First this: God created the Heavens and Earth—all you see, all you don’t see. Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness.
God’s Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss.
We know this. We feel it just as surely as the Creator God did all those eons ago. This brooding. This musing, pondering, ruminating existence.
To create is to give rise to that which previously did not exist.
To create is the be the birth mother of words and pictures and names and places.
To create is to begin, to forge, to carve out.
And it is beautiful, and heart-wrenching, and ripe with responsibility.
Even God, who stood on the cusp of darkness and light, paused.
And God brooded.
For to sit atop all that was to come and all that ever would be was huge.
And yet, as Genesis children, we have been entrusted with the same cargo. All that is beautiful and real and faceted and frightful swells at the end of our fingertips and, consequently, there are decisions to be made and pictures to be painted and poems to be written.
We have a responsibility.
We must accept our inheritance.
We, the created, must create.
"But unless we are creators we are not fully alive."
Photo credit: webtreats on flickr