Years ago - in another lifetime, really - the hubs and I had a housewarming party. In preparing the food, I found real pleasure in trying four or five new recipes. None of them was especially innovative, although I remember my mother expressing some admiration that we would invite people over and serve dishes that were not tried and true, the never-fail pot roast or trusted chicken-and-stuffing casserole.
In truth, that has been my mom's main compliment on my cooking or baking: that I was creative. I think her admiration stemmed from her own reality. She has consistently been a good cook in a very different sense. Frugal, steady, and armed with a boxful of recipes and a Better Homes & Gardens red-gingham-patterned cookbook, she has been a devoted home economist.
When I was 15, though, and determined to learn to bake bread from scratch, she kept the mood upbeat and funny even as we wound up with bowls and baking sheets full of an exponential amount of dough. She dutifully ate the lentils and grilled asparagus that I served when living in my apartment.
Yesterday evening, as I was trying a new recipe, all of this freedom came back to me. Why was I making something I had never attempted? Where was it born and nurtured, this bent that has provided more than 30 years of trying lemon-dill muffins (don't) and coconut macaroons with homemade Key lime curd (yes, do, really)?
From a mom who, though this was not her path, walked it with me, encouraging me and letting me own my notable failures (pumpkin pie has a learning curve) as well as being aware of and celebrating progress. Come to think of it, it was Mom who tried a lemon-dill muffin and told me: Not so much.
That, perhaps, is what God does for us. Shine, preacher! In your place, and be content, William Wordsworth advises, and it is good theology. This is your path, dear child. Take a step. Take another step. Whoops, not there. Yes! Here. Find energy in the beauty around you. Let whatever wells up in you fill you with joy.
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