Disclaimer: I have been 100% off the grid for the last 30 days – meaning, I’ve been without any form of communication with the outside world. Subsequently – some dates may be vaguely askew.
Today marks day 50 of being in Africa, and it’s raining. The rainy season here in Botswana is, for lack of a better term, wet. It rains every day, for most of the day, and every night. I have been incredibly pleased with my tent for holding its own through these daily monsoons, though I still wonder if one of these days its just going to float away into the delta waters. Nevertheless, all this rain has taught me something about the power of our surroundings to influence us, our plans, our attitudes. And it’s taken me six months just to realize how influenced I am by cookies.
I am so in love with baking. Before the race I knew it was a passion of mine; I’ve always loved making cakes, experimenting with icing recipes, whipping up sweet morsels for friends and family in my free time. The perfect combination of mathematics and artistic design are what draw me to create an aesthetically-pleasing dessert. I love the kitchen, but even more so, I love the joy and satisfaction that come as a result. The savory smile on a friend who just took their first bite of a gooey chocolate-chip cookie gives me such a sense of value. I am encouraged and motivated to continue baking because of the joy it brings not only to me, but to those who enjoy it. Being on the race has drastically changed my perspective on this seemingly small hobby.
Our first month in Serbia I realized just how in love I am with baking; I yearned for it, I desired nothing more than to whip up a batch of brownies for my teammate’s birthday. I discovered that creating in the kitchen is my own special love language. I also discovered that when things go wrong, it turns me into the Cookie Monster.
Month two in Romania I sat in front of an oven and cried because the pilot light kept going out and my cookies ended up being served as hot little mush balls in bowls. In month three, Bulgaria, I had a mental breakdown because the brown sugar wasn’t right so my cookies were flatter than pancakes and just so ugly. In month four I mourned the fact that our kitchen consisted of two hot plates and a sink – not a suitable environment for any type of baking besides crepes and eggs.
Last month I finally had a chance to use an oven – a REAL oven – to create my all-time favorite masterpiece: chocolate-chip cookies. I grabbed my box of brown sugar (which I packed and brought with me from the month prior in case it wasn’t available in African grocery stores – sidenote: it is) and prepared a double-batch to surprise my teammates with a feast of sugar and sweets for Christmas Eve. The day ended with 60 perfectly golden cookies tucked away in their tupperware containers, ready to be snacked on over the next few holiday evenings.
The next morning I went out to the kitchen to have a breakfast cookie (because, duh) and my heart was immediately shattered. I opened the plastic container and found two cookies – just two and some crumbs – a remnant of the glory I had planned on sharing with friends. It shocked and disgusted me that someone in our house – in our community – would eat all but a few of my babes, my cookies. They didn’t ask if they could. They didn’t think about my feelings. They didn’t even apologize. Heck, they may not even know how hard it hit me. But I was a surefire wreck at best. My teammates can tell you I did not act Christ-like for the following 24 hours, and I definitely had a few thoughts to repent.
Since then, it’s happened again. Snickerdoodles this time. Not too much of a shocker, because the Holy Spirit never stops with this sort of thing until you deal with it. Turns out I never fought with the underlying issue: why I am so offended that all my cookies were eaten, or more broadly, why I’m so hurt when things go wrong. I’ve been digging into this question all month (we’ve had A LOT of down time being four hours from the nearest civilization) and came to some not-so-fun conclusions. Jesus has been doing some WORK unclenching my fists on this. Through these last three weeks, I realized that I’ve been finding my worth not in Him, but in myself. In others. In opinions. In the value of my creations, instead of the value in His. (oh by the way, that’d be me.) And you know what else? It’s not only not found in myself, it’s found in such an incredibly flawless God that loves me so much more than the human mind can comprehend, and he used my favorite food to teach me about it. How cool.
I’M LAYING DOWN:
SEEKING VALUE IN OTHERS
Today I wrote the above on a piece of paper and burned it. I’ve leaving my desire to build my identity upon things of this world behind. I’m done trying to see myself through the lens of other people. I’m focusing on God’s eyes for me, nothing less. The coolest part about this is that I have a community in my beautiful team Covenant who are here to keep me to it, to build me up in Christ’s opinion of me instead of my own. Yeah, it’s really hard to let them do that. Anyone on the Race will tell you that community-living is both the best and worst part of it. But I am so blessed to have people to walk alongside me in these hard things and tell me that even though my cookies are great, they have nothing to do with how I carry the authority and image of Christ. No matter what my snickerdoodles look like.
