Creative concepts come from everywhere. Simply by not paying attention, we can miss those opportunities to bring fresh insights to our writing. How long have we known about Jesus at age twelve being lost in Jerusalem until his parents found him at the Temple three days later? After two thousand years, one man paid attention, rewrote the concept, and made millions on the movie, which is still a favorite during the Christmas season. The title? Home Alone.
Here are some great words from Seeing Lessons by Tom Sullivan, a man born blind:
We must not be afraid to fail. More success is lost, more challenges unmet, and more opportunities squandered when people are afraid to risk personal failure. During the first year I was learning to play golf, there were days too numerous to count when I heard the horrible sound of whiff as my club completely missed contacting the golf ball. Nothing can be more frustrating or exasperating, especially when it is followed by a patronizing teacher saying, “That’s all right, Tom. Actually, it was a very good swing. Your club just passed over the top of the ball.”
So what, I thought. Dammit. I wanted to hit the hell out of it, not miss it! But every day I returned to try again, not being put off by my failure and wanting my success more. This led to Augusta and so many moments with my playing partners and friends that have provided me with inestimable pleasure.
Can you remember a man in the Bible who was born blind? We might take Tom Sullivan’s experience and rewrite the concept in what might have happened in the life of the blind man, before Jesus touched his eyes.
Failure was my friend, not an enemy. Many times, I had missed success because I didn’t want to risk failure. But I tired of resting at home, dead as a rock. How had I learned to walk? I survived a process of crawling and falling until eventually I stood on two feet.
On my first walk alone to the marketplace, I fell more than a dozen times. People swore at me when I got in their way, saying I was scum—worthless dung.
When someone came with sympathy and offered to help me find my way, I felt no better. Dammit. I wanted to walk straight up to the merchants without help. No stumbling, not even the slightest hesitation.
Every day, I returned to the street, knowing I would fall again. Why? My desire for success meant more. I counted the times I hit the ground and was encouraged whenever the number was smaller than the day before.
Then one day, I didn’t fall at all. With even more trips to the marketplace and back, I developed a confident walk. For a short distance, I could even run.
No longer was I the beggar who sat at the street corner asking alms. I accepted the merchant’s offer to work for him, a seller of perfumes.
