Today was baking day. Or more accurately, three homesick girls self-medicating with copious amounts of butter, brown sugar and cinnamon.
Because as my Mother taught me, there’s almost no problem in the world that can’t be solved with a biiiig stick of butta. And butta is a much more socially acceptable coping mechanism than some of it’s prescription counterparts.
And so we baked. And baked. And then just to keep everybody guessing- we baked some more. Given that the blizzard of flour and sugar that ensued in the kitchen earlier today is as close as we’ll get to a white Christmas-…I may have gotten a little carried away. But oh, was it ever worth it. The most intoxicating, mind-numbingly divine smells were wafting from that rusty little gas oven-chocolate chip muffins [why do I even bother eating anything else?] and sour cream cinnamon swirl coffee cake [Martha may be a felon, but the woman can throw together a cake like nobody’s business…], monkey bread [say what?] chocolate chip cookies […okay, so given the fact that I literally quadruple the amount of chocolate chips my muffin recipe calls for and I doubled this batch of cookies…I’m sending out an SOS for more chocolate chips.] cinnamon nutmeg apple crisp and homemade Hawaiian pizza….all together now: be still my beating heart.
And there was much rejoicing.
Laura-vraiment merci for letting us come use your oven all day! Christy will name her firstborn child after you. You heard it here first. [And so did she.]
Now, I’m going to level with all of you. There have been some tears around here lately-and by “here”, I mean my apartment. [Our he-men teammates upstairs don’t cry quite as often as Christy and Michelle do. ;)] We really miss home. And right now, I miss my mobility. It looks like the reindeer trot tomorrow morning won’t be as feasible as I’d hoped-but don’t you worry, because we’re going to find another way to work in those costumes.
Anyhow, I just thought I’d be honest and admit that this isn’t easy. And sometimes, it’s with slow reluctance that I unclench my fingers tightly wrapped around my dream of Christmas at home, and slowly, slowly hand it over to the God that died for me. We have to work at remembering and believing
that following Jesus to Africa is worth it because He is good and enough. Enough. Not in a barely-scraping-by sort of way-no, not even close. In an overflowing, I can’t out-give Him no matter how hard I try kind of way.
Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to go have ourselves a very merry little Christmas now!
And a very Merry Christmas to you, too.
Let nothing you dismay.
Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day!
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we had gone astray-
Oh, tidings of comfort and JOY!