Remember Creativity
fishing with marshmallows
I’m at a log cabin, on a little lake, nestled in the woods. From a distance I notice what looks like a childhood gift I thought was lost forever; a small plastic fishing pole leaning against the end of the porch.
I had one like it when I was five. My great-grandmother took the grandkids to the Ben Franklin and gave us a 5-dollar bill to spend on whatever we wanted. I bought a huge jaw breaker candy and a plastic fishing pole. Now I didn’t know how to fish. Had never fished. Had no idea that I should have also bought some worms instead of the jaw breaker. But I was determined.
On another little lake about an hour from here, I convinced my father, who also didn’t know how to fish, to take me out in the row boat to drop my line.
My pole was baited with marshmallows. I thought the fish might like something sweet and there was no way to attach the jaw breaker to the hook. We stayed out on the water until it started to rain. Never came close to catching a fish. Lost half a bag of marshmallows. I remember crying because I felt like I failed.
Oh, to be five again with $5 to freely spend in an old dime store. To believe I could teach myself to fish and reel in a big one using marshmallows as bait. To create a story of how I was going to catch enough fish for everyone to eat dinner. I would cook it on a stick over a fire. We’d all have s’mores with the leftover marshmallows for dessert. Everyone would get along. No fighting. In a lonely childhood of pain and sorrow and violence, creativity is how I survived. It is the one thing that never failed me. I know now it is my super power.
It’s easy to feel like a failure. Little about life right now is what I planned. Or what social media tells me it should be. The pressure to succeed will have you questioning every step and evaluating every breath. I’m doing so much, but is it enough? Ever constant emotions fluctuating in intensity and type.
Five minutes of news on your phone or the TV is enough to make you feel like the whole world is failing. How do I stay informed without being overwhelmed? How do I pay attention without becoming despondent? Is my silence giving into fear or taking time to reflect? Is my sharing helpful or just more noise in an already loud atmosphere? How do I balance my own needs with those of others?
If only I were stronger or smarter or had my inbox cleaned out and my laundry done, I could manage all the things and feelings. If only I knew how to fish. If only I had marshmallows. If only…
Writing is one thing that feels right right now. Being creative is one outlet I always have. Sharing my creativity is equal parts empowering, healing, and terrifying. Being vulnerable is being human. Vulnerability, like humanity is messy, risky, and unpredictable.
I had a moment this last week where I wondered if the risk of creativity is worth the reward. And after some tears and a long walk, I concluded that the answer is a resounding yes.
I had plans to dive deep into the waters of creativity in 2025, to fully live into the work of being a Cultivator of Creativity in the new year. To write, teach, and speak about creativity as a spiritual practice and path of resistance just as soon as I had the map designed and the outline color coded and the website updated. And then I asked myself, why wait?
This Sunday, I’ll be back in a pulpit preaching about creativity and next week at Wednesdays at the Well, I’ll share that message here. And I’ll be sharing a daily Advent Calendar beginning December 1st on Instagram and Facebook. While Advent is a season of the church year, this calendar is not exclusively or even innately Christian. It is for everyone waiting for anything. Wanting to explore the power and possibility of creativity in our waiting. Wednesdays at the Well in December will expand on the theme of Creatively Waiting.
Today, in my meditation time, I travel back to that little cabin. The smell of pine and bonfire in the air. Birds singing in the trees. My hair still wet from having tipped my kayak trying to touch a lily pad.
I’m casting marshmallows into mucky waters as a prayer. A prayer for everyone who is managing too much, holding heavy weight of worries and grief, overwhelmed and disappointed, navigating depression and anxiety, living with illness, receiving a new diagnosis, or caregiving, wrestling with the results and consequences of the elections, anticipating the stress of the holidays, and preparing for a harsh winter and years ahead.
My prayer is that when emotions rise and want to convince you you’re failing, you’ll remember your creativity instead. Remembering creativity doesn’t mean denying your pain or dismissing your struggle. It’s a choice to be attentive and engaged. It’s messy and risky and vulnerable and unpredictably beautiful and magical and miraculous.
It’s a way to survive, to live with authenticity, to respond to the harmful things we experience without inflicting more harm. To reach for lily pads even if it means tipping over.
It’s giving what we can and sharing what we have. It’s accepting what others bring. A meal. A ride. A note in the door. A smile. A nod. An apology. An affirmation. An acknowledgement. A boundary. It’s being present even when—especially when—we don’t have an answer.
It’s being brave enough to image catching fish with marshmallows and bringing enemies together for the feast. It’s making s’mores with the leftovers.
Creativity isn’t only found in poetry or painting or photography. It isn’t only for “artists.” It’s our very being. We were created to be creative.
What lifts and inspires you?
What sustains and comforts you?
What guides and anchors you?
Remember it.
Name it.
Claim the courage to begin or continue creating it.
Sharing it.
Inviting others to be inspired by it.
The waters of life will bless it.
Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels