A Year of Gratitude – March 12, 2024

My gratitude was baked up into a cookie today. I did the baking. The cookie taught me a lesson. The lesson was something that I already knew, but I was reminded of it today.  It might not have been a new lesson, but it was one I needed a bit of practice with.

There’s a cookie jar in the farmhouse kitchen. I try to make sure that there are always homemade cookies (or at least a cookie) in that jar. I keep frozen cookie dough at the ready so that I can pop a pan of cookies into the oven when the jar is nearly empty. I like knowing that my kids can help themselves to a homemade cookie when they want one.

I know that is an old-fashioned idea, but I love it just the same. There’s something about knowing that there’s always something in that jar for you that feels like home. When I hear someone pull the lid up on the glass jar, the sound always puts a smile on my face.

My children know that those cookies are baked with love. They know that on a day when they need a little reminder that there are some things they can count on, that there will be a cookie in that jar waiting for them. Sure, it’s just a cookie, but a good cookie baked by someone who loves you has the power to brighten your day and give you a reason to think that the world is a bit kinder place.

I know this to be true because I remember how much comfort and reassurance I got from the cookies and other homemade baked goods my mom and grandmothers made. I remember them so fondly now, all these years later. It wasn’t about the cookie or the pie. It was about being reminded that the person who made them for you loved you enough to make them, that they thought you were worth the effort.

So, as I was making the next batch of cookie dough today, I found myself rushing through the task of it. I didn’t need to. I wasn’t trying to get somewhere. I didn’t have an appointment today. I was just rushing through this task so that I could get to the next one.

I stopped for a minute. I took a deep breath. I started over again with a different purpose. Instead of just making the cookie dough to make the cookies to keep the cookie jar from being empty, I chose another one. I made the cookie dough to make the cookies that I wanted to make, that I chose to make. Instead of having to make them, I wanted to make them. There’s a marked difference in that.

I wanted to make these cookies. I wanted the farmhouse to be filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies, for my children to smell that as it wafted up the old back staircase that leads upstairs from the kitchen. I imagined a smile coming across their faces as they knew that our cookie jar would be full.

It wasn’t long after that I heard the glass lid on the jar make that sound that I love. Not long after that, one of my happy children thanked me for the fresh cookies. They gave me a hug.

These cookies were filled with butter, brown sugar, eggs, and chocolate. But they were held together with love. My children know that. I do too, even in the moment when I seemingly forgot and saw them just as an ordinary cookie, as a task on my to do list. Thankfully, I was reminded of what I had forgotten and that knowledge, the real purpose, completely changed my day for the better. I celebrated by helping myself to a fresh cookie.

This post is part of our A Year of Gratitude Series. You can find the introduction, inspiration, and entire year’s gratitude’s posts here.