Audrey D. DeBoer's Blog, page 2

Baking with Powdered Sugar

This is not a baking how-to. It might be the exact opposite.

I decided to bake this week. Because pandemic. And boredom. And I didn’t have any sweets in my house and I wanted some. And I had just enough ingredients to make sugar cookies.

Or so I thought.

So I got baking. True crime podcast in my ears, butter softened, shiny chrome mixing bowl on the counter. Flour and dry ingredients mixed together—check. Egg cracked—check. Butter and sugar creamed together—

Wait, where’s the sugar? I could’ve sworn I had some in the back of the cabinet somewhere. I always do. I shuffle items around—tea bags, spices, food coloring I haven’t used for two Christmases—no sugar.

At least, not the kind I needed. In a wilted plastic bag in the corner of my cupboard was confectioner’s sugar, the sugar you would lick right off your fingers as a kid whatever chance you got (maybe you do that as an adult too, no judgment.) The kind perfect for dipping strawberries in. The kind that makes an excellent buttercream frosting. I stared the sugar down for a moment. You don’t use powdered sugar in cookies. But it’s all I have.

My first thought was to throw everything away—the flower mixture, the half-beaten egg. It was no use now. I didn’t have what I needed, so why keep going?

Then I remembered the story of the chocolate chip cookie.

The original Toll House chocolate chip cookie, created by Ruth Wakefield in the 1930s, was a complete accident. When baking butter cookies for a crowd one night, she thought she could add a little baking chocolate to make them into delicious, fudgey chocolate cookies. But when she pulled them out of the oven—no dice. The chocolate chunks had kept their shape. Ashamed, she served them to her guests anyway. And her guests loved them. So much so that they came back for more.

I knew that day in my kitchen I wasn’t about to change the world. But as I stared at the powdered sugar, I thought, might as well. So in went the powdered sugar into my cockamamie cookies. I combined the ingredients, and the dough looked okay…somewhat cookie-like. Instead of balling it up on a baking sheet, I spread it in a baking pan instead. Y’know, just to find out. If I was going to experiment, I was going to go all the way.

The result was a weird, blondie-like bar kind of like shortbread, which I put some icing on to add a little extra sweetness. It wasn’t a monstrosity. It wasn’t a disaster. When I was staring down that powdered sugar in my pantry, I was picturing a kitchen on fire, a ruined pan, a bubbling mass crawling out of my oven like something out of a black-and-white B-movie.

But it turned out. Whatever it was, it turned out.

It might seem easy to scrap something when you realize you’re not prepared. And yes, that is a good rule of thumb if you’re, say, skydiving. But when we take small risks every day, it might surprise us how good the result is. You might not be serving world-famous cookies to the masses, but you might just do something no one’s ever done before.

Or, at least, something you’ve never done before.

So go ahead. Challenge the empty pantry. Use the powdered sugar. And see what happens.

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Prepare Him Room

Whether you like it or not, Christmas music is here. It’s after Thanksgiving, so all the naysayers have already had their day with the Christmas-music-right-after-Halloween crowd.

Which is me. I’m one of those people who ramps up the Christmas music on November 1. I’ve pretty much always been that way. Then again, I was the girl who planned her Halloween costume in late August. Christmas is one of my favorite times of year. I want it to last for as long as possible.

You could say listening to Christmas music gets me in the “Christmas spirit.” I listen to it for a number of different reasons–it’s festive, it’s nostalgic, it’s just plain good. And I only have about a month or so of time to listen to it before it loses its luster, as December lumbers on into January.

So I’m in the throes of my Christmas-music-listening. I have my standbys like Michael W. Smith, Mannheim Steamroller and traditional choral favorites. I have fringes like Scott Bradlee, a smattering of Doctor Who Christmas special music and even, yes, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

One I’ve continually gone back to this year is “The Promise” by Michael W. Smith. I listen to it almost every day. It begins with a beautiful orchestral sweep followed by this verse, sung recitation-style by Smith:

Fear not, Israel, for there is peace still to come
A word to break the silence, a promise set to bloom
A promise to redeem us, one to free us
Break the silence, heal the violence in our lives

Emmanuel is sure to find us soon
The mighty root of Jesse, star of truth
And bring us unto glory, tell His story
Heal the broken and restore thee to His name

The star will guide us to the humble place
Where Christ the King reveals His earthly face
And we will see Emmanuel, God is with us
God is for us, God is in us, we will see

Very Christmasy. If you follow the liturgical calendar, this is a very Advent-oriented carol. It has a very strong “book of Isaiah” feeling to it–the anticipation of the birth of the Messiah. And the song rings true. The people of Israel were waiting and hoping for their Savior to come.

But when He came, they weren’t ready.

We’ve heard it a million times before. When Mary and Joseph came to Bethlehem, there wasn’t any room for them because everyone was in town for the census. So they had to stay in a stable, or a cave, or a stall, or whatever historians decide it actually was. And that’s where Jesus was born–reflections and stories often focus on how our Savior was delivered into the world with nothing, literally born among animals.

But I’d rather focus on the fact that even with all their waiting and praying, Israel still wasn’t ready for Him.

This thought hit me when I was listening to the classic carol “Joy to the World” recently. It’s funny how we stop “hearing” lyrics after awhile and simply listen. This time, I actually heard the lyrics, and I heard something different:

Joy to the world! The Lord is come,
Let earth receive her King,
Let every heart prepare Him room

“Prepare Him room.” My thoughts suddenly turned to that night in Bethlehem, when nobody had room for the coming Savior. I don’t think the hymn writer phrased it that way on accident.

Because for all our waiting and hoping and praying, sometimes the time arrives and we aren’t prepared. Because we didn’t see it coming. We were looking for something entirely different.

Hearing that carol in a new way challenged me. What chambers of my heart need to be cleared out to prepare room for my King? What needs to be evicted so he has space for me to receive Him? What dark corners need to be illuminated, so my Savior can see my light in the darkness and know that there is room for Him here?

The Israelites weren’t looking for a baby born among animals. They were looking for a great, triumphant King. They weren’t prepared for the unexpected. And if we don’t prepare room in our hearts for Jesus to do the unexpected, then we’re missing the point. To wait on the Lord without preparation is to wait without hope.

So enjoy your Christmas music. And prepare Him room.

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You Don’t Bow Down to Them.

One of my biggest vices is self-image. If I were honest with myself, I would say that I want to be all things to all people–a human chameleon, if you will. People pleasing is a pretty typical human trait. Since we’re social creatures, we want people to like us.

But sometimes, it can drive us crazy when they don’t. Especially when they occupy a lot of our thoughts–living “rent free,” as it were.

Let me take you back to high school. I know, that’s a rough place to go, but we’re going there. I took driver’s training between 9th and 10th grade at the age of 15. I didn’t mind the two hour evening classes where we watched videos of best practices on the road or even the bookwork I had to take home with me. What I did mind, however, was the actual driving.

My first day on the road, I was three minutes late to the driving hour. I walked up to the tall, gangly (and really, really old) man who was going on the drive with us that day. He was showing the other student how to check tire pressure. He looked up at me with squinty eyes, dusted off his pleated khakis and said, “Try not to be late next time. We’ve been waiting on you.” For three minutes? Okay, pal.

The drive that day was abysmal. I’d never driven a car in my life and I was paired with a driving instructor who might as well have been a drill sergeant. I didn’t do anything right–turning, changing lanes, even pulling up to a traffic light. After that day, I never wanted to drive again.

Of course, it was driver’s ed, so I had to. Thankfully, I was never paired with that driving instructor again. I was, however, paired with one who was just as awful. One who literally growled at me when I didn’t make a successful U-turn. Did I mention I was 15 and had never driven before? I was frustrated and anxious. Most nights before a drive I would barely sleep (don’t even get me started on my first highway drive.)

It really didn’t get better that entire summer. I dreaded every drive. I wondered if I would actually ever enjoy driving, or even how I would pass the test. I talked to my parents at length about it, about how stressed I was. My dad brought me to our church parking lot a few times in between classes to help–and it did, to an extent, but the open road was still intimidating to me.

One day, driving back from a late night class with my mom, clutching that bright orange booklet with sweaty palms as I thought about my next driving session, I talked to Mom about Ernie again. That dreaded driving instructor. The one who said “quadruple” in a weird way and had gotten to the point where he teased me in class about my driving. I was about ready to quit. I knew I couldn’t–I mean, I had to learn how to drive.

“Audrey,” Mom said as we drove home in the gloom. “You’re not going to bow down to him when you die.”

Her statement hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s been almost ten years since I learned how to drive. I still jump curves. I’ve backed into a fire hydrant and scratched a rental car. I’ve gotten my front bumper stuck in a snowbank. But I love driving now. And like everyone says, it’s become second nature to the point where I don’t think about it.

But learning how to drive wasn’t the only thing I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten what my mom said to me as I agonized over Ernie. You don’t bow down to him when you die. It changed my perspective so much. I was caring too much about how much Ernie was intimidating me. Ernie from Century Driving School probably doesn’t remember me. So why did I give him so much headspace?

That one phrase my mom told me has rung in my ears throughout the last decade. I remember thinking it before giving a speech in undergrad. I don’t bow down to my classmates when I die. I remember thinking it when I had a ridiculous crush on a man who only used me. I don’t bow down to him when I die. I remember thinking it when one of my best friends blocked me on social media. I don’t bow down to her when I die.

It’s such a freeing statement. Whether or not you are a Christian, it’s still powerful. As a believer, I see it as no one having more power over me than the Lord. I only bow down to my one true King and no one else. Even if you are not religious, it’s a powerful image–by bowing down to something or someone, you are swearing fealty and loyalty to whatever or whomever that is. The same analogy can be applied to an idol or addiction you may have. It shouldn’t guide or rule your life.

It’s helped me most when my self-image comes into play. I spend so much time and headspace on people who frankly won’t matter much in the long run. It’s come in handy lately as I’ve navigated this season of a divisive election. I have opinions and world views that are different than others–to the extent that some may have a different opinion of me based entirely on whom I voted for. Do I bow down to them when I die? No. I’ll take it further–do I bow down to my preferred candidate when I die? Absolutely not.

I bow down only to my Lord and Savior.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
   In God, whose word I praise—
in God I trust and am not afraid.
    What can mere mortals do to me? (Ps. 56:3-4, NIV)

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