At times, it can be terribly frustrating.

Anyone who has stared at a computer screen, waiting to be zapped with just the right sentiment, metaphor, or brilliant turn of phrase—only to keep staring far longer than they care to admit—knows the feeling. Whether it’s the next great American novel, a heartfelt letter of apology, or even a song, writing can sometimes feel like having a tooth pulled.

So why do it?

Passion.
Connection.
A desire to be heard.

For me, there’s a fire that burns deep inside, beckoning me to create something. I don’t feel as though I have much choice in the matter. It’s as if creating is one of the ways I stay connected to my Maker.

For others, the creative impulse takes a different form.

My dear friend Don—one of the most thoughtful men I know—creates candy for the eyes with his photography. He has a knack for capturing a sliver of the original creation every time he clicks the shutter, a gift he seems to send back to the Creator with a quiet thank you.

Another friend, Denise, fills empty canvases with vivid images—paint stroked with artistry and vision. I’m about to frame one of her paintings for my office, a thoughtful gift that will bless me each time I glance up from my screen.

Creativity can transform even the most stubborn patch of earth. To wit, the nearly one-acre plot of land we purchased eight years ago.

Once choked with thorny blackberry vines and every variety of weed imaginable—our property has been shaped into a panorama of wondrous colors. Gardening has become a joy, one that draws us into the creation that surrounds us.

Before… My best pal, Bill, hacking down decades of wild growth, tangled and relentless, on our property.

An older man stands outdoors holding a weed trimmer on a sunny day, smiling at the camera. He is surrounded by plants and dirt, with a house and a fenced yard in the background.

After…Karen—aka “Edward Scissorhands,” or in this case Edwina—and me in the early stages of shaping our mini Shangri-La.

Two people stand in a garden holding gardening tools, smiling at the camera. They wear gloves, casual clothes, and hats. There are plants and a large black bin nearby, with trees and greenery in the background.

Inside our new home in Poulsbo, WA, Karen and I are reminded daily of how blessed we are with friends—creators themselves—who feel more like family. Our friend Jeannine fashions beautiful pottery out of lumps of clay, carefully grasping and releasing, shaping and refining, until lovely mugs, bowls, and elegant pieces emerge from what once looked like nothing at all.

A collection of ceramic cups and bowls sits on a kitchen counter, with a window, framed photo, and a person seated in the background. Natural light fills the room.

In my intemperate youth, I built two spec homes with an old friend. On the negative side, it nearly pushed us into bankruptcy. But in the end, I witnessed something extraordinary: a home standing where there had been only dirt. That marvel has never left me.

Creativity comes in countless shapes and sizes. I believe it’s one of the ways we draw near to the original Creator. Whether you understand it, practice it intentionally, or doubt you possess even a trace of it, I suspect it’s woven into your DNA. Like Pablo Picasso once stated:

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

A landscaped garden with various vibrant plants, including clusters of bright yellow-green shrubs, deep red and purple foliage, ornamental grasses, and a mulched ground, beneath a balcony railing.

A small portion of our gardens today.