A pinch of love, a dash of kindness

When I young, my cousin Jody and I would spend some weekends at our grandparents' farm. Our parents would take us on Friday night and we would stay until Sunday, when our families all gathered there for Sunday dinner. Friday nights on the farm meant I would lose to Jody in Monopoly - she won every time. But we played, no matter what, because I COULD win!

On Saturday mornings we would start Grandma's weekend ritual... she baked every Saturday. I was probably about eight years old when I started pulling a kitchen chair up to her counter to "help." She always included us. She would give each of us a portion of dough to knead or let us oil the bowls and pans. My favorite part was punching the dough after it had risen. She would put the kneaded dough in these huge metal bowls and cover them with a flour sack cloth. We would work on other things and wait until the dough made the cloth rise above the rim of the bowl. It was like a race to see which bowl would get there first! The dough would hiss as all the air escaped when we punched it. I thought it was the coolest thing in the whole world when I was eight.

Those memories sat in a quiet place for a long time, until I had a family of my own. And then, God placed a little seed of thankful memories in me. And the first memory that sprouted was Grandma and those weekends on the farm. I wanted my family to have memories like that. I didn't want the violence to define me. I needed something from my past that was a light, instead of darkness.

I don't know if it was all those Saturdays with Grandma or God's help, but baking came easy to me. I had always loved to cook and, the baking, I tackled without fear. I baked bread, then cinnamon rolls. I even made homemade noodles just like Grandma. I loved the smell of bread in the oven! That smell brought me right back to those days on my grandparents' farm. It was therapy for my heart and my soul.

Baking became part of our everyday lives. That little seed God planted in me grew into my family tree of memories and traditions. My kids grew up with the smell of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls in the oven, and I ventured out and made many things I never baked with Grandma. We started traditions, traditions inspired by her... a person my kids never had the privilege of meeting. Every little leaf on that tree has a vein of life inspired by a memory, a memory inspired by her, a memory our family now has on the tree. I'm so thankful for those memories and the skills she ingrained in me. She lives on through those memories and those smells that bring our family together.

I'm sure there were plenty of times it would have been easier to not have 4 extra little hands in the kitchen. And I'm sure on the Saturdays we "helped" we tried her patience more than once, but she never let it show. And I'm sure when we stopped our weekend stays, because friends were more important and activities filled our schedule, she may have been smiling... on the inside, but she never made me feel anything but loved.

She could never have known how that awkward little eight year old would someday want to forget everything about life. Want to forget everything that existed. Want to forget about living. She could never have known how those little hands that excitedly waited to punch the dough, would be the same hands that trembled in fear all those sleepless nights after the rape.

And what she would never know is how much of an impact she would have on my life. How could she have known that the smell of fresh bread, the memory of her fresh bread, would bring hope and healing. How could she have known that letting me help, letting me punch the dough, would inspire me to change my heart, my life. How could she have known that baking would give me back my confidence and make me start to believe in myself again. How?

She didn't. She had no idea. All she did was love me.

We have no idea how our actions will affect someone's life. How God can use the smallest of measures and turn them into miracles. The best part is, we don't have to worry or think about it. It's not up to us. God has full control in the miracle department. We are called to love each other. Not when it's convenient or beneficial, but always. That's not easy. Somehow we lose our way and forget that we're not supposed to do good deeds to get something in return or only when it fits in our timeline. Love each other always. That's a tough one for me. I'm a work in-progress. Thank God I have a good example!

John 15:12 “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you."