My youngest and I bake a cake for our 4th of July preparations. She chooses strawberry frosting and then assaults the top of the cake with every kind of sprinkle we own.
I'm about to reprimand her. I'm about to insist she be more careful, more organized, more logical about the decoration.
She's zealous about it--a little lit fuse--so I say nothing and let it go.
"Mom," she cries out, waving her hands around her cake like it's a true masterpiece. "Look at this! It's an exploding firework."
So it is.
Every time I pass the kitchen counter, I see 4th of July fireworks exploding.
Perhaps our truly zealous endeavors must involve a bit of the disorganized, the illogical, and the dangerous. It's the only way to get that particular bursting brilliance across the dark night. And when you capture that lit fuse creativity so natural in childhood, you say nothing and let it go.
When you get that creative, doesn't it feel like this?