Making Space & Cultivating Creativity

Preparing for the Life You Are Called to Live

Aug 21, 2024

I’ve been home from the Unraveling Mid-Atlantic Tour for well over a week now. After a whole lot of introverting time to recharge, I’m refreshed and ready for what’s next. And I’m continually filled with goodness and gratitude for the experience, and the people and places that made the trip so life-giving.

The friends who made space for me in their schedules and homes.
The strangers (now new friends) who made space for me in their guest house.
The churches who made space for poetry and sermons in their pulpits and sanctuaries, fellowship halls and chapels.

Each space was uniquely made. Made with hospitable welcome. Extravagant expectation. Bright colors. Cool drinks. Freshly baked cookies. And blueberry pancakes. Because these spaces were made with such intention, they were perfectly set for cultivating.

I do not have a green thumb. I struggle to keep a pot of succulents alive. My knowledge of planting and growing, like my skills for harvesting and pruning, are about non-existent. But I love to play in mud and soil. And get my hands and feet dirty. I am completely in love with and in awe of creation’s land and earth’s gardens.

One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson. I was fascinated to learn that during her life she was better known as a gardener than a poet. So much of her work is inspired by and includes images and metaphors from nature and gardens.

She wrote,
Winter under cultivation
Is as arable as Spring.

I recognized many years ago that when a word or phrase repeatedly comes to you, to listen to what it has to share. Most recently that word has been cultivating. It has come through books, poems, dreams, reflections, and conversations.

When I headed east for the tour, my first priority was to be fully present. For every moment. In every space. To all the possibilities. Another goal, was to glean and to gather insight into where I am headed. What the future looks like for me personally and for the work of 10 Camels. I’m doing good things. Receiving more and more invitations. Connecting with wonderful people and exciting opportunities. Seeing visions come to reality. Hopes realized. And still unsure of what it all means and where it is going.

This question, who am I, specifically as it relates to what I am offering through 10 Camels, is a constant thought companion.

Near the end of the tour, I found myself a guest in the home of a couple I had never met before. Friends of a friend. Not only did they offer me a carriage house to stay in, they cooked incredible meals and mixed fruity drinks and brewed amazing coffee. They taught me a new board game. And fostered honest, vulnerable, and soul stirring discussions. In one of these discussions, after I voiced my internal wrestling about who am I, a friend offered an answer.

This friend was with me for the entire tour. Sitting through multiple poetry shows and sermons. She said that as she listened and watched, she felt the word cultivator several times. And that if it came to her again, she would share it with me. And she did.

“Rebecca, you are a cultivator of creativity.”

I received her words and told her I would try them on. And I’ve been trying them on every day since. And today, I am writing to say that these words fit. This is an answer I’ve been seeking and searching for.

I am a cultivator of creativity.
And I have been in a season of cultivation.

A year ago, after an intense time of care-giving for a loved one during their cancer diagnosis and treatment, I committed to care-giving for my own hopes and dreams with that same gentleness and tenderness as I had their body and spirit. I thought of it then as making space. Making space for myself, and my gifts, and my calling. I recognize now, it was more than making space, it was cultivating a life.

Cultivation is a process. A preparation. It’s readying yourself and your surroundings for planting and growth. It’s assessing your environment. Figuring out sunlight and water and nutrients. It’s evaluating what you have and releasing what you don’t. It’s naming what you can control and what is beyond manipulation. It’s sowing seeds knowing that not everything will sprout. And that things you never expected will miraculously bloom.

It’s learning and growing from the process as much, if not more so, than from the outcome. Those poetic words from Emily Dickinson remind me that there is potential in the process long before any harvest arrives. That what we discover about ourselves and creation in the cold of winter empowers us to fully embrace the hope of spring.

This last year has been filled with tests and trials. Fun and travel. Trying new ideas and pushing myself to do wild things. Learning what makes money and what brings joy, and that they are not always synonymous. Putting myself out there. Taking risks. Launching new projects and a website. Publishing a book. Tears and laughter. Moments of certainty. Long days of doubt. Successes and what I call challenges rather than failures. Different flavors. Figuring out what I love and what I like, and what I’m not interested in at all. Practicing, perfecting, and implementing creativity in multiple modes and ways.

On the tour someone asked me if I thought creativity was a spiritual gift. Yes, I said. Yes, one that I am called to cultivate in myself, in others, in groups, in churches, and in community spaces.

There’s a little room in my basement. Over the years it has been used for a host of purposes. Most recently it was like a large storage closet. Filled with stuff. So much stuff. Upon return from the tour, I went into the room, flipped the light on and just sat on the end of a bed covered in piles. The thought of cleaning out the room to make space felt totally overwhelming. The idea of clearing the room to cultivate creativity felt like a delightful invitation.

Over a course of several days, I emptied the room. Pulling up the old musty carpet. Brushing several coats of paint on the wood paneled walls. Using things already in the basement to decorate. Carefully selecting each item to go on the shelves. Every item on the walls. Writing the story of why they were chosen. Making space for a changing season. Plotting a place for developing this not entirely new, but freshly accepted position, as cultivator of creativity.

Whatever season you are in
whatever questions are before you
whatever wonders fill you
whatever possibilities capture you
whatever dreams inspire you

I wish you inquisitiveness
I send you curiosity
I offer you permission to adventure
I gift you a big pile of soil and a bag of seeds.

May your imagination take root.
May your hands and feet get dirty as you make space, cultivate creativity, and prepare for the life you are called to live.