Failure and the Urge to Create

Do you ever feel like you’re setting yourself up for failure? Some days I feel that way, when the day has been extra difficult, and I make a decision I know will make it more difficult—but I simply can’t help myself.

I felt that way as I chopped a motley collection of ingredients for tonight’s dinner. I’d taken it into my head to try something new, but as I added to my collection of sun-dried tomatoes, figs, almonds, and mozzarella, my mind kept taunting me:

The kids are going to hate this. Because, despite their parentage, they always prefer chicken strips or pizza.

My husband is going to hate this. Because he doesn’t like a sweet/savory blend in main dishes. 

And, ultimately, I will end up hating it, because the complaining from my children and polite praise from my husband will absolutely flip my last switch. If, that is, this crazy recipe turns out at all. (By the way, if it does turn out well, I’ll share what I did. If it doesn’t, we’ll pretend this never happened.)

Yet I can’t help myself. My introvert’s soul is drained dry. This day has been a blend of manic ADHD boy, hormonal teenage girl, and an eight-year-old who would rather do her hair and watch

It’s Funneh than focus on math or grammar or handwriting. The house is a mess. The chickens are all over the neighborhood. I feel stretched, battered, broken. What I really wanted to do was pull out some paint or journal, something to fill my spirit by pouring out creativity, but that’s a luxury a homeschooling mom doesn’t always have when it’s time to make dinner. 

So, I got a little creative with my cooking.

I think we all need to be creative sometimes. Actually, I think the term “uncreative person” must be an oxymoron. We’re created in the image of a creative God. We’re creative, just like our Daddy. Somehow, someway, that’s going to pour out, or we end up feeling shriveled and stifled and unfulfilled. Maybe it’s painting or drawing. Maybe it’s cooking. Maybe it’s gardening or crafting or cleaning. It may be messy or it may be creating order out of chaos—or, as with me, a little of both. Still, there is always that endless inner pull toward creativity. Toward, as Orson Scott Card might put it, the act of Making.

That’s why, even with those voices in my head, I went on stuffing chicken breasts with a combination of ingredients that will probably have my family quietly polite at best. In fact, I had fun doing it. Because pulling together pieces to make something new is … well, it’s life. It’s life at its best.

Maybe, no matter how this dinner turns out, it’s no failure at all.