Today I woke up sad. Not depressed or hopeless—just sad. That sometimes happens to all of us. It happened yesterday and the day before as I headed to the only craft fair I’ve got planned this year. I realized when I came home, he would not be here to hear how my day went. He would not be here to get excited about the money I made that would make Christmas less of a financial stain. He’s dead and his presence is still missed over a year later. I realized today that tomorrow would have been his birthday.
So yesterday when the melancholy continued, I wanted to shake it off. I realized I was surrounded by mess—laundry, house, dishes—and had promised to take a kid on a Mom Date to a movie. Plus a dear friend was coming by to help plant tulip bulbs before the snow storm hits and I needed groceries. Can you blame the melancholy for lingering?
I realized that despite the extensive to-do list, I wanted to create something beautiful. I wanted to make a porch sign for my new, delightfully-set-back porch. I had almost bought one at the craft fair yesterday but the only one that appealed to me sold before I could. Upon returning home, I realized I had a scrap piece of wood about the right size. Hmmm…
Could I? Yes. I’m from a family of creative women. I could do this with just a little paint and the right font on my computer.
Should I? The answer to that one took a moment. Then I remembered something I’ve told others many times—we serve a creative God. And if I am created in His image, then I am creative! Just go read the creation story in the book of Genesis. “And God saw that it [what He had created] was good.” His creation brought Him delight.
You may read this and say you aren’t the creative type. Maybe you aren’t creative like me, but perhaps you can make numbers come together in a symphony of order on a spreadsheet that I could never do. Perhaps you can create a dinner from dozens of ingredients and hours of time that would make my head hurt. There is something inside you that is creative. It is the thing that brings salve to your wounded soul and light to your eyes.
So while at the store to pick up food for my minions, I bought three bottles of 50 cent paint. I had white paint plus primer already from the girls’ bookshelf project. I came home and did the dishes, tossed in a few loads of laundry, tidied the counters, and determined this was worth my time. I like the up-cycled, shabby chic look anyway. I could do that.
Today I finished it. I ignored the to-do list and took some time to let being creative be a salve to the wounds that linger on my soul. It was healing. It was good. Tonight I fall asleep thankful for the beautiful children that fill my home. I’m thankful for God’s provision to buy them new clothes today. Nothing like a winter storm to reveal how much they’ve grown and how nothing seasonal still fits. A friend gave me a check for no reason that more than covered what they needed. God is good.
I also go to bed thankful I took time to sit and be creative. It spoke to something deep within me and the finished product makes me smile. Tomorrow, once the snow stops falling, I shall set it on my porch with pride.