My creativity needs an outlet

I'm feeling inspired today.

But not to do any one thing.

Not to paint, to draw, to sing, to compose, to photograph, etc...

I'm not sure where this sudden burst of inspiration and creativity is coming from, nor where it wants to go.

Perhaps I need to write.

Just something. Any old thing. To get this pent up, bursting feeling to ooze out of my veins. Are you ready? I'm not sure what will happen here. I'm not sure if the course of my brain's flight will stop for the guidelines of spelling and grammar. I may forget I am even of this world. Words may become incoherent, smudgeing together like smooshed icing. It may be of a dream, or the state between waking and unconsciousness. Who knows? Here goes:

I am of the wind. For no one knows from whence it came nor where it goes. I am of fire. Of inset unqeunchable desires. I am of the clouds, floating along in a world to which I do not belong. I am of the depths of despair and the heights of living air. Air, breath, wind, blown, coursing into my lungs. Fresh air from the very lungs of Christ. That is what I am made of.

I am not the same as every other moving drone. I am not of this world any more than I am a frog. I have a deeper part to me than that of many on this earth. I have something more. I am something more. I am redeemed. Bought. Paid for. Spoken for. Loved. Favored. Wanted.

The world is my practice run, in death is the real thing. In death I shall come more alive than ever before. I can't wait.

Hope is in me. Joy is in me. Love is in me. I am whole.

Creativity drips from my tongue pouring out from the heavenly spring of the water of everlasting life. It is a gift showerd from above. My creativity, my artistic-ness, my passion, my gifts, my talents, my joy, my love, my fire. All there for a reason. I HAVE A REASON!

I have a purpose. I am a light. I shine. I sparkle. I am magical. Cause He made me that way.

Oh how the birds ever sing! Why then are we, whom He cares so much more for than mere birds, not ever singing? Praise to the One who gives songs. Who gives life, love, and joy.

Everything else is pointless. A barren, blackened field in which we sit, covered in dirt, desperately pretending there are beautiful things all around us because we refuse to look at the truly beautiful one. The one who created beauty.

And if we dare to, and finally realize all of our pretending, we shy away from the One. Because we are covered in dirt, and to stand next to such light would show how much we have been found wanting.

But He stands there, arms open wide, just like they were when He died and took on all the dirt we were ever covered with. He paid for us. He bought us. All. It's only logical, then, that He should want to reap the full reward of what He rightfully paid for. He wants us all, and He wants all of us.

He standing there holding out a bright new robe (that does amazing things for everybodies figure by the way) and a scrub-brush and some soap. He's beckoning us, saying He'll make us clean, He'll provide new attire. Inside and out. It may not be easy. Sometimes scrubbing off deep, ingrained dirt can hurt, but it's worth it. Then we get to stay locked in His embrace forever more!! What wonderful fun! To be in the arms of someone who loves you absolutely more than you could ever imagine, unconditionally, and forever, Forever! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What fun! What fun! God is fun! Jesus is fun! Lord knows the Holy Spirit is fun!! Who wouldn't want to be saved? Why the very word brings a sense of life. Of being found. I like being found. How 'bout you? Being lost sounds so dreary. Who'd want to stay permanently in that condition? Nosirree not for me.

Not for me.

I want to be wanted.