Creativity

We make, but thou art the creating core.

Whatever thing I dream, invent or feel,

Thou art the heart of it, the atmosphere.

Thou art inside all love man ever bore;

Yea, the love itself, whatever thing be dear.

Man calls his dog, he follows at his heel,

Because thou first art love, self-caused, essential, mere.

[Diary of an Old Soul March 5^th George MacDonald]

Commentary:

In writing I often experience the truth of this, that God my Father is the wellspring of all creative power.  With the Psalmist I sing, “All my fresh springs are in You” (Psalm 87:7).  When I am dusty dry and creativity is shrivelled by too much exposure to this world’s enuring fire, I cast aside my glance that I may awaken in the fresh springs of His ever flowing love; then awakening I see vast vistas of imagination’s endless sea rolling towards that endless horizon.