Burnt Cookies

Something came over me Sunday and I decided to bake cookies. From scratch. Yes. yes. I know. I don’t usually do that. Break and bake is my deal. The roommates were in awe of the change and I was excited to proove that I can indeed bake. And then I burnt them. Tuesday I tried again. And I burnt another batch? wow. And tonight with the last bit of the dough… I sat by the oven to take out halfway burnt, halfway underbaked cookies. How is that even possible?

Baking is not my gifting.

However, as I was looking at the burnt mess on the stove, I couldn’t help but think about how weekly last summer I would bake with the kids at Gabriel House. And we didn’t ever burn anything.

Lately I have been reading a book by Joni Earakson Tada. In it she talks about how we are missing the miracles all around us–the way God orchestrates the weather systems to assure the arrival of summer, how our white blood cells know to multiply and attack a virus, the way God runs things behind the scenes.

In her words, “Count His miracles today. Count the many narrow misses. Count the smiles and words of encouragement and expressions of gratitude sent your way today. Count the safety and well-being of your children and grand-children. Count the miracle of being able to worship God freely in a country like this. Count the miracles of grace, of which 1 Peter tells us that ‘even angles long to look into these things.’ And thank him.”

Like that a college student that can’t bake a single pan of cookies without burning them by herself can bake a couple dozen without burning anything with the “help” of a bunch of kids with special needs. Thats a miracle.

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