Christmas Cookies and Quiet Kitchens

The ground coated in snow,

My music playing,

And a cup of hot tea,

I work in the quiet of our kitchen.

The washer hums in the background,

And occasionally I am interrupted with school questions,

But mostly I revel in the quiet.

The kitchen fills with the smell of Christmas baking,

And cooling cookies fill waiting wire racks.

Helping hands unwrap the treasured chocolate,

Then one of the morsels disappears into anticipating mouth.

It feels peaceful and safe.

I could just stay here, I think.

I wouldn't have to go out into that world that I work in,

Where there's daily stress and constant pressure.

I wouldn't have to be incessantly hounded by the wrong,

And constantly have to uphold the right.

I could stay in this place with my gentle music and my tea.

But that wouldn't be love.

That wouldn't be compassion.

That wouldn't be what Christ would have.

So I go out,

And as I go I pray for His protection.

Because He went out.

And He understands.