I close my eyes and try to pray, but the images of dresses dancing before my mind’s eye refuse to be subdued. Trying to focus, I close my eyes again, but the skirt of a ball gown swirls in my vision, as clearly as if I were watching it on a Technicolor film. The fleeting image begs to be remembered, and I reach for a notebook and pencil, hoping that if I sketch it, I’ll be able to concentrate and not worry about forgetting this rare inspiration. Soon a rough image of what appeared in my mind takes form on the paper – a full, floor-length skirt, off-white, peeks out below deep v’s of lacy color – what color I am uncertain – something dark; plum maybe? – that fade gradually away into shimmering specks on the filmy off-white underskirt. The top of the dress is unseen by my mind’s eye, but quickly takes shape on the paper as a mirror image of the skirt – two v’s of the colored lace pointing upwards, fading to sparkling dots on sheer fabric, with a high rounded neckline and bracelet length sleeves.
Two more dream gowns make their way into my notebook before I can focus enough to pull something out of my regretfully unfocused prayer time, but the feeling of jittery excitement remains with me – the pent-up feeling beneath my breastbone, the tensed stomach muscles, my whole being strung like a violin string, waiting to be released in a creative endeavor. I yearn for the chance to sit at my sewing machine or at the piano, or to hold a pencil in my hand and draw, or to crochet, or design a room, anything that involves color and creation or music. It’s the urge to create.
For me, like many other people, creativity is therapeutic. When I guide fabric through my sewing machine, press my fingers to the keys of the piano, or watch a picture form and change beneath the point of my pencil, I thrill at the creative process, and there is a sense of belonging and a kind of satisfaction – but always with that longing for more, an imperfect enjoyment, because complete satisfaction will only be found in that sweet moment when I am in Heaven with my Savior.
Why this deep-seated need to create? I think of not just myself, but all the other people who have this need and have it much more strongly than I. The answer is not hard to find. We were created by God, in His image. The creative urge is something God-given; it is a glimmer of His attribute as Creator that He has tucked inside of us. He is the Master Craftsman, and anything that we humans can attempt compared to the incredible artistry of His handiwork is like a child’s crayon drawing compared to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But just as a mother delights in her child’s crayon drawing more than if the Sistine Chapel were handed to her, so our Creator-God delights in our creative attempts, if we use them properly (and don’t get distracted from spending time with Him in pursuit of them 🙂 ) – to bring Him glory.