My heart feels it’s wildest at Twilight.
As the sun pulls the shutters on the light and the heat, the world is suspended. Floating. No longer day, not yet night, the in-between feels and looks like mystery. What is ending? What is beginning? Can they be both as they simmer in the middle? The summer fragrance lingers strong and I love being in it. I love to pull out my words, play with them a little, twirl them, touch them, see how they fit in the midst of this yearning, this desire to create, to describe, to bring to life a moment that you may or may not be experiencing. It is the God-given desire to bring something out of nothing, or at least use everything I have within me to bring something out in the open that wasn’t there before.
The yearning is an invitation. Right? What else could it be? Why write poetry or music? Why make a meal, create an app, create a movement with the body that makes the heart ache deeper and further? The desire to create, to make impact, to create meaning, to make something matter to another person on this planet runs deep, flowing thick and heavy in our veins. Our souls only find release as we release. An exhale of God-given creativity. We can breathe easier and oddly enough, so can those around us.
Maybe our art makes those around us shutter, stutter, grow unsettled, uneasy. Maybe it’s the trigger warning of their life story that they weren’t expecting. It’s the response that they hadn’t planned for today. Either way – with awe or aggression, a response is a response. It’s a call to come awake just a little bit further. To come out of the fog of complacency. To be alive.
The invitation creates the invitation.
Recently, I spent some time with poets and artists, hearers and doers of the word. At one point, I wondered if God, Himself, struggles in His art. I don’t know any artist that lives this creative live with ease, without struggle, without wondering if what is brought to life will be accepted or rejected. Does God have to wrestle with words? When making the Praying Mantis did He hover over the ground enough for two or more to spring up? A part of me wonders if He had to plan it, write it out, scrap the first couple of designs. I have no idea. But, whatever He does or however He makes His art, He surely risks. Everything.
And, that’s the struggle that we find ourselves in. It’s all a risk. It’s sweat and tears, love and rejection, blood and glory. He creates, He invites, we respond, we struggle, we create, we invite, and the invitation continues, through the wind and the waves, the words and the paint, the code and the instrument.
This is the invitation.
This is the struggle.
This is what it means to create and be a creator.