Something has become abundantly clear to me as of late: I am not as creative as the Creator. And what’s tragic is that I often think I am more creative than the Creator. Take the last three years of my life as an example.
January 2008 single handedly turned my life in a direction I never anticipated. As I sat looking out the window of a 747 on a Denver tarmac, trying to stifle the panic attack I felt beginning to suffocate me, a young woman sat down in the middle seat and entertained my weak attempt at “shooting the breeze.”
When we landed in Virginia, we had exchanged stories and email addresses. She worked for Compassion International and by the time I made it back to my dorm room for my final semester of school, I decided I wanted to work there too.
The day before I was supposed to walk across the graduation stage, I received a phone call and an offer to be one of Compassion’s first interns. I accepted without thinking twice or asking really logical questions like “Where will I live?” “Will I be paid?” and “How do you get to Colorado Springs?”
A far cry from my original plan which included pursuing corporate America, a high-rise loft in some thriving metropolis, a diversified stock portfolio, and a lucrative marriage by the age of 30. I wanted to be some sort of business prodigy; the young-gun who had impressive insight and a jaw-dropping intuition when it came to market fluctuations and global trends.
My original plan was hardly original. That story has been written. That part has been played. A lot.
But perhaps my plan’s biggest pitfall was that there was only one central character: me.
I am discovering that when you hold the pen and attempt to write your own story, you forget a lot of details. You pass over people and places that may not change your destination, but bring a lot more color to your pages. You think linearly, in chronological order. You color inside the lines and try not to smudge the ink. You follow story-writing rules and include only one conflict, climax, and conclusion. Afterall, who’s got time for more adventure when you think you’re running out of pages?
But the truth of the matter is that we’re not the story-writers. We do not hold the pen. We have the privilege of playing the part we have been given. We are beautiful illustrations; unique creations of God’s brilliant imagination. And into each one us, His characters, He places pieces of Himself for us to show to those who read us.
We are carriers of hope, promise, and mystery. We are enchanting, captivating, and contagious. Not because of anything we’ve done or the story we’ve written, mind you, but because of Who’s we are and the part we play.
How do we play our part? Be available. Be willing.
Trust the Author and Perfector of your faith to take you on a journey towards the center of His heart and in that place, you will come alive.