"You should make Allie heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast."
"Yes! I totally should!" I replied immediately and set out to make create the most wonderful breakfast spread any child could ever imagine.
I had already imagined it as a took the pancake mix from the pantry. A warm pile of chocolate chip pancakes, shaped in perfect hearts. I could see Allie's bright blue eyes widen in delight, could see her picky-ness vanish as she took big bites of the soft treats, our hearts warm as the lovely snow continued to fall softly outside. It was going to be awesome.
However, almost never are my imaginings able to jump that wide chasm into reality.
The first problem that arose was construction. My initial idea was to use a cookie cutter and fill it with batter, but I quickly saw that I did not have a heart-shaped cookie cutter (or if I do have one, I couldn't find it). So I decided that I would put the batter in a large storage bag, cut off the tip, and - voila!!! - easily pipe out the pancake batter in perfect heart shapes.
This was a veritable disaster.
I don't know why. I really don't. But as soon as I started to try to make the heart shapes, all I got were uneven circles or oddly-shaped ovals. No hearts. Nothing even close to a heart. After about six of these, I started crying. Hard.
Poor Shawn did not understand. He tried to assure me that it was no big deal, that Allie didn't know, that they would still taste great. I informed him that none of that mattered. I had set out to make heart-shaped pancakes, and I had failed. "If my mother had wanted to make us heart-shaped pancakes when we were kids," I told him, "we would have had heart-shaped pancakes!" Then I ended my argument for my utter failure as a mother with: "Some women have the touch and some women don't. And I don't."
Shawn still didn't get it, but he comforted me anyway, which I appreciated. And I felt bad for quite awhile afterward, until something struck me: it's okay for me to fail. God loves me anyway. He knows I will fail. He expects it because I am a fallen creature. And He loves me anyway. Always. Unquestioningly. Because He's God and He says in His Word that He loves me.
The thing that I find most astounding is that God will never love me MORE. He doesn't love me more when I read my Bible than when I don't, or when I am speaking sweetly than speaking harshly. He doesn't love me less because I can't make heart-shaped pancakes or because I have never made an apple pie from scratch or because my floor has crumbs on it. Or because sometimes I'm mean or cranky or cynical or frustrated or angry. He just loves me. Period.
This means that no matter what I can or cannot do, I am enough just as I am. Not because of me - but because of Him. Because He loves me. Just the way I am.
The results of our snowstorm
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