Have you ever baked with little kids, let them do the measuring, mixing, pouring? My mom must have been a dang saint, because I was one heck of a baker by the time I could read a recipe. If I could read it, I could bake it.

For me to be baking by the age of six meant she had spent HOURS helping me perfect my skill. There were likely a lot of batches that never turned out. I don’t ever remember her getting mad or upset. She was always so happy to be with me.

Now, I have the gift of passing on the tradition to my kids. Helping them pat the brown sugar down and checking for bubbles in the flour cup. It’s a lot of work and takes patience but man, is it sweet. And oh I tell ya, she is there with us in that kitchen. Kimi is alive and with me when my mixer turns on. She is whispering in my ear to include a kid — even if it messes up the batch — its worth it.

I get to teach my kids how each ingredient matters. I let them taste the salt, and they make a yucky face. I let them taste the flour, and they make an even yuckier face. They beg for more chocolate chips and sugar. I teach them that even the yucky ingredients are necessary for the cookie. When it all comes together, it’s whole.

Which is much like us — even the yucky parts of us are us. If you try to cover them with shame or hide your imperfections, you aren’t giving people the beautiful picture of who you are, and what God has done, and is capable of doing with ALL your ingredients.