It's our "Tradition" to gather as a family the Monday before Thanksgiving, and bake cookies. It's a day we put on our calendar, and then guard it from being stolen by the world around us. It's not one of those TV sitcoms, where we drink hot chocolate, and play Christmas carols, and the kitchen stays spotless, as we all bake these beautiful cookies in our best attire, hair in place. Nope. We fight over whether music is on, or off, one is listening to their phone, the other screaming what did you say, over two little boys wanting the same toy. It's hair in a bun, sweats and bad breath. It's flour every where. It's "You made the batter too thick," or "It' too thin". It's a beautiful mess. I love it! We take turns figuring out whose going go play with the boys, while the other one checks the oven, and whoever has a free hand, washes the same measuring cup for a third time. It's precious.
When my girls were little, it was just as hard to bake cookies. I was a trying to juggle life as a young mother that had no concept of time, a husband that worked long hours, and a tight budget. Instead of making baking fun, I made it work. Now that I am older, I make it fun. I call out for pizza for dinner, and take time out to hug, make pancakes in the middle of baking cookies, and tickle bare feet.
Hugging and watching Nemo on the couch, while trays of cookies bake in the oven, one daughter runs home to scrub her floor, the other daughter runs out for a quick appointment for work, my husband finally gets his shower, the littlest grandson runs over to me smiles, reaches for me and says, "What you doing guys?" He melts my heart. He wants in. He wants to be a part of the big mess. He wants to know he matters in the midst of the chaos. I scoop him up and set him beside me. Now, he's on one side of me and his big brother is on the other side. There are dishes in the sink. The dishwasher is running. The convection oven is baking one batch of cookies, while the oven is baking two more trays. I rehearse what my littlest grandson says, "What you doing guys?" His words carrying far more weight than his chubby little baby feet, just for a moment I hear God. "What you doing guys?" He wanted in too. He wanted me to know, He was there, in the midst of it all. He just wanted to be part of it all. God the creator of the universe just wanted to be with us. He wanted to hang out. Wanted to be close. He wanted family time too.
Hugging and watching Nemo on the couch, while trays of cookies bake in the oven, one daughter runs home to scrub her floor, the other daughter runs out for a quick appointment for work, my husband finally gets his shower, the littlest grandson runs over to me smiles, reaches for me and says, "What you doing guys?" He melts my heart. He wants in. He wants to be a part of the big mess. He wants to know he matters in the midst of the chaos. I scoop him up and set him beside me. Now, he's on one side of me and his big brother is on the other side. There are dishes in the sink. The dishwasher is running. The convection oven is baking one batch of cookies, while the oven is baking two more trays. I rehearse what my littlest grandson says, "What you doing guys?" His words carrying far more weight than his chubby little baby feet, just for a moment I hear God. "What you doing guys?" He wanted in too. He wanted me to know, He was there, in the midst of it all. He just wanted to be part of it all. God the creator of the universe just wanted to be with us. He wanted to hang out. Wanted to be close. He wanted family time too.
Action Step: "What you doing guys?" In all the hustle and bustle of the season ask yourself, "Where is God?", because He wants in too. He wants you to make a place for Him.
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