Filed under: Christianity, God, Grace, Jesus, Lent, Religion, Spirituality, thoughts
When I was living in Rhode Island, I remained home with my infant daughter. We played, had tea parties with dolls, visited the local beach, rode on a bike, picked wildflowers for mommy, hit the coffee house, bought fresh produce at the farmer’s market and hiked to the downtown Dels stand for frozen lemonade. One thing that we did which always put a smile on my face was we made coffee cake, cookies or muffins in our tiny kitchen. By the time we were done, flour was smeared over the front of our shirts, spread over the counters and littered across the white tiled floor. Once it was ready, we were impatient bakers. Turning off and on the oven light, we couldn’t wait until our dough was cooked. When it was finally done, we would place a portion of our baked goods on a paper plate with foil over the top. While they were still warm, we would venture to one of our neighbors and knock on the door. Taking creations made from our own two hands meant something special to me and my daughter. I can not tell you how lovingly and graciously we were recieved. I’ll bet your neighbor wouldn’t turn down a fresh batch of brownies and a kind word this evening.
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