Scooping the dough from the bowl, my hands shape it into a ball, smoothing, rounding, rolling.
Flour dust hovers as I sift it across the silicone pastry mat.
I pat. Flatten the ball into a disc, reach for my french rolling pin.
The rolling pin, made by artisans in India, sold by Mercy House, with proceeds going to support sweet young mamas and round rolly-polly baby dears.
What one person makes with their hands can become a chain of good, of change, of impact for one other person and one other person and one other person. On it goes. Most often, the craftsman will not see the impact of their handiwork, of their endeavors.
It’s easy to become bogged down. To let the voices of defeat scoff loud, give them full reign, turn our very attention right into them.
What difference, in a world gone wrong, does shaping pie dough really make? At the end of the day, what does the work of my hands matter?
Scooping dust into His hands, He pauses. Looks over at the Son, the Spirit. Three in one.
He beams. Nods. Eyes twinkle.
He begins to shape.
To mold. A brow forms. Eyes outlined. Lips. A smile. He adds dimples, draws lines into the forehead.
Fingernails, shaped, hands, strong.
Muscles, a frame, blood and bones.
He steps back, with quizzical expression, considers.
Light radiates and He exclaims, “How very good!”
Leaning in and down, He breathes into the lungs, the nostrils of this exquisite being, made by His hands.
Air shudders through, chest heaves, eyes flutter, life begins!
Across my kitchen island, rolling pin paused, I gaze at the cozy lights of our Christmas tree reflected in the windowpane.
Herein is the epiphany. It is in our making, our bringing of beauty, felicity awakens, blooms, breaks open abundant. This particular happiness becomes contagious. It is made in the making and begins to impact one person and one other person and one other person.
Felicity pushes back against the darkness; opens the pathway for radiating light.
Makers are chance-takers.
Pie crusts flop.
Crisis occurs in the midst of relief work.
Watching with delight, the Three in One rejoice as their creation, this man, sits up, breathes deep, gazes around in wonder.
What a miracle!
“Created in our image,” the Father murmurs. Looks at His Son.
Jesus laughs, slow and deep and in utmost joy. Does He know what lies ahead because of this embodied man in flesh? He does. Will it cost? It will. Was it worth the chance, the relationship, the beauty? It is.
Because Makers are chance takers and making matters.