Boiling Over

Creatively Watching and Waiting

A watched pot never boils.

I tried. Making a box of macaroni and cheese. It took forever. I grew bored before the bubbles came. I tried again. Making a package of ramen noodles. It also took forever. And I became more enthralled by second. The changes to the water were slow, simple, and subtle. Before there were bubbles, there were quivers and before the quivers small barely simmering lines. The color shifted to a muddy shade of clear that appeared to rise like fog over a river. When it finally came to a boil its whisper became a whistle and then a song.

A watched pot never boils. Until you’re paying close attention.

This Advent, my waiting has been like watching water boil. When I released the belief that the right way to wait was patiently and embraced waiting creatively, everything transformed. I began this season with an idea of where it would lead. I wrote daily reflections with a particular destination in mind. I wanted to go somewhere different. Somewhere I’d never been before. But what I realize today, is that the journey actually steered me somewhere known and inspired me to experience familiarity in a whole new way.

My goal was to creatively re-imagine the process of waiting and the objects of my longing. What does Advent mean apart from church and connected to Christianity in a far less formal way? What am I waiting for beyond hope, peace, love, and joy? What is being birthed, if not simply Jesus, a baby I’ve adored my whole life and whose teachings I followed only to find myself lost and wandering far from home?

These last 25 days, I have written piles of poems, journaled, read books, experimented with paints and brushes, bought glue sticks and made messes with glitter and stickers, doodled on construction paper, pieced together puzzles and Lego sets, taken long walks, listened to beautiful music, rolled play-dough and baked dozens of cookies.

In all these activities, asking questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? How do I want to live in this world? What does cultivating creativity look like in my own life and that of others? Why does creativity feel like liberation? Is this healing that I feel? What is this fresh life I am holding? Is this what it means to be alive?

Creatively waiting has connected me to other creatives. People I used to know and people I’ve just met. It has sparked motivating conversations that mended old wounds I didn’t realize were still waiting for attention. It has brought revived dreams and reinvigorated ideas to the canvas and expanded plans for turning them into reality. Creativity took me on a cold snowy drive to the city of my birth.

I received an unexpected email. My heart warmed by creative energy, I was able to open it with curiosity rather than skepticism. Many years ago, I submitted an essay for publication in Happy Anyway: A Flint Anthology. Much to my surprise it was selected. When the book was published doubt and fear and insecurity kept me silent about this success. With few exceptions, I told no one about my essay and did little to promote the book. When I read the email from the editor, with a last-minute invitation to all the authors for an event that evening in Flint, my reaction was unusual.

I wanted to go. I didn’t over think it. I didn’t allow anxiety to make the decision. I didn’t rationalize all the reasons I should stay home. I said, I’m going. And I went. And it was amazing. A book club at The Sloan Museum chose “Happy Anyway” as their December read. And were thrilled to have the editor and several authors come for the discussion. The conversation was rich and organic. Honest. Real. Unforced and flowing with ease. People had really read my essay and wanted to talk about it. Listening to others tell their history and the inspiration for their essay was like opening gifts on Christmas. Each package uniquely wrapped and decorated housing a one of a kind story. After the discussion we toured the museum.

1956 Buick Centurion. Concept car of the future.

The Sloan Museum, holding the history of Flint, has undergone renovations since I visited as a young student on school field trips. But much is the same. The Chevys and Oldsmobiles and Buicks that my family helped assemble. The newspaper delivery bag like the one I had for my route as a teen. Wandering around, my imagination boiled over. Memories. Poems. Stories. Another essay. A whole book. A play. A movie. A life of creativity.

My first job. Those bags filled with papers weighed a ton.

Driving in I passed by the library where I was introduced to books and fell in love with words; the auditorium where I saw my first play and the theater where I heard my first symphony envisioning myself on a stage one day; the expansive lawn where I attended summer art fairs making masterpieces hammering nails into strangely shaped pieces of wood; the planetarium where I traveled to the stars.

Oh, the possibilities! Then and especially now. For creative artistic expression. For words. For water. For remembering. For healing. For forgiving. For releasing. For transforming. For dreaming. For being. For living.

This is what I’ve been waiting for. To bring my creativity to light. For my creative calling to boil over. And it all happened in the most unlikely way in the most unexpected place. The place where I was born and died, illuminating the undeniable truth that I am yet alive.

Waiting patiently is watching the pot simply wanting the water to boil.

Waiting creatively is anticipating and engaging each step of the process. Longing for the quivering and bubbling and simmering. Believing that from the water we will be born anew and again. Seeing ourselves and our gifts clearly. Embracing the fullness of who we are and how we came to be.

This is not the ending I expected. This is not how I imagined Advent would culminate or what birthing day would bring. This is not at all what I thought I was waiting for, but it was everything I was awaiting. And this is closest I have ever been to the essence of Advent, waiting without knowing the end of the story.

A watched pot does indeed boil and my pot is overflowing.

Whatever this season holds for you and however you celebrate or mark this day, may there be room in your hands for goodness and surprises. Room in your heart open to creative imagination and unexpected invitations.

May your creativity boil over and birth the life you long for!

I am filled with gratitude for each one of you. Thank you for journeying with me this Advent and thank you for being part of the Wednesdays at the Well Community. Your presence truly does make a unique ripple.

I am taking a short break over the holidays. Time to rest and relax and rejuvenate. Come back to the Well on Wednesday, January 8^th for new words and reflections. 2025 is going to be a wonderfully water-full year.

~Rebecca & 10 Camels