To Create

So last week I found myself back in Dallas after two weeks of holiday travel. Some planned and some spontaneous yet both ushering in much needed perspective to my current life, and honestly the perspective had little to do with my circumstances. 

The Tuesday before Christmas, Jourdan and I packed her car up and headed to Florida to spend some days with our families.  Typically we spend about 11 hours in the car together and always come away from our trip with some interesting stories from our stops in Louisiana or Mississippi. For instance, at one gas station in Louisiana, not only did they sell your typical fare of Slim Jims, dill pickles, and Twinkies, but you could also purchase slightly outdated Nike's and Pumas if you needed some shoes.  Really.

 

Once we hit the Florida state line, I started collecting my things, we exited and pulled into the Firestone store to meet my mom, and I wiped my greasy, travel bangs across my forehead. Soon after, my mom arrived, I put my stuff in her car, hugged Jourdan, and drove away for the holiday stay as Jourdan headed on to her own homestead.    

Sometimes when you grow up in a place that has access to views of creation that can take your breath away like Pensacola Beach does, you tend to take it for granted.  Yet, I knew in the back of my mind, that I had to get out to the beach at some point during my time home, if only for a few minutes.  My heart, mind, and vision were begging for the restoration that often meets me in creation.  

After spending the night at my big sister's house and helping Livvy give her little four month old chub-fest, Jonah, a slippery bath in the kitchen sink that morning, I realized I was returning to Texas soon and somehow in the activity of the holidays, had yet to go to the beach.  I surveyed the day's activities and realized if I didn't take the opportunity now, I probably wouldn't make it out there.  Only having about an 1.5 hours to spend, I told Livvy my beach plans, grabbed my backpack and a towel and made the 20 minute drive over the two bridges to Pensacola Beach. Remembering the more secluded spot where my friend Susan and I spent many summer days in high school with our route 44 sonic drinks, I parked the car, took off my flip flops, squished through the sand, walked onto a boardwalk, down some stairs and then saw the expanse of the gulf.  And it took my breath away.  

Late December or not, it was a perfect beach day.  The sun was bright and making the water sparkle, the sand was cool and glistening white from the sun's attention, the waves were excited and making the best crashing sounds ever -- God was showing off, and his show was exactly what my heart needed.  

I quickly found a spot, knowing my time was limited, sat down on the towel and just took it all in. Not surprisingly, tears began to travel down my face and God's presence was thick.  This was a moment I wanted to remember.  I sensed it was a time of marking and hope in the middle of so many unknowns in my life and a daily struggle to confidently walk in the truth that I will see God's goodness in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13).  Reaching into my backpack (random side note: whenever I see the word backpack, for some reason I always imagine Dora the explorer saying "backpack" really loudly and then getting her viewing audience to repeat her, which undoubtedly stems from living with a family with a three year old for awhile), I grabbed my journal and began to write.  The words written were from a place of authenticity and desperation that God purposed and brought to the surface through his creation in those moments.

As I sat there and pondered how God thought to create the beach, I laughed to myself as I considered the sound of the waves crashing.  That sound alone inspires so much creativity --- songs are written, art is painted, love is inspired, and minds are sharpened from hearing the crash and roar of the water.  If God had given me the task of coming up with a sound for waves, cool crashing would have never even crossed my mind.  It probably would have been some annoying sound like a dinky car horn or the dial-up Internet noise making people never ever want to come to the beach.  The beach would be more like the dentist office to folks if I had been in charge so thankfully, God, in his wisdom, created and it was good.

As I inhaled the smell of the salty air, stuck my feet in the cold water, reluctantly packed my stuff and headed back to the car, I couldn't help but be inspired by God's glory and his love for me.  He created the beach and met and calmed me there and showed me himself.  My focus was shifted to his redemption through creativity and his continuing invitation for me to be a part of that. And he never had to do that, he never had to be that intentional with me -- ever.  So while creation screams the vastness and power of God, he meets me in it in such a way that reminds me he is very much involved in the details, in my details, and he has not forgotten me.

So I returned to Texas the next day with a pocketful of God's glory from my brief time at the beach which made the expanse of concrete I noticed as the plane descended on DFW a little more bearable. What I did not know as I made it back to my apartment in Dallas is that God was not finished with the creation-fest he had planned for me.  The following day, my roommate, Kristen, along with our friend Jen, decided to take a road trip to Breckenridge, Colorado.  We made the decision at 2pm and were on the road headed toward the Rockies by 8pm that evening.  As unexpected as the trip was for each of us, I am confident that God purposed our eyes to see Him that week in the ways that we did very intentionally.

Kristen had never been to Colorado so it was cool to see the awesomeness of the mountains through fresh eyes.  My heart was convicted that I may have grown slightly calloused to God's creative glory because of my more frequent exposure to the grandness that is much of Colorado as I heard Kristen's exclamations of awe as we spent time in the picturesque peaks.  I remembered thinking to myself, "God, let me not be dulled to your creation or ever grow bored with your work.  Let your work, and your expanses make me long for your redemption and serve to inspire my own creativity."  So over the next few days, my eyes saw the mountains in ways I had not seen them previously and my heart rested.  There is something about seeing mountains that reminds me that God is indeed in control and my worry really is pointless.  And that reminder was a much needed gift.

On our final full day in Colorado, we made the decision to drive over to Vail. The views along the way were unbelievable.  Kristen was freaking out over all we were seeing and similar to to my beach experience, I found myself wondering how God even thought to make a mountain. He created where no precedent previously existed, making me realize his authorship of all human creativity. No matter how edgy, original, or creative we may think we are, it is inspired by what already is.  Yet when God created, he took nothing and fashioned it into something that with one glance can cause us to gasp in awe or even weep.

Over the last couple of weeks, I experienced both reactions and realized that to become more like Christ means to take the risk to create.  I cannot allow fear in my mind to numb the  ideas he has inspired. Whether or not anything becomes of our creations, we get to identify with the creator in the process and I have to believe that makes the risk worth it.  

From the crashing of the waves to the rugged crags of the mountains, my eyes saw my God and I am without excuse.  Like his works, I intensely desire my life to scream His redemption, restoration and glory until my work here is complete. Risking foolishness, I want to create and become in ways that inspire others to do the same.  And as a result, be a part of building a community of creators that still gasp in awe at the mountain tops or shed tears at the sound of the waves because we are continually moved that the God of the universe would choose to come near to us.  That he loves us that much.

May his creation make it hard for you to breathe.  May his creation cause a tear to slide down your cheek.  May his creation remind you that the God who created the vividness, vastness and intricacies of the Earth out of nothing has not forgotten you. May His creation cease your anxieties and bring your mind rest.  May his creation inspire you to risk.  May his creation bring you to a place to create in a way that others can't help but sense Him.  May his creation deliver you from your fears and selfishness.  May his creation bring joy to your heart, light to your eyes, and a new song to your mouth.  May his creation set you free to create -- immeasurably more than you could ever ask or imagine.

I mean, what if?