A very good friend of mine (find Elsa's work here) shared with me this piece that she had written. I was so blow away by it that I had to share it with you. I hope this touches you like it influenced me.
Who I am is a small part of the creative process; not a shaker or a mover but a still, small, hopeful voice in a great big room of dreamers. To understand what it is like to create something so wonderful that the love returned would reveal my intent, my heart...this is more than I can fathom.
I am the created, an imitator. The choices that I make define who I am. No amount of the genetic pool from which I come can sway the vote. If I were known before the conception of my parts occurred, then why do I strive to be me? So flawed I am despite my likeness to the Creator.
Is it possible that the pounding of those nails made the intangible understand so well this tangible being? To be returned to that once innocent, pure creation took the bleeding of my maker. Does red run white after it's freed?
Can I be known from start to finish and loved for all that is between? The dawn to sunset emotions I cast on others, the swaying of my boat battered back and forth across the waves, my stedfast foot upon the shore... all are written in the only strand of DNA that really counts-His.
I must lose my small voice so that the image I bear can be heard. If I do, then all that I was purposed for will be complete. I won't just be a hope, a dream from someone else's making... the grace of living life at all will be the most important part of being me.