Raw in the Middle

Life is full of second, third, fourth chances. Just when we think we have our lives labeled, filed and organized, the label sticker gets ripped off taking our body hair with it. We're left vulnerable and exposed against the elements, completely lost and shivery. But then grace happens, and someone or something comes along and gives us another chance. An opportunity for reinvention, renewal, redemption.

Gump compares life to a box of chocolates and although I can't really argue with him (he's a runner, after-all) I have to add that life is also like a pile of pancakes. The box of chocolates is full of surprises, while the pile of pancakes is full of mistakes.

The first pancake is almost always burnt on the outside and raw in the middle. We learn from the experience and turn down the heat of the pan a bit. We add more water or a little less butter to the pan, and then we try again.

The middle batch of pancakes are usually melt-in-the-mouth fluffy, perfectly browned on the edges. Then the phone rings or someone posts a hilarious video on Facebook or one of the kids runs out of toilet paper. We get pancake-cocky, take our eyes off the pan and wander away for a bit only to jerk back to the sound of the shrieking smoke detector. The last three bits of breakfast are charred and rubbery, almost unrecognizable.

I don't think my purpose in life is to make the perfect pancake. And thank God for that. I can't even toast a pop tart. I believe that my purpose in life is to learn from my mistakes, to do what I need to do to stop from making any more of them, and then forgive myself when I do.

And most of all, to be thankful for my loves who show up at our table for breakfast. We don't huddle around the garbage can grieving the hot mess of pancake batter, but rather we gather together and eat the melt-in-the-mouth fluffy ones, perfectly browned on the edges.

Love kind of does that, you know? It pulls our focus off the garbage and fixes it on each other, instead. And without having had burned a few of my own pancakes, I would never have known this. Because without mistakes, there is no grace. And without grace, there is no love.