The Peak of Inspiration

A little background to this one…  Most of the time I have a subject or two bouncing around in the back of my brain, a line of thought I would like to pursue.  And, given time and meditation, it will turn into something that I deem worthy enough to put into words.  Other times, it seems like I have to unload my current inspiration and then another will take its place, maybe not immediately, but soon enough that I don’t feel the need to search for it.  But these last ten days have been different.  I’ve poked around, tested a few titles in my head to see if anything sparked. Nothing did.  I’m left with a choice, let the fire die, give up and accept that I don’t have “it”.  Whatever that is.  Or I can show up, open a new document and start typing, and trust that my little gift, and it is little, can be multiplied into something that feeds somebody.  That would be a true miracle.  And so, I told myself, if you don’t have an inspiration, you should write about that.  I’m typing in faith that whatever ends up below has some worth, that it can be multiplied and made useful.

I think sometimes I expect to much.  I have an ideal, that my life would be a perpetual fountain of praise and spontaneous, inspirational gifts.  That I should be pouring from an overflowing pitcher that never empties with the pouring.  Someone that others can depend on to be full, to have just what they need.  That, now and then, the multitude depends on me, and I need to come through for them.  To be the one that is prepared for the famine.  To be a father in every sense of the word, and love it all.  To wake early and be anxious for the challenge of another day, and face every hour with enthusiasm and passion for my work. To have a song on my lips in every circumstance.  That anything less is an indication that I am not what I should be.

The reality is that, all too often, I don’t feel inspired.  I pour from a pitcher with a teaspoon left, and shake the last drops from the spout.  My praise fountain has little pressure, more of a dribble than a spray.  I try to give advice and encouragement, all the while wondering why I am giving it away when I need it so badly myself.  I lay in bed an extra minute, questioning my calling and life choices. 

And, speaking of choices, that’s what it comes down to.  I can hold on to my basket of loaves and fish, thinking that I don’t have what those around me need, not even close.  I can bake that last cake for me and my family.  Take that small amount of flour and oil and use it selfishly.  I can pull back, not show up, not get to work, not care, not give. 

Or I can offer what I have.  Offer a worn basket, with a few crusty loaves and a couple small fish, give it up because I want to give, and that’s all I have.  I can look down at what I am holding, stretch out my arms, and let go.  I can lift the pitcher, with just a little liquid sloshing in the bottom, and pour.  Not because I don’t need it, but because I want you to have it. 

Maybe our love is proven, not by an explosion of glorious and beautiful praise, by our dedication to the tasks we don’t want to do.  The chores of our lives.  The daily and the mundane.  Not by pouring from an overflowing pitcher, but by draining our resources.  Not by coming to the multitude with what they need, but giving to them the morsel that I have. 

You can be part of a miracle.  The absence will disappear.  The thing that was missing will not be.  You’ll need more baskets, more pitchers.  What you thought you gave away will still be there, only more of it.  Inspiration born of perseverance.  Love shown by commitment.  Make the choice and wait for the blessing.  It will find you.  I should know, it just found me.