A week and a half ago, I was tagged by Rod with a Thinking Blogger Award. Part of the game is to go out and tag five other bloggers that make you think. Instead of rattling off five blogs when I got the award, I thought I would spend some time, try to find the right recipients, and then put up my post.

This evening, I stumbled across a blog post that made me sit back and think, so I’ll use of the first of my five nominations for Oh, The Joys. In Overthinking Harold's Purple Nightmare she thinks about Harold’s Purple Crayon in a manner radically different from my own thoughts. On top of that, when I stopped by she was breaking 50 comments on the post, most of them echoing her thoughts.

I wondered if it is a chromosome thing. She spoke about this in a previous blog post where her husband amuses her son by bouncing underwear off of a ceiling fan

K threw, the teeny tiny underwear, they caught on the ceiling fan blade, they spun around...

...and they flew down and SMACKED The Mayor right in the head.

K's manly victory dance ensued.

The Mayor laughed.

I shook my head and thought, "that is one odd chromosome."

On further investigation, however, I wonder if it is a Mason Dixon line sort of thing, or something about risk taking. You see, Kim loved the Harold stories as a child, and reads them to Fiona, who also loves them. Kim, Fiona and I are what I believe is called in the south, damnyahnkees.

Some of the difference in approach is reflected in the opening description.

Harold exists in a blank world with nothing but a purple crayon. He must invent everything around him by drawing it himself...
Harold lives in a world of nothingness, endless, boundless, limitless white space...

To me it is a very different story. Harold exists beyond time and space with the God like ability to create whatever he wants. Harold is created more closely to God’s image as a creator than any of us could ever hope for. Equipped with just his purple crayon, and the knowledge that there is a safe place to return to at the end of the adventure, he sets off. Yes, there are times that are scary, that he doubts his ability to return, but he always does, and goes nicely to sleep afterwards. (That’s always a sign of a good children’s book, children should always go nicely to sleep at the end of a book.)

Perhaps some of it has to do with how protective we feel we need to be of our children, and how much we encourage them to go out and take risks. I took risks as a child. I got broken bones, concussions, stitches, and a belief that no matter how bad things might get during an adventure, it always turns out for the best at the end.

For that matter, in the Christian faith, God the Father lets his son go off on a wild adventure where he gets pretty bruised up, to put things mildly, before everything turns out well in the end.

Right now, I feel as if our family’s adventure is analogous to one of those scary moments when Harold hasn’t found his way back, hasn’t drawn the moon, his window and his bed. Yet I believe that I shall draw that moon, windows and bed by the time I need to.

Oh, The Joys’ blog post has caused me to stop and think about creativity, and risks, and faith and I stop and thank her for it. I hope this reflection causes others to stop and think about creativity, risks, and faith as well.