I don't watch Grey's Anatomy. I'd like to chalk it up to being above painfully drawn out melodramatic romances, but my addiction to Felicity on DVD is evidence to the contrary. Who am I kidding it's because Steve Carrel beats McDreamy for our Thursday nights.
But anyway, I did happen to catch the episode where Izzy loses her love and while mourning, makes muffins. Batches and batches of muffins. For days she makes muffins til they run over the counter and fill baskets. And then as tears fill her eyes, she grabs the flour and a bowl again. 'Til someone takes the spatula from her and says "That's enough muffins."
I know that ache.
That need.
Yeah, I've even poured heart-ache into baked goods too. When I learned we were moving out of our home in New York state, I made cookies to feed an army. Sugar cookies. Iced. Recently when stressed over finances and my dwindling days working on the hospital floor, I crocheted my heart out. Resulting in no less than three blankets, four scarves, and a hat. This week when dealing with medical bills and workers comp. stuff, I pounded out one scrapbook and six handmade cards.
And this weekend, and the future is up in the air, I made oatmeal peanut butter chocolate cookies.
Tomorrow I'm making brownies, a cake, and maybe soup.
What is this need, when life seems to rear back and take off to uncharted paths, to grab ahold of something, if not the reigns of our future, then something? That which drives mothers to gather children in their arms, the grieving to offer casseroles, widows clinging to triangle flags. We all want something to curl our fingers around and drag to our chests.
And sometimes it's cookies. Sometimes dreams. Or family or spouses or babies.
I'm comforted by the knowledge that Jesus knows that need. He both hardwired it in the human experience and felt it coursing through his own being here on earth. He was tempted with bread. His first miracle was wine. He wept at a friend's grave. I'm pretty sure if he were here with us he would bring a casserole.
And he would also know when to gently touch our shoulders. Take the spatula from our weary hands and whisper to us,"That's enough muffins."
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