There are mornings when I wake up with a seemingly insatiable need to create.

To build. To paint. To have my hands covered in dirt or flour.

In the past, I’ve ignored this need, telling myself I’m not that kind of creative person. I have a creative side, and my outlet is writing. So, I’ll stick with that. Just that.

But there is a part of my soul that I’m learning even writing can’t fill. There’s a part that just needs to create with my hands. To feel and taste and see the product of my labor. Even if the end result is nothing to write home about.

There is something so sweet and good about it. About ordinary objects transforming into something beautiful.

A blank canvas and paint become an aspen grove. Flour and sugar become to-die-for chocolate chip cookies. An old wooden pallet becomes your favorite bookshelf.

I create small things, and it reminds me of how big the Creator is. Reminds me how much of a gift it is to be His child, and by that nature, to have a hand in creating some of the most beautiful things in life.

A house becomes a home.

Friends become a community.

Conflict becomes peace.

Thirst becomes satisfaction.

I am creative because my Father is. Those mornings when I wake up to that insatiable need- that’s not a time to feel anxious or insecure about my shortcomings. It’s a time to listen to that desire, to give in and engage in creation. That desire is my Father inviting me to spend time with him. To know him.

That desire is a quiet, intimate gift.

I create. Because my Father is the maker of all things beautiful. And I am my Father’s daughter.

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