Freshly Baked

   

      The flour was spread across the cookie sheet ready for the yeasty dough I had just kneaded together. While rolling the sticky ball into a rectangle I smiled. Sprinkling flour on the plastic cup in my hands I continued until it was completely flattened. Next, the butter, like a little sunny stream spread to each corner covered quickly with the sprinkled cinnamon and sugar. Last of all, my favorite part, rolling it all up into a long strip of cinnamon goo. After pinching the dough to keep all the sweetness inside, with dental floss I cut twenty-four rolls.  For thirty minutes I let the dough rise before I popped them into the oven to bake.

     Yes I did it. I had one of those domestic moments of glory. The kitchen is quiet as they bake to perfection. The smell of fresh bread drifts into every room of the house. The children will wake up eager for a roll and I will feel like a success for a few moments. I want to feel this way. It's the reason I had a family. It is the vision I had as a little girl holding my "Pumpkin Patch" doll.  I especially loved playing house with my cousin because she had a miniature high chair and mini Tupperware refrigerator. Someday, I dreamed, I would make delicious things for my own real family. They would be happy.

     If only this was true.

      In real life, actual time, the pace is so much faster. To be honest I made those rolls for my worship team. My kids are going to be disappointed. Today is a special Sunday. We have a special speaker, and longer worship sets, so I thought I should bless them with a little treat.
   
       Life is full of such little decisions every day. With every choice the question that rolls around in my mind is...will I be enough? I might be, for the worship team, but will I be for my own family? Knowing that I would have a little revolt on my hands, I baked cinnamon rolls for my family too. It wasn't too much extra work, but experience has taught me to make double.

       Right now, I hear my littlest one roaring in his crib. Yes, I said roaring, because he thinks he is Incredible Hulk. He may not be yet, but he is incredibly cute. His little voice trying to be grown reminds me how blessed I am to have him. The timer is almost finished and the white whipped frosting is awaiting to glaze. I can't help but think of the many little gifts God brings my way. Little sweet reminders dressed in casual clothes, so inconspicuous I could over look them. Right now I chose to be grateful.

      Thank you God for little boys, and cinnamon and sugar, and the warmth of my living room on a cold Midwestern winter morning. For the hope I find every Sunday in church, and the voice to sing out your praises. Thank you for two almost grown girls and a tall boy who is almost a man. Thank you for the love of my life, and for the baby Hulk stirring in his crib. I am so thankful for a heart open still willing to receive...

      That heart open part...hasn't always been easy. Life is not all cinnamon rolls sweet and gooey. Sometimes there are just cold mornings, hard times. I've had disappointments, struggles, and hurts but the Lord has seen me through them all.

      Oh Lord, I love your grace. I need it everyday. Please sprinkle it down over my life.

      The oven is open, the rolls, golden brown have doubled in size. The cream cheese frosting melts into gooey puddles on top as I wait for them to cool. I can hear the house awakening with alarms and questions. "Mom where are the towels?"

    I have to go, but first I give thanks.