Cumin Toast


I have decided I am far too old for surgery.

Some of you octogenarians reading this are laughing at that statement but consider this: I have aged a decade each year for the past five years, which would place me right around the ripe old age of 89.

89-year olds should not have surgery.

After I bravely informed my Christyn-sitters that I was fully capable of taking care of myself, I made grand plans for embarking upon my daily routine.  I should have realized the stupidity in this decision but the fervent need to not feel like a slug clouded any good judgment I may or may not still possess.  I woke up with the alarm at 6:40 am.

Mornings are not my friend these days.

To be honest, mornings are not my friend any day, but especially not after tossing and turning throughout the night trying to find a good position that involves not touching my abdomen.  An impossible feat.

Therefore, sleep is not my friend these days either.

As I dragged myself out of bed, I made it to the kitchen in my bleary-eyed state determined to make breakfast for my three children who were quite concerned at the sight of their mother shuffling around, unable to form a coherent sentence, with her robe inside out.

I almost scared them into offering to make their own breakfast.  Almost.

Regardless of my state though, I was quite determined to provide a wholesome meal for my first-world ‘starving’ children so that I could feel one notch above a slug.

I am famous in my household for my cinnamon toast.  It is a very complicated recipe that requires a piece of bread, butter, and an equal amount of cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top.  Broil it until it is browned and viola’ – a culinary masterpiece!

Just call me the “Barefoot Christyn.”

While I was mixing the cinnamon and sugar together, Nicholas kept saying, “Mom, why does it smell like chili in here?”

I ignored him because I cannot be expected to respond so early in the morning and also because I was pretty sure the smell had something to do with the fact my post-surgical body was not exactly cleaning well – or cleaning at all for that matter – and any number of leftovers may be rotting in undisclosed locations throughout the kitchen.

After the third chili reference, I became a tad annoyed stating, “Son, do you want the cinnamon toast or not?”

To which he responded with a definitive ‘not’ which caused me to pause for the first time and actually smell the toast myself.

It definitely smelled like chili.

I grabbed the spice jar and realized I had mixed cumin with the sugar, not cinnamon.

Yes, I served my children cumin-sugar toast.

I am that mom.

Actually, I know of no other mother who has served their children cumin-sugar toast so I need the creation of my own category:

I am that mom who does ridiculous things that no one else has ever heard of.

After an incredible amount of laughter, my children went to school with a round of breakfast bars and I crawled back in bed, firmly riding out my slug status.

And although the morning was an epic fail, somehow just the process of getting out of bed and attempting normalcy felt strangely satisfying.

But isn’t that true of all moments in life?

When we feel like we can’t get out from under the covers of hardship we have two choices:

  1.  Continue living an isolated existence, attempting to shield ourselves from potential harm or –
  2.  Get up and take a step toward the life you were created to live.

It is easier to stay in bed, but is it fulfilling?

Bad things will happen.  Failures are inevitable.  But living to our created potential will equate a life of unmitigated promise.  A life of God-led surprises.

Each of us have our own brand of struggle we bravely confront:

The depressed who choose to dare the public….

The broken-hearted who choose to enter a new relationship….

The crushed in spirit who choose to continue believing in God’s goodness….

It is in how we choose to react to our struggle that directly determines our destiny, or lack thereof.

What will your destiny look like?

The next morning, attempting breakfast again, I asked the children what they wanted, and all three jokingly replied in unison,

“Cumin toast!”

So maybe, just maybe, the epic failure of cumin-sugar toast became my unexpected miracle reminding me that sometimes all it takes is a little effort of crawling out of bed to create an unforgettable moment that results in an unforgettable life.

Thank you Lord.

Love to each and every one of you,

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5 thoughts on “Cumin Toast

  1. To make it more convenient to use in one of our restaurants, I put the Tide in a canister by the kitchen sink. The cook thought it was salt and put a cup of it into 25 lbs of ground beef we were making into chili! Ouch! I put the Tide back into its original box so that wouldn’t happen again!


  2. I can promise they’ll remember this event far easier than 100 culinary feats you could undertake! It is the impactful/funny/devastating/dangerous events we will remember best 🙂


  3. Cumin Toast: So funny!!! Love you & those kiddos!

    As for taking whatever steps we can toward “normalcy” when struggling: I feel ya. In a country that primarily speaks Dutch, where grocery shopping takes 3x as long because I have to Google-translate every label, where the sun comes out seldom, and where nobody knows my name… I still choose to get out there: appreciating the new variety at the market (even if I can’t read the labels), praise the Lord abundantly on the absolutely gorgeous sunny hours we do get each week, and choose to reach my hand out to meet someone or speak to someone on every outing (we all feel better when someone acknowledges we exist, ja?). Do I want to just stay inside in my Uggs all day and order pizza?Yes. But is doing that on a daily basis gonna please the Lord? Nope. I’m gonna thrive here! I’m determined! God is good & im leaning into that. (How do you say “thrive” in Dutch anyways?!?!)


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