banana bread and something more

Keith took Rilla out for a breakfast date this morning, so I used the opportunity to make some banana bread with Abraham.

Now almost eighteen months old, Abraham has recently moved from the role of happy bystander to very focused assistant when I am making meals in the kitchen, and particularly when baking is involved and he is allowed to help mix. His intensity when helping me has taken me by surprise a few times, as he is normally rather laid back as long as Mommy is near. When we are together at the counter, though, and he is surrounded by baking ingredients and fun utensils, he is completely focused, serious, and intent upon what is happening.

This morning's baking experience went as other ones have in the last week or two. We get out the ingredients; Abraham is enthusiastic. We get out the measuring cups, spoons, and mixing bowls; Abraham is nearly shaking with excitement. He helps me dump the measured ingredients into the bowl. Then I put the flour away to make room for other ingredients on the counter. Abraham flips out, trying to seize the flour canister from me and screeching loudly his indignation that I would want to do such a thing, as he has not yet decided that we are done using the flour and would very much like to continue measuring more into the bowl.

Our baking process continues in much the same way. He assists me with trembling enthusiasm, then panics when I try to move on to a different step. I gently explain what we are doing, but he will have none of it. He is outraged until we begin measuring something else, at which time he accepts this new and unfamiliar part of the process, first grudgingly, then joyfully. All too soon, that step of ingredient-measuring and -dumping is over, and we repeat the outrage and grudging acceptance all over again as we move on to the next thing.

It's just banana bread. And for my son, the unwillingness to accept my guidance is a phase, another life opportunity in which I have the privilege and responsibility to correct him and encourage him with great patience and careful instruction. Soon he will learn that my plan for the ingredients is a good one and that he can trust my purposes in baking.

But this morning it got me thinking. Just as Abraham doesn't understand the big picture of the recipe, nor do I understand the big picture of my life and the ingredients which God brings into it. My life is in some ways like a detailed recipe being carefully put together by the Master Chef. I have only a partial understanding of what the results are meant to be, and yet at each step of the journey, I have a tendency to snatch at the ingredients within my reach, demanding more of what I think is best and acting as though I know what should or should not come next.

How do I respond when God adds new circumstances and "ingredients" to my life? Do I receive His new direction grudgingly or joyfully? Do I flip out when I see Him beginning to remove something that is good and pleasant, something which I was still thoroughly enjoying?

Abraham thought there should be more flour. Often I have thought that there should be more of this friendship, or more time living in that place, and yet God has gently removed them from me. Not because they are not good, but because there has now been a sufficient amount of that ingredient. He has more good things on the sidelines which He is waiting to add to the mix. The end result of His craftsmanship... something which I cannot picture yet, but am quite sure will be infinitely better than banana bread... requires that God guide this process, this life, in ways that do not always make sense to me.

One last point: I hesitated to share this story only because I make it my goal not to dishonor or disrespect my children, and I don't want the illustration of Abraham's impatience to be perceived as a negative comment on his character. I know my son well. He is teachable and willing to learn from me. This current issue of impatience while baking together will soon be a thing of the past. I just want to use this illustration of a toddler's impatience to illustrate my own tendency toward grabbing at what I think is best rather than trusting the One who knows so much better than I do.