toolbox of the soul

Every once and a while the thought passes through my mind that I should get started on painting the kitchen. We still have much to do in updating our not-so-new-to-us-anymore house, and we’re still trying to take it one room at a time. Anyway, I don’t ever start painting, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. First of all, I actually quite hate painting, it’s far too mind-numbing for me. I abhor endless repetitive sameness, unless we’re talking about a daily routine that makes me feel safe, but then again, that gets old, too.

Hellooooo ADD brain!

What was I saying? Okay, so. Painting. You see, the thing is, I can’t get started. I know I won’t get started unless I ask Ryan to get started for me. And then I have to get out of the way because he’s coming up and down the stairs and looking for all the right things and it’s best if I mind my own business while he does that. He always, sooner or later, locates all the right tools, newspaper for the floor, brushes and rollers, painter’s tape, and pans to pour the paint in for said rollers. Then he even pours the paint in the pan on my behalf and maybe even makes a couple of swipes with a brush around the woodwork and light switches to get me started. Which reminds me, he also has to do the taping.

After I see that these things are on a roll, I’m less overwhelmed, I feel release and relief and I just paint. It’s still not something I love, but I feel freed up somehow, able to engage and move my arms and just keep going with all the tools around me. At this point, I don’t mind the task as much as I thought I would.

I think this is what God does with the creative spirit. If we get out of the way, we’re able to do what we were made to do. If we get out of the way, he’s able to come up the stairs with all the tools we need. If we stop thinking about how long it’s going to take or all the details involved, he can’t inspire. If we’re thinking too hard when we’re writing for instance, we only come up with contrived words that frustrate us with how terrible they are. But if we trust that the tools are being provided, just like I trust Ryan to give me what I need to start painting, I trust that I have what I need, and I just write.

There’s a spiritual thing that happens from this vessel of our souls, a freedom that comes with the belief in provided tools. Then we paint beautifully and love the endless repetitive sameness of the writing task.

I thought about this after I took the boys to the lake yesterday. Because even though I wanted to sit and force myself to write, my head was too full and my frustration level too high. And I knew the lake was what they needed and maybe that is why the experiences of the day ended up being just the tools I needed to write from my heart-gut. Maybe doing something for someone else is often the inspiration that we need.

The water and the sky and the fun my boys were having were all filled with inspiration, climbing into my toolbox soul, for later, when the words poured to the page, prepared in advance for me.

I don’t know why this photo rotated itself, but I guess it looks kinda cool,
so I’m leaving it. Sometimes we just have to leave things the very way they come out.

{This post is a part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.}