A Weblog Dedicated to the Discussion of the Christian Faith and 21st Century Life

A Weblog Dedicated to the Discussion of the Christian Faith and 21st Century Life
I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this also I believe, –that unless I believed, I should not understand.-- St. Anselm of Canterbury (1033-1109)

Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Shortbread In a Kitchenaid

by Lindsey Funtik, Coordinator of Volunteer Ministries, Ashland First United Methodist Church,  Ashland, Ohio.
Women beget women beget impactful, powerful women. Stretching behind us is a long strand of pearls, formidable in their transcendence, who are present now in big and small ways, in the hair, eyes, hands, and hearts of their daughters. 

On a beautiful October day, that melting pot of memory tasted just the right amount of sweet. The taste went well with coffee.

After months of getting around to it, my mother-in-law (who is also my friend and my sister in the wide embrace of faith) made sure that the coconut in her cabinet was fresh enough for baking. On the counter rested the recipe card for her mom’s shortbread, and beside that recipe card was her mother-in-law's Kitchenaid mixer. The card was well-loved and the Kitchenaid, in all of its pastel yellow glory, had been churning for upwards of forty years. Both were going strong, both were continuing their long, loving life of giving. 

By the grace of marriage and God's female provision, I was to be initiated into that strand of pearls, a bead threaded and braided and tightened; mothers to daughters. 

The dough was simple but the moment felt weighty. I imagined one set of hands, shaping the shortbread into logs for cutting and baking whenever a craving arose. The other set of hands locked in the stalwart metal bowl and avoided splashes of flour as much as possible. The air was suffused with the scent of butter and a small motor working to move a paddle attachment around and around. The woman present beside me helped me watch for consistency, demonstrating the right amount of foil for wrapping and preparing. We all worked together.

And then there was me, new to all this and yet swaddled in the middle of a crossroads in time. By the power of a recipe and the tools used to make it, I was introduced to two of my many foremothers who, I am sure, won’t be surprised by the big hug I will offer on the far side of eternity. 

What an honor, to be bearers of intimate simplicity and infinite magnitude. What an honor, to be a woman.
Cross-Posted from "Reflections on Faith, Words, and The Holiness of Today"

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