When I was a child, if a big snow was forecast and it looked like we might not have school the next day, my siblings and I would beg Mother to make homemade doughnuts. She would mix up the ingredients and knead the dough into a big ball before she went to bed and then put it in the refrigerator overnight. In the morning, the dough would have at least doubled in size and look like a big basketball. She would roll out the dough and we children would help to cut the doughnuts out. We would carefully put them on cookies sheets and place them in front of the fireplace to rise. After they were deemed to have risen enough (usually after about 2 hours), the fun really began. We would form an assembly line. Someone would lift the soft dough carefully from the cookie sheets and place them in cooking oil to fry. Another person was in charge of the frying and would turn the doughnuts at just the right time when one side was a perfect brown. The other side was done to perfection as well and then the doughnuts were taken out of the oil and put in a colander to drain. Someone else took them out of the colander and dropped them into a glaze and then lifted them out of the glaze and slid them through their holes onto narrow sticks placed over bowls so the excess icing could drip into the bowl. They would stay on the sticks until the icing was dry and then the doughnuts were removed and placed on wax paper. Not much beats the taste of a freshly homemade doughnut and we would all eat as many as we were allowed and then Mother would freeze the rest and we would enjoy them for weeks to come. My brothers used to "steal" them from the freezer and eat them frozen. (Okay, I might have done it a time or two as well.) They even tasted wonderful frozen.
When I had children, I wanted to share this fun time with them, but I was afraid. I thought there was no way I was capable of doing this. It was a huge undertaking. Fortunately for me, my mother was available to help me and she would mix and knead the dough for me because that's what scared me the most. I wasn't good at kneading and how could I tell when the dough had just enough flour in it? But one day, my mother was no longer around to help me. If we were going to have homemade doughnuts it was all up to me. Not wanting to disappoint my children, I forged ahead. Just as I thought, they never got as good as my mother's; in fact sometimes they were a complete failure. I remember one time, they didn't rise at all. The kids didn't care--they ate them anyway and thought they were delicious, but I was frustrated. Why couldn't I make them just like Mom?
I think what I have learned through the years, is that it doesn't matter that my doughnuts don't get like my mother's. To my children they are perfect and delicious and something they look forward to. I think sometimes we try so hard to be perfect in God's eyes that we don't give ourselves grace to be human. God loves us through all our imperfections. Being afraid of failures or saying the wrong thing should not keep us from doing the work of the Lord and from sharing His love to those around us. Even though my doughnuts weren't perfect, they allowed my children to experience a family bonding and cherished memory that will stay with them throughout life. In the same way, through my bumbling and insecurities God may use me to show His love to someone that has never felt it before. I have to be willing to try.
To my children's delight, I chose a Saturday and invited them to come home to make doughnuts. We had a wonderful time, and no they did not get as good as my mother's but you know what? They were "perfect."
...do not be frightened. But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have...I Peter 3:14,15.
Mary Lehman
Secretary
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