Pathetic though it my seem to certain ones of you, readers, I have desired to find myself in such a circumstance. It has its obvious disadvantages, as I've mentioned in previous posts, but the advantage of mental and physical space to dream is RARE. Never do I want to discard such an obvious present, if not for myself then for those who yearn for yet cannot have it, for one reason or another. I recently watched someone make those giant bubbles with a large ring and some soapy water. He handled the ring with such care so as not to lose the water prematurely. If he executed his task correctly, the wind helped create this floating iridescent orb of beauty. The good ideas look like this. And, incidentally, I FEEL like that bubble in the graceful and playful dance my mind does with that moment of brilliance.
But sometimes, actually most times it seems, along the way, that bubble, and all its colorful vividness bursts. Reality burdens those light, exciting ideas to the point that they gain girth and deep discouragement sets in, the kind you can feel in your bones. And why? Because of those lousy limitations of time, money, human resources, and my own lack of ability and skill. It becomes painfully clear that I've been deceived. They wore a beautiful veil, but behind was this obese darkness. They looked like they were floating, but were woefully stagnant. Their masks belied their true nature: only murky potholes riddled with despair, interrupting my life because they hinder pleasant passage and progress. On days when my ideas look like this, I weep. I weep because I am convinced they are a curse, and nothing like the blessing of which they boasted. Those irritating restraints make me feel that it is pointless to even have the ideas in the first place.
And then I remember something significant. I remember SomeONE pretty significant. Someone who came to bring me LIFE, in whose presence there is fullness of JOY, THROUGH Whom and FOR Whom all things were CREATED. I remember someone else who comes to steal, kill and destroy, who prowls around like a roaring lion, not to nibble, but to DEVOUR.
So when all is stripped away, what remains? What is the TRUEST nature of an idea? Is it the bubble or the pothole?
Or is it something else entirely? What if ideas are not merely delightful beautiful bubbles of joy but powerful pockets of grace? And if I am to extend His love and His grace to others, is that in some way accomplished when I SHARE ideas? Almost like a detergent gel pack that unleashes this incredible power on all those dishes. What if the Thief's tactic is to annihilate, darken and defeat that idea so that not only am I crushed but so is the opportunity for another to enjoy God's grace? That is one crime to which I do NOT want to be an accomplice.
Finally, what if God has been purposefully sheltering me under those wings of His ("soul shrouding") so that He might flood me with His own creativity? Maybe the source of ABUNDANT life, also desires to bestow upon me grace upon grace. (John 1:16) Hallelujah, it is so.
I praise you, ETERNAL FOUNTAIN OF CREATIVITY for sharing all that you are and have with me, your wretched servant. May I not trample on the grace you continue to show me even after you have already shown me the greatest grace by giving me a future in heaven with you, where we'll have eternity, and your endless resources to actualize all YOUR ideas. Thank you for letting me borrow them so I can come to know who you are even more by the ideas that you give. Amen.
Maybe ideas aren't your thing. Maybe this makes no sense to you at all. But what GRACE pockets does He give that are as endless as He is?