Cookies for Me

School started this week here in South Carolina. The beginning of the routine, the mad dash for school supplies, the busses running again, it always makes me remember...

First day of kindergarten. In Hawaii. My son walked away from me and onto the bus and I stood there struggling with all the emotions I was hoping I’d escaped – the sense that he was on the path to adulthood, the quiet lonely kitchen I was returning to, middle school, high school graduation, college, marriage – it all came crashing into my tear-filled eyes.

I walked home with my baby girl in the stroller and took the first of countless glances I would take at the clock that day. I paced. I told myself that I needed the extra time to spend with only my daughter. Then the answer occurred to me! He loved chocolate chip cookies. I would pull a batch out of the oven just in time for his bus. We could come home and talk about his day over cookies and cold milk! And, true enough, our time together that day was sweet.

The next year as he was entering first grade, we were a world away from that beautiful place. Steve was in the Army and we found ourselves on the east coast in New Jersey. I felt a small twinge of worry as I dropped him off at school – new school, new state, new friends. How would he adjust? However, my mind quickly eased because I already had my bag of chocolate chips in the pantry.

As each school year approached, my emotions changed. I was again torn when my daughter started kindergarten. But as my kids got older, I didn’t mind those first days of school. Can we be honest here? I’ll confess I began to look forward to those days and the peace and quiet in my house before the after-school piano lessons started.

And there were always the cookies. Every year. My own gift to my kids. My way of welcoming them home from their first day of school.

As they began to get older, I noticed that sometimes they would grab a handful and head out the kitchen door. Gone were the days of family circles around the table with cookies and milk and talk about teachers and new friends. Soon they forgot to thank me for the cookies. Then one day, they were out with friends after that first day of school and the cookies sat untouched until after dinner.

Here’s the funny thing – this story is not nearly as depressing as it sounds. We still shared our lives but in different ways. I realized during those last few years that the cookies were for me – my way of marking time, of setting tradition, of providing a stabilizing influence. Who knew the tradition, the encouragement was for me?

How many times do we take issues, worries about someone to God? We try to “fix them”. We pray for them – surely if I pray enough, he’ll change, she’s got to know she’s wrong in this. And we go to God’s Word to prove our point, to be able to show that we are right. And the more we read, the more God says, “Are you listening? This is about you and I’ve been teaching you.”

So now my kids are grown and gone. But do you know what’s amazing? I never approach the Tuesday after Labor Day without a moment of wistful remembering. And I’ve been known to bake a cookie or two.