My passion for baking started when I was around nine years old. I can remember thumbing through my mother’s cookbook in awe of the possibilities. My mom only had one cookbook, but to a nine year old girl with a mixer in hand, the choices seemed endless. My first baking attempt was a batch of chocolate chip cookies and as a perfectionist I was happy when they turned out just right. No surprise that over the years I have made lots of chocolate chip cookies. I loved having a recipe to follow and the instructions to perfection. One day I decided to venture outside my comfort zone and attempted to bake peanut butter cookies. I followed the recipe exactly, but they did not turn out as I hoped. I couldn't figure out where I went wrong, I was confused and frustrated. So, I went back to making the cookies I knew would turn out perfectly.
I was so excited when my nine year old shared with me his passion for baking. For days he looked through all my cookbooks (I now have twenty) and boldly came to me with a picture in hand. As irony would have it, the recipe was from the same cookbook I used almost thirty years ago. I looked at the pictures and fear stirred within me as I heard these words, “Mom, I want to make a jelly roll cake.” If you have ever made a jelly roll cake you know that this is not a safe choice for a first time baker. But, as any good mother would do I put on my game face and helped my son bake his first cake. We followed the recipe, but I was preparing my heart and his that this may not turn out so well. He didn't seem to mind the imperfections of the result and gladly enjoyed the fruits of his labor.
His first baking lesson brought back the memories of why I loved baking as a child. As I taught him the importance of following and precisely measuring each ingredient, I couldn't help but think that I used to live my life the same way. I would ensure that each decision was made with measure, striving for the perfect result. When teaching him that in baking you have to follow the recipe exactly or it may not turn out, Shelby was quick to point out my obvious realization. We could only laugh at how far I have come from that nine year old girl and her chocolate chip cookies. We laughed at how I now live my life opposite of how I bake. I rarely follow what others instruct me to do and I am ready to veer off course in a moments notice. The only measure I take now is through prayer and I have quit striving for perfection. Thankfully, I have learned over the years to embrace my mistakes, in baking and in life. I was reminded that my bible, similar to the Betty Crocker cookbook I used thirty years ago, holds all the recipes and directions needed in life. And just like the little girl in her early baking days, I still see my choices are endless.
