The Christmas Cookie Bowl
Little feet pattered about the wooden planks of the local hardware store gravitating towards the toy section. Mine, however, made their way to the kitchen isle. The familiar brought comfort. Cutting boards, rolling pins, measuring cups and spoons…all of the basics one needs to survive in the world of cooking. No newer gadgets to be had were in sight nor any latest color upgrades behind the tried and true items mom used and grandma for that matter. Yes, the familiar was sacred and my moments spent lingering brought comfort.
I was a young mom at this stage-of-the-game. Family was six hours away and I not only longed for the comfort of home but the sadness within me that day seemed overwhelming. The local hardware store isle was about the closest to the familiar, and so I dawdled. Looking up upon the metal shelving, something caught my attention. Stoic, heavy, new, and yet old all in one was the big pottery like bowl. Creamy and dreamy in color it was. With a pink one inch stripe centered between two light blue lines, the likes of it made my heart warm.
Do I dare? Should I? Could I actually own this beauty? The questions ran through my mind and as they did, I made the mistake of actually putting my hand upon it. All solid like it invited. Now, not only did I desire it, but could picture Christmas, which was just around the corner, and all of the delightful cookies that could be mixed within it. I courageously carried it to where the clerk stood and mentioned that I was thinking about buying it. After all, there was only one. One left in the whole store, in the whole town, and it seemed to fill my whole heart with pleasure.
“I’ll take it!” said I. And I did. Home we traveled where the sturdy bowl was placed for safe keeping upon a shelf. Each Christmas, I took it down and mixed a batch of cookies within. For over thirty years the bowl was like family holding memories.
CLUNK! THUD! A sickening rocking sound of broken chunks strewn upon the floor filled the silence. As moments hung heavy, the sight of the classic Christmas bowl upon the floor came to light. Truthbe-told, it was an accident and the hands that had wrestled it to the ground were extremely apologetic.
My reaction wasn’t exactly saint-like. No, I’m ashamed to say that at the time, my Christmas bowl meant more to me than the breaker of it. Words escaping my mouth were few, but the way each was accented made the guilty party feel even guiltier. To be sure, that’s exactly what I intended. The peace offering to glue it back together was readily dismissed as I gathered the remains. In order to grieve all proper-like, I tucked them away for safe keeping.
One day, the breaker of my Christmas bowl was out-of-town. And I, like any good empty nester, went shopping. With nothing in particular on the list, I entered one fascinating shop which was filled with many tiny shops within it. The old things on display triggered my memory of the Christmas bowl, and out the story flew from my mouth. Apparently, I was still in mourning and as I told it over once again, the eyes of the shopkeeper lit up like high-beams on headlights. Her words were magnificent! “I think I have one of those!”
As she retrieved the look alike large bowl from a room behind the one in which we stood, I held my breath. Could it be? And once she returned, there before me was my reflection in the glossy sheen of a beautiful Christmas bowl. As my fingers touched it, the weight of it lifted high the corners of my mouth now forming the likes of a smile.
“I’ll take it!” The words flew out once again just like they had so long ago at the counter of our local Hardware Store.
“He knows our needs” says Matt. 6:8. And I suppose that’s why He came down one Christmas night so long ago. He knew our needs. He knew we needed to see His reflection through the eyes of a babe. And like that time, so long ago, we still do. Amen.
