When I look at these hands of mine the memory from Tuesday is still so fresh and the evidence is still there to put a smile on my face at the thought of this time together with my little one. I didn't hesitate to dig in and knead cookie dough: green, pink, yellow, purple, blue. I did it so she would follow my example and do it too. And she did.
Once the color was infused we still had to roll little balls and place them on the cookie sheet. Then we had to flatten them and bake them. Next we had to wait for them to cool so they could be frosted and loaded with sprinkles and such to create a very specific piece of art. And each one was very pretty indeed. Bright colors of the rainbow spread out into perfect circles met our eyes when they were pulled from the oven.
But my mess remained. The colors stained deep into the lines of my hands under my nails and around the bed of these nails. Hand washing did nothing. Scrubbing did nothing. The bright stain was a part of me physically for who knows how long. But boy oh boy, those cookies sure looked good. And boy, oh boy, that daughter dearest of mine sure had fun! And that memory of us side by side in the kitchen with all the colors of the rainbow around us sure won't fade fast.
The stain on my hands simply serves as a reminder of the good that comes out of the yuck. The stain on my hands symbolizes beauty in ugliness. The stain on my hand signifies a day spent well living abundantly and full the life He has called me to. The stain on my hands sings a most beautiful love song of these years with my kids which are going so fast.
And the cookies? They were gone before dinner. They might have been dinner. I'll never tell.
