I cleared the kitchen right then and there. It just wouldn't be the same if somebody else did the baking. The process of baking those cookies allowed me to process my prayers for her family and work through my anger at the cigarettes that had needlessly shortened her life. The time in the kitchen became a holy time, a culinary prayer. I used my favorite recipe, slightly underbaked the cookies so they would be good and moist and delivered the cookies later that day.
Little things give life meaning far beyond their size.
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