement of physical objects would probably have that same attention and gift for beauty in all areas of life -- in a room or on a page or on a body. But that same person wouldn't necessarily be good at creating databases. The database manager, however, would carry his creative bent to all areas of his life. [This is the part where, if I were the database type, I would include some specific, concrete examples of how database creativity would apply to other areas of life. However, my particular brand of creativity unfortunately has not yet extended to databases.]

Just to live and think and be who God has made you to be is Creative. By speaking, by your way of making decisions and interacting with others, you are adding to the world something that no one else can add -- "characterized by originality and expressiveness." Expressing your originality.

This gets into some murky waters when it starts to blend with the popular cultural theme of finding yourself and expressing yourself in order to fulfill yourself. However, this creative journey is not about giving the world the gift of myself. It is about bringing God glory that He cannot get from anyone else; it is about serving others in ways they would never be served if I were silent.

CREATE * to cause to exist; bring into being. To give rise to; produce. To produce through artistic or imaginative effort.

There is only on true Creator, the one who "causes to exist." But we are little creators, producing by our imaginative effort that which graces the lives of those around us.

"For we are God's workmanship (comes from the Greek word for POEM; we are his creation, something he brought into being) created in Christ Jesus to do good works (just as he worked his design in us, so we are to work, to expend the effort it takes to create) which God has prepared in advance for us to do (in the end, the originality is God's -- we just walk in the ways He has already lined out for us.)

And maybe you will find that some creative activity proves to be a window (for you or those around you) into who God is that never could be opened by any part of His vast creation.

Bad

An open and honest dealing with your sin sets you free. ~ ERIC IRWIN

To a woman wracked with guilt (and disbelief that she could murder an innocent child) over an abortion: "I don't know why you are so surprised. This isn't the first time your sin has led to death; it's the second. All of us are responsible for the death of the only innocent who ever lived." ~ REBECCA PIPPERT VIA JOSHUA HARRIS

When you become disappointed in yourself, it's proof that you were trusting in yourself to start with. All Jesus expects from us is failure.
The hostile mind is the one which says, "I can do it."
A person will not truly repent until he realizes his own depravity. ~ PETER REID

Is God trying to tell me something about my depravity? When Sunday's sermon, my current bus book ("Boy Meets Girl"), and lectures from Bodenseehof which I have been listening to in the car all collide on this one point, I take note.

And so, last night when I was babysitting Peter (and Lucy), I saw Peter's actions in the light of what I have been meditating on about myself.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a sweet evening together with books and puzzles on the couch, dinner and conversation at the table, and shampoo and many snuggles in the bathroom, he threw a fit in the living room just before bed. I told him I would read him one more story, and then I read it to him, and then he wanted more. I said no. He threw the book on the floor and threw himself back in true tantrum form. This did not meet up with what I required of him; I told him to pick up the book and say he was sorry.

He screamed and said "NO!" I slapped his little hand (the one that had caressed the back of my neck when we hugged after his bath, his wet head tucked up by my neck) and repeated what I was requiring of him. He was degenerating into falling-on-the-floor tantrum stage. I cast my eyes and my heart heavenward, asking for wisdom and strength, then set clean, snuggly Lucy on the floor and took Peter in my arms. I turned him over my knees and spanked his little leg (covered in fuzzy moose jammies), just below his diaper. Then I sat him up and wrapped my arms around him. "Are you ready to pick up the book now?" I asked.

"NO!" Back on his tummy over my lap. I had a fleeting thought that I should have closed the curtains over the big picture window before starting this endeavor, but I brought my mind back to the task at hand. Another double swat. I knew there was a sting; I felt it in my hand. I enfolded him in my arms again. He was crying loudly, snot and tears flowing, but he did not resist my embrace. "Are you ready?" (Tears were coming to my eyes; did he know how dearly I wanted to help him succeed?)

"NO!" We repeated the cycle, maybe five or six times altogether. It felt like it was becoming a habit, and I prayed for a way to help him break the cycle. I hugged him for an extra minute after the latest spank, and he said something new through his sobs: "Trink wa-er?" I told him there would be no drinks until after the book was picked up and he had said he was sorry. "Are you ready to pick up the book now?"

"No." "Are you sure? Do you want to say 'yes'?"

"Yes," he said, sliding off my lap. He picked up the book and handed it to me. "Say you are sorry to Aunt Julie," I told him.

"No." There was no fight in his word, just a plea for the remaining remnant of his pride. I did not want to spank him again. "You need to say you are sorry, because it is so important that you obey Aunt Julie. If you don't say it, I will spank you again."

"No!" A protest against the spanking more than a declaration of his intentions. More sobs. "Okay, then say you are sorry." He was standing facing me, my hands on his little arms. Sliding away from me, his eyes down, letting the ends of his words fall off, he breathed, "So - o - rry, Au Ju."

"I forgive you." I picked him up and loved him with a great big hug and with words right in his little ear: "You know that I love you very much, Peter."

~~~~~~~~~~

I have thought of the "battle of wills" as a conflict between parent and child. Now I begin to see that it is instead a battle they both fight together against a greater enemy -- our legacy from Adam, our sin nature. And I picture our Father God, wanting to help us, finding an unfathomable way to help us. The mystery of substitutionary atonement. The mystery of the fight we still wage, even after being redeemed by Jesus. Peter Reid thinks moral failure comes because of lack of knowledge. One piece of knowledge from Colossians: "So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord {accepting his death and resurrection in our place} continue to live in him {accepting his death and resurrection in our place.}" Eric quoted Jesus: "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

But the catch is, if we tolerate sin there is no freedom.

God, grant me eyes to see my sin
courage to acknowledge it
a heart that hates it.

David says:

"I seek you with all my heart;
{which is how we should seek God, and how I WANT to seek Him}
do not let me stray from your commands.
{but obviously the tendency to stray is still there, even with all of my heart seeking God.}
I have hidden your word in my heart
{into the depths of that which is deceitful and unknowable, we plunge the treasures of truth}
that I might not sin against you.
{I do not want to sin, yet I see my bent towards it and actively swim against the flow.}"

Thankfuls

I am thankful for Jana's baby shower next week, and the chance to make some fun desserts: a way to bless her and the others at the shower and also to try out some new recipes! (Coconut Crusted Key Lime Napoleons? Cherry-Pecan Meringue Bars? Minna's Apricot Squares? Chocolate Cappuccino Cheesecake Squares? This is the fun part, but sometimes it gets tricky . . . )

I'm thankful for the chance to make dinner for Mom and John tonight -- creamy coconut squash soup and peanutty Asian pasta and veggie salad. Good to create, even better to have someone to give the creation to.

I'm thankful for the weekend and the chance to see my two grandmas in my time off. We're all having dinner together tomorrow in Snohomish with grandma I (our family and both grandmas) and I'm going up to Stanwood to spend the night with grandma II.

I'm thankful for praying with Mama. It's the best. It reminds me to look for what God is doing on even the most routine of days, makes me purposeful in bringing everything before Him, and draws Mama and me close.

And for good books, and bus drivers who keep their eyes on the road so I can cozy up and read and sleep and look at the Mountain. And for rain and cold so I can enjoy wood fires, down vests, and hot rocks. And for Peasant Pig and his family, only fifteen minutes down the road. And for the sovereignty of God over all my todays and tomorrows.

Friends

Last weekend I got to spend some time with some friends who are more than thumbnail photos on my Facebook page. The status updates I received were not clever one-liners, and there were not hundreds of acquaintances and friends of friends in the audience. And I am heartily grateful on both counts!

Favorite moments from our few days with Mark and Monica (with a surprise appearance by Mistaya for one night):

Thursday evening Dad, Mark and I had a sweet fireside evening together. John went to bed early, and Monica joined Mom at her Excellent Wives small group. I played the piano for a time because I needed to practice for church on Sunday, and then I curled up by the hearth, joining two men I love and respect. Mark shared some thoughts about the greatness of God and His over-arching plan (and how small we are in the big picture) from a men's conference he went to a few months ago, and also how he is doing personally as he deals with very painful arthritis in fingers and knees. It is not easy for a man who has always been exceptionally strong and able to live with constant, debilitating pain. Mark's quiet testimony of faith in God's ability to heal him, God's wisdom to do what was best, and God's faithfulness to take care of the needs of Mark and his family spoke of deep intimacy with his Father God. His trust in the face of daily difficulty brought tears to my eyes and wonder to my heart. This is tangible trust -- if Mark's skilled, muscled hands can no longer grip a hammer, who will provide for his family? If his strong fingers can no longer close around the neck of a guitar to assist him in song, how will he worship? If he his mountain-goat legs can no longer climb up and down the mountainsides surrounding his home, who will take care of the upkeep for his water and electricity system? And where will his zest for life come from if he cannot provide for others and his own soul in these ways? It is while facing these practical questions that Mark speaks of his trust in the goodness and the power of his God.

Friday afternoon it was the girls' turn to gather in the living room. Dad, John, and Mark were outside watching some loggers take down several dying trees, so we had the house to ourselves. We were drawn to the cozy fire with our handwork. Monica was knitting a sock for Lucy and I was embroidering a signature on the back of a baby quilt for a friend; somehow the talk turned to marriage. Mom had been talking about the potential suitors who were piling up for me -- that is, young men her friends had run across who they thought might make suitable husbands. So they tell Mom about them, but I say what good does that do? I don't want to pursue a man; the kind of marriage I want would not spring up from that foundation. Monica and Mom understood my heart, but somehow there is always this tension between waiting and working -- and others sometimes seem more concerned with the whole matter than I am. Using the story of a young single friend of hers who feels out of place in a gathering of valley women (who all happen to be married), Monica asked me for advice about how to help her friend feel welcome. I found that I could not answer her truthfully without tears, and that somehow the question was not about the friend at all, but about my own heart. After a silence when I watched the fire and listened to the crack of a falling tree and fought to be willing to be vulnerable, I told her through tears that I did want to get married, but it seemed that marriage was not for me at this time, and so it's hard when others are always shoving marriage in my face by chattering about gallant youths or asking me if I've met anyone. It's easier to pretend I am indifferent than to show the depth of the desire, as yet fully unfulfilled, in my heart. But she showed me something I had somehow overlooked: it is PRETENDING, putting up walls, not being honest. I still don't know if marriage is something a godly girl can pursue, or something she waits for; I don't know how to live with unfulfilled, godly desire in a way that is both honest and content. But I know a little more the depth of love two wise women have for me, and I have been challenged to walk open and unafraid of disappointment and vulnerability.

Saturday night Mistaya shared my room. Besides Peter, she's definitely the most frequent sleeper in my extra bed, and it feels cozy whenever she gets a chance to occupy it. I always like the time we have just the two of us before we settle in to sleep, and though our lives are on very different tracks right now (I as a pastry chef, soon-to-be who-knows-what; she as a paramedic-in-training, soon-to-be paramedic employed who-knows-where), there is still a camaraderie between us as we walk through this (sometimes frighteningly) free season of life.

Sunday I played the piano in church and left the house early to practice with the other musicians, and the Courtneys left right after church to head back over the mountains, so our last day was busy and our goodbye was brief. I am grateful that these are friends I never truly have to say goodbye to -- as far as I can predict, I will see them again soon; beyond that, we are all going to the place where there are no goodbyes.