If you think back to elementary-school science, it's really a miracle it ever rains at all. Tiny droplets of water evaporate from large bodies of water. Those tiny droplets gather to make clouds. And if you're really lucky (or unlucky, depending on your perspective), the wind blows the clouds over your garden just when they can hold those droplets no longer.
And. It. Rains. Refreshing drops burst onto the parched earth, quenching and replenishing all with its vital gift of water.
Miraculous as the event may be, it's not always welcomed. Weddings. Parades. Days at the beach. In fact, the only time I'm certain it will rain is the day I've washed my car. And fixed my hair. And left my umbrella at home.
But really, how can we be so finicky with such a vital component of life?
Creative inspiration is quite the same, isn't it? Necessary to life (both spiritually and financially!) but a bit unpredictable. It rains down on you in buckets when you're driving down the road or in the shower, neither situation being very conducive to laptopping.
And when it comes--when inspiration rains down--how do we react? Do we run and grab our buckets? Are we out there eagerly gathering the blessing of creativity raining down on us? What do we do when unthunk thoughts are passing through, when the Vein of Gold is pulsing wildly?
Well, if you're like me, you ask it to come back later . . . when you're sitting at your desk with a fresh cup of coffee. When the house is quiet. When the laundry's done. When the other project is complete.
Then, even in that perfect storm, when all of the droplets gather, blow overhead, and burst onto me while I'm perched at my desk with a semi-quiet house, what do I do?!
That's right. I doubt it. I rationalize the idea away! I discard that gift of creative rain like a gum wrapper. That title's already taken. . . . I'm sure there's someone more qualified to write about that. . . . Well, I called, and they never called me back. . . . I'm sure there are a thousand books about green unicorns who eat purple Popsicles all day. . . .
How finicky we are with such a vital commodity . . . with such a miraculous gift.
If we're truly wanting to create, if our purpose and passion is to change the world with new information, thoughts, and ideas, we will have our buckets ready. Our front yard will be full of them. (Or we'll at least have a notepad in our bag.) We'll stand in our freshly coiffed hair beside our freshly washed car and lift our arms in thanksgiving as the rain falls and we're washed in that rare moment of inspiration.
The rain of inspiration will not wait for our creative utopia to be built. It comes. It rains. And life is revived as a result.
Trust the rain. Trust its timing. Trust its message. And be bold enough--be grateful enough--to share its life-reviving qualities with the world.
Originally posted 6/29/2009
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