Cookies

August 11, 2004

Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. (Psalm 34:8, NIV)

Yesterday, after I sent off the book, I thought about cookies, and Christmas and fat baby toes. I thought about times when I think I have so little and then one of my children brings me squished flowers and a snaggle-toothed smile, asking for peanut butter and honey, all that I have to offer. Isn't it good when what you have is just the right thing? Not something that can be made right or adapted to be acceptable, but the straight-up-thank-you-Jesus-just-what-I-was-looking-for right thing?

I do.

There have been few moments like that in my life--moments of not having to fold up my wings and lower my voice, moments when people smiled if I laughed too loud and ate with my fingers, moments when my favorite outfit was only available in a size 18, when everybody in the house tolerated my crazy cranberry white chocolate cookies without throwing up. Moments of acceptance. Seconds of grace.

I love those times, but the truth is, each day assaults the possibility of another just-right time. Every person I come in contact with (and vice versa) is trying to superimpose themselves upon me, to edit my life with stifling semicolons and proper pauses. Sometimes they are right. They think my cookies are good after all, just not broad enough in their appeal. "Pick cranberries or white chocolate," they say. And so I do. The result is pretty, the edges crisp. Any food photographer would love them.

Why then, do they taste like dog food to me? I chew silently, lamenting the sweet-sour pain forever lost to cookie buyers, hoping that still somehow one person will have a just-what-I-needed moment.

I doubt it, but God surprises me every day. In fact, lately, the only thing I expect from Him IS to be surprised. I'm laughing, but hurting too, wondering whether it is better to pleasure ten people to tears with everything intended or to provide for thousands pretty, safe snacks.

Oh well, I'm not that great a cook anyway. I just know what I like. I never realized until now how powerful that is, to know what you like. That's my cape, my lasso and the boots too. I need to feel something way down to the bones. I guess there's no law against skin deep cookies. It all ends up the same place. :)

May you be to someone today just what is needed: the scalpel to save, the hand to help, the food to fill, the heart to love, the alla that in their alla this, the Christmas cookie in August. Just be.

As an apricot tree stands out in the forest, my lover stands above the young men in town. All I want is to sit in his shade, to taste and savor his delicious love. (Song of Solomon 2:3, MSG)

Umph. Anybody got an apricot recipe?

Oh yeah, and there's a poem. But you knew that, didn't you?

The Dozens

I like white chocolate chips in mine, with cranberries, pecans or something funky. Always just a little something.

You wince, pursing your oatmeal-raisin-peanut-butter lips. "Too sweet," I hear you say in the direction of my lumpy, chunky mess.

Unwilling to lament the tart virtue of the cranberry, I smile and place my

white red brown

chunky nutty

sour sweet

just too much

cookies in a heap, reaching for the oatmeal and brown, flat raisins. For a moment, I consider trying golden ones instead, but I won't do you like that. Not today. Not knowing how much you rely on things being what you expect.

Behind me, you prowl softly, hands around my waist, kissing me with cranberry-pecan-mocha breath. I stroke your face, thinking of the dozens of crazy cookies you eaten from my feeble hands.

You lick your thumb when I'm not looking. I stir faster, careful only to go counterclockwise, pretending not to see.

Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.

Copyright Marilynn Griffith 2004.