Christmas Baking - One More Reason I Need a Savior

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I get what they mean.  But, the problem is that most are used to tell a story that needs a lot more words to tell.  Especially when the picture is "picture perfect", but the story isn't.  Take this one, for example.

I'm pretty sure if I get to go to Heaven, and suffering has redemptive power because the Lord made it so, any merits I may be found to be in possession of have been earned here.  At this three feet of kitchen counter space.    

Looks benign enough.  Something on the stove, something in a bowl, and cookie cutters ready to go.  So far, so good.  I was "feeling it" and even texted my Mom pictures of her cookie cutters because she hasn't seen them in years and hasn't used them in decades.  

This doesn't stop me from thinking of her every time I get them out.  She told me that the silver ones were her Mom's, which reminded her of her own childhood - making taffy and laughing together, all while burning their hands because it was too hot to handle.    

A couple of weeks ago, I dreamt about my Mom.  She was standing in a kitchen with a cookie sheet in her hand, and it must have been Christmas cookies on that cookie sheet.  Only I don't remember, because I couldn't look away from her.  All I could do was cry and say, "Mom, you're so tall!"  over and over.  I haven't seen my Mom standing in almost 25 years, so it was something to behold.  I guess if you're lucky, Moms and Christmas cooking just go together.  I'm pretty sure this is why I thought making cookies and candy on Christmas Eve was a sane idea.  A gift for my children.  A memory for another day.

So, I did.  Well, I started to.  Ever made cinnamon candy or any kind of candy that is supposed to reach the hard-crack stage?  375 degrees to be exact.  How can something with three ingredients be so hard to make?!  2 hours later and enough burned sugar to go around, I was encouraged to try again.  This time with a metal plate under the pan to more evenly distribute the heat.  In the meantime, I made the Christmas cookies and helped the one boy who was interested in helping realize his mistake.  He was pressing too hard, needed more flour, blah, blah, blah...

Another two hours, a cold 325 degrees, and a pan full of nothing-good-to-eat later, I shut the fire off and walked out the door.  And kept walking.

I felt like my head was going to explode.  Maybe there was more than one source of burning smell in my kitchen?  Being in the kitchen way longer than I planned (when it's embarrassingly painful to begin with), and watching everyone else moving freely about the cabin doing whatever the heck they wanted, put me in a very Un-Christmasy mood.  

During my walk, I told myself that nothing was wrong.  Nothing.  No one made me go in the kitchen or stay in the kitchen.  That was all me, for the ones I love.  Can't you tell by my joy?!

My thoughts were flooded with visions of people I know who can't leave their beds or who are sick, or who are grieving someone they love.  And yet, somehow, knowing this didn't make what I was feeling disappear.  It lingered, and I felt like a crappy human being.

As I neared home, I'm pretty sure my unsuspecting neighbor would have just waved instead of asking if I was ready for Christmas, had she known she was going to hear about two failed batches of candy, five hours in the kitchen, and the need for a very brisk walk!  Sorry, Sherri!

I placed my hope of renewal and forgiveness in the children's Christmas Eve Mass we were planning to attend at 5:00.  Feeling good about arriving 15 minutes early was short-lived.  We were directed to the parish hall.  Overflow seating.  We got a good seat, but the view was still from a camera in the back of the church, which lagged throughout, and whose microphone seemed only to pick up the sound of crying babes.  

But, no matter.  Still got to receive the Lord, and be really grateful that the one friend I invited to Mass didn't come!

Once home, cookie decorating seemed to be just the thing to rectify the day, and hopefully, will be the only thing I (and my boys) remember...Except, that we need a Savior.

Days like today remind me of my own imperfection.  That I can be well-meaning and yet, totally derailed by inconsequential things.  It also reminds me that my hope is not in myself, but in the One Who made me, and in the One whose birth we will celebrate tomorrow.  Well, isn't that good timing...

                                              Merry Christmas from my kitchen to yours!