Legacies Take Time to Bake

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Abstract

I set my mind to.</p><p id="9f8d">At the height of all my neediness, I only saw failure on my mother’s part. All the things I wished she’d done and gifted me.</p><p id="f404">As the years have softened my needy heart and as God’s presence has filled the gaps, I see her legacy. I picture her in the moments when she was creating that legacy, the concentration on her face as she created sweet works of art, the gingham blue apron around her waist.</p><p id="8c9a">The love and diligence she poured into baking was the one expressive way my mother could pour her heart out for her family. I learned attention to detail from my mom as she baked. And patience. Patience, she said, was the secret to good bakery.</p><p id="c9cb">The details mattered to her, but I had thought they didn’t. I realize now that my mom was paying attention to the <a href="https://www.simplelifesimplefaith.com/the-things-that-matter/">things that matter</a>, even though to my young eyes it appeared she was simply making cookies.</p><p id="90a5">I have sought a different legacy, one of words and empowerment. My mom didn’t have those to give, but her legacy is firmly established in mine. Each time I bake, with her gingham blue apron wrapped around me and my hands mixing the dough inside her pink Pyrex bowl, I do so with her hands guiding me, reminding me that details matter

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and patience turns out well-crafted memories and legacies.</p><div id="f966" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/crossing-over-601eb95b4abf"> <div> <div> <h2>Crossing Over</h2> <div><h3>The bridges that carry us</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*5a9icC27HTDvOnPo)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="461c">If you’re thinking it’s time to pay attention to the things that matter and slow down so you can create a legacy, maybe it’s time to pick more daisies.</p><div id="722e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/maybe-you-should-pick-more-daisies-bd92456bd0fb"> <div> <div> <h2>Maybe You Should Pick More Daisies</h2> <div><h3>There is more to life than its speed — Gandhi</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*taTKBPgkPSNyn3SN)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Legacies Take Time to Bake

We don’t recognize legacies when they’re being created. Time has a way of mixing and melding actions and memories into a potpourri called a legacy.

Some of my clearest memories are those of my mom, her wooden spoon in hand, mixing cookies in her pink Gooseberry Pyrex bowls, her hands dusted in flour, patiently teaching me how to twist the braided rolls into our heritage cookies, simply called Italian Cookies.

My mom was unable to fill many voids I longed for her to fill. I was a talker, dreamer, processor, and she was a clam, her words bottled inside her so tightly I felt the loss of all that went unsaid.

Boldness escaped her and often left me despairing when I needed a strong hand of discipline or advice. Because she lacked confidence in herself, she failed to see how much I needed her to boost mine, to send me off into the world to dream my dreams, believing I could do anything I set my mind to.

At the height of all my neediness, I only saw failure on my mother’s part. All the things I wished she’d done and gifted me.

As the years have softened my needy heart and as God’s presence has filled the gaps, I see her legacy. I picture her in the moments when she was creating that legacy, the concentration on her face as she created sweet works of art, the gingham blue apron around her waist.

The love and diligence she poured into baking was the one expressive way my mother could pour her heart out for her family. I learned attention to detail from my mom as she baked. And patience. Patience, she said, was the secret to good bakery.

The details mattered to her, but I had thought they didn’t. I realize now that my mom was paying attention to the things that matter, even though to my young eyes it appeared she was simply making cookies.

I have sought a different legacy, one of words and empowerment. My mom didn’t have those to give, but her legacy is firmly established in mine. Each time I bake, with her gingham blue apron wrapped around me and my hands mixing the dough inside her pink Pyrex bowl, I do so with her hands guiding me, reminding me that details matter and patience turns out well-crafted memories and legacies.

If you’re thinking it’s time to pay attention to the things that matter and slow down so you can create a legacy, maybe it’s time to pick more daisies.