i am editing a book.
a book about a very hard, heavy life
full of sadness and darkness and ugly selfishness and brokenness.
and the things that people do to one another
the things that people survive through
the things that break one, but not another,
are so heavy on my heart
and under my pencil.
the other day, after working for a few hours, i stopped
to make the cookies i had promised my kiddos.
as i was taking my brown sugar, in the cheery red tin canister i keep it in, out of my cupboard,
my hands trembled, my breath caught, my eyes filled with tears
over the brown sugar.
and i thought
really, how many people have brown sugar in their cupboards?
and i even have a red tin to keep mine in.
and i make cookies with it
for myself and my family and my friends.
and when i use it up, i buy more.
and once the bag is open, into my red tin canister it will go
so it will stay soft and fresh.
brown sugar in a cupboard means something.
i am pretty sure that there are only a few houses
that have a partially used bag of soft brown sugar in the cupboard.
really, who even thinks to buy brown sugar?
only the mom who is going to make cookies.
there might be a token bag shoved way back in a cupboard here or there,
rock-hard or ant-eaten.
but a partially used bag of soft brown sugar
speaks of love and stability and time spent on a warm, homemade treat.
soft brown sugar is a love language.
soft brown sugar is a testament.
i grew up in a brown-sugar-in-the-cupboard kind of house.
so did my husband.
our house is a brown-sugar-in-the-cupboard kind of house.
and i am realizing more and more and every day
that a brown sugar house
is a very rare house indeed.
{i am so very wildly, wonderfully blessed.}