I am joining Emily today for imperfect prose. She has changed it a bit - giving us a prompt - a word to get the writing juices flowing. Today that word is:
For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be one of the creative ones. You know - the ones who stood out in the crowd because they were unique in every way. From their clothing to their hair styles to the way they did things differently from everyone else - and mostly for the beautiful things they created. I tried so hard to be like one of them, but my conservative nature always won out. I never could quite get out the door wearing something a bit over the top. I would look in the mirror and run back to the closet to retrieve my skirt and blouse.
It took nearly as long for me to figure out that there was, perhaps, a sameness in their difference, and that - most amazing of all - we are all creators in one way or another. The little bits of poetry I scribbled in a book, the sweaters I knitted, the pictures I stitched with beautiful thread, even the shawl I crocheted for Aunt Fannie - all creative. I breathed a sigh of relieve and continued to be my own conservative self. However, the Father is never satisfied to leave us where we are. There is always work to be done.
There is one bit of creativity I've been working on for a very long time. It isn't writing - although that has become the passion. It isn't the handwork - although I can't sit still for long without reaching for something to do with my hands. It is what I create with my spoken words.
I've always battled my tongue. Yes - I have. It is easy to come across as sweet and encouraging on a blog post. It is another matter to live each moment creatively, to build something beautiful in the home and the places I go with my words, to pour into the lives of those whose hearts are dear to me words that build up instead of tear down.
It has been an on-going war of sorts - little victories off-set by major defeats. I feel the Father turning up the heat these days - something breaking inside of me. "It is time," He whispers. The pounding of my own words in my ears, the pain of knowing they have gone like arrows into the heart of another.....yes, it is time.
Time to create with my words the things I believe in my heart.