mess

Last night, I attempted to make a pecan crust. It turned out soupy, so I made it into a crumble topping for an apple pomegranate crisp.

I made an apple marzipan galette, too.


When cleaning everything up, I poured a bag of (raw organic) sugar all over the counter, my pants, socks, and the floor.

"I am such a mess."

I sighed.

Ellen asked me, "Did I tell you I used the blender to make dinner last night?"

"no?"

"Well I was unaware that when you blend something you have to hold the lid down..."

Creamy white wine sauce splattered all over the kitchen.

:)

Why are we so afraid that others will see how messy we are?
Do we really think that they are less of a mess?

I hear about the splatter, and yet, my idea of Ellen has in no way fallen to the depths of kitchen doom. She's my really really good friend and her messiness will never change that.
So in hearing of her mess, and knowing my high esteem for her, I look at my mess with less self-deprecation. It's not comparison. It's the domino- effect of grace.