The other night I experienced creativity in a whole new way.

I’d watched my mom cook all through my growing up. It looked like chaos to me — a dash of this, two of that… one more for good measure, a sprinkle of something else. On it went, till she thought it tasted just right.

I thought she was either a madwoman or a genius. No cookbook, or recipe cards or aids of any kind, and rarely any measuring tools. But it always tasted perfect. Even when she didn’t like it, I thought it was heavenly (except spinach. I don’t think there’s any way to cook spinach and make it edible, nonetheless palatable).

The other night, for the first time in my life, I cooked like my mom did. I experimented and just kept tasting until it was close to mom’s. I figured I had nothing to lose. Adria was still at work, so if all went well, I could surprise her with dinner. If it all went south… Well heck, I could just throw it away, make a PB&J and pretend the whole thing didn’t happen.

I had a blast! Anyone entering my kitchen would have declared it a national disaster area and insisted the whole place be cordoned off till the experts arrived to assess the damage and begin clean up. Pots and spices were everywhere, small spills of liquid and a smear of olive oil riddled the counter, what a mess. If I’d been in a movie I’d have been covered head to toe with flour, my hair all a mess, BUT a beautiful banquet spread across the dining table.

But I’m not in a movie (even though I do have a soundtrack and a theme song — more on that later…). So I had to settle for broiled chicken, corn and muffins. Not much, but it tasted great. Almost like mom’s. And I did it all in my own unique brand of creativity.

I wonder if this is what God did, In The Beginning.

…God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning… — Genesis 1