Snark & Sensibility

I pulled out my recipe for snickerdoodles, an old-time favorite for the holidays. I pulled out the required ingredients and read the first step in the recipe after greasing the cookie sheet. Cream the shortening, sugar, eggs, and vanilla until creamy. My mind flashed back to when I first learned how to bake, back in the day when cake mixes were a novelty or used for last-minute church suppers.

The kitchen was my mother’s paradise, and her instructions were gospel. To deter meant banishment from the stove.

First: “Wash your hands. No good cook comes to the kitchen with dirty hands.”

Next: “Now read the recipe, and put all the ingredients on the shelf.”

The third step, to my mother the most crucial in the whole process—“cream the shortening, butter, eggs, and sugars.”

I stuck in the rotary beaters, set the mixer on high and splashed wet globs from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Done,” I said.

Mother knew better--knew I was always in a hurry to get to the end of a project. “Nope. It’s too grainy. Set the beater on low, scrape the sides frequently, fold the batter, and repeat. Let time and the ingredients do their magic.”

Reluctantly, I started again, following her directions and, all the while, blowing out my frustration. “This takes too long.”

“Creaming is the most important step in the whole process,” Mother said. “If you hurry the creaming, the cookies will come out crumbly. Creaming is what makes them chewy and delectable. Don’t rush the creaming. It takes time but the result is worth it.”

I slowed down and watched with wonder as the goo gradually melded into a creamy, light texture, the ingredients transforming before my eyes.

As I carefully creamed for the snickerdoodles, Mother’s words took on new meaning for me.

I thought about our instant society, how we crave immediate results, the growing tendency to hurry through life in the fastest checkout line. In our haste we blunder through the mix of it all, leaving globs of broken dreams in the muck of our speed.

I thought how the creaming principle is true in all the rooms of our lives, not just the kitchen. We tend to rush for pleasure without enduring the process.

God has given us the recipe for a rich, textured life. If we take the time to cream our lives, not be satisfied with grainy goo or toss an experience aside because of its unpleasantness—if we repeatedly scrape, fold, and beat for as long as it takes, the grimy gook of our shattered hopes will become that creamed foundation that awakens the flavor of our human experience.

ABOUT I PRAYED FOR PATIENCE GOD GAVE ME CHILDREN

God indeed has a sense of humor. He chose children to teach us too-smart adults what being his child means, the very special relationship the believer enjoys with our Heavenly Father. We adults experience the same chaos, misadventure, and heartaches as our charges. Through a child’s example, we learn how God nurtures us with his infinitesimal patience. This easy to read, often hilarious narrative, uses cartoons, witticisms, anecdotes, quotes, and Scripture study to bring home these truths. A veteran social worker, Rondeau draws upon her many experiences in working with families as well as her personal experiences as a mom. You will want to keep this book close at hand for those moments of weakness and pass the story along to your friends.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Prayed-Patience-God-Gave-Children-ebook/dp/B07R75M812/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1572738134&sr=8-1

ABOUT LINDA WOOD RONDEAU

Multi-published and award-winning author, Linda Wood Rondeau is a veteran social worker, her books examine the complexities of human relationships. Her blog, Snark and Sensibility, hosts writers of various genres. She manages a Facebook page, Having the Prime of My Life, a positive look at aging issues. Linda resides in Hagerstown with her husband of forty-plus years. Readers may visit her web site at www.lindarondeau.com. Contact the author on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.