Over Spring Break Daniel and I were invited over to the home one of Daniel’s colleagues and his wife. It was going to be a night of pizza and Scrabble—just getting to know each other a little better. We offered to bring salad and dessert. Should have been easy enough, except I freaked out a little bit. What kind of lettuce? What kind(s) of dressing? What veggies? What bowl? How much? Should I do two bowls? I will bake a cake. I’ll do two layers, icing in between. Everyone likes chocolate cake, right? What if they don’t? What if there are allergies? (I asked Daniel to text and ask if there were any allergies we needed to know about). I went to the store, bought everything, and went home trying to calm myself down. I baked the cake and let it cool.


The cake totally fell apart when I started to spread the icing. Way beyond repair.

Cue sobbing in the kitchen.

I left the cake in a heap on the counter and ran to the store while Daniel chopped up the veggies for the salad. Plan B: Individual no-bake cheesecakes. Get the box, add the milk, mix it up, plop it into the cupcake tins. Done.

We arrived at their house and found out that we would not be ordering pizza, we were making our own. So fun! They have all the ingredients and we get to build our own and then everyone tries everyone else’s. Starting to relax. Enjoying myself. Then the husband drops this bomb:

The wife made the crust from scratch.

And by “from scratch” I mean she ground her own wheat for the flour.

Ground. The. Wheat. (And of course the veggies for toppings are from her garden).

We played Scrabble and we ate cheesecake and they all seemed to really enjoy it. Then she asked me for the recipe. --It's on the box.  The box comes with this power stuff and if you add milk and mix it up, and voila! It’s cheesecake.--  I felt this big.

This couple was so great. We would definitely hang out with them again. She was embarrassed that he had even told us about the wheat…she just likes making it that way. They weren’t judging me. I was. They weren’t being unkind or holding me to a standard that I failed to reach. I was.

At church we sing a song with a line that says, “Reveal to me my sin.” Usually I just left that line out when singing. But then one day in my homework for my Beth Moore Bible study, she asked why we would be more scared of knowing the sin and confronting it, than we were of the consequences if we didn’t. Whew. So I’ve been praying that I would be aware of my sin, my pride, and that I would war against it.

So thank you, wheat-grinder-lady. Thank you inviting my husband and me over to your home, and for making flour for us. Thank you for being kind and gentle. You were used by God to reveal the sick, black sludge pride in my heart.  I will be memorizing this verse now:

“Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.” Galatians 6:4-5 MSG