Jimmy shuffled to the car. Today was a beautiful summer evening. All nature sung its beautiful ode to its own joy. Mother was very concerned for Jimmy for he had been cooped up in the house all day. “On such a wonderful day you should be out. Maybe to your grandpas’ house,” she had told him. He was all for that idea. Thoughts of the whispering forests and the sparkling creek bubbled into mind as he strapped his seat belt on waiting for Mom.
When she had finally come, they drove out past the suburban houses and then careened around the winding dirt road that led to Grandpa’s house. Tall pines blocked the view of the cabin as they turned into the driveway.
“Well, here we are,” she announced. Jimmy stepped out. He could hardly wait to check out the fort he built last summer back in the pines.
“Don’t have too much fun,” she teased as she backed out soon disappearing down the dusty road.
Jimmy strolled up to the door and gave a few raps. The door creaked open wide and their stood Grandpa with an expression of elation. “Jimmy! You got here right in time.”
He ushered him in and an aroma carried straight to his nose. Something good was baking.
Grandpa turned and with mitts on his hands he went to the oven and lowered the door. He carefully carried a tray out revealing the warm gooey chocolate chip cookies.
Jimmy was entranced by the aroma as if it were a potion that was drawing him closer and closer to the tray. To his dismay the tray was set on the counter with Grandpa guarding it.
“You know Jimmy,” he began. “Cookies are a lot like us.” Jimmy raised an eyebrow and wanted to question where this was going but he all too well knew that Grandpa would tell him anyway.
“Cookies begin as just formless ingredients. Before becoming a Christian I was like those formless ingredients. The potential was there but only God could give it form.
Jimmy braced himself for an hour long discourse and sure enough Grandpa continued on and on covering all the different points of baking and showing the symbolic parallel between baking and his life story.
He talked on how baking the cookies were like God refining our formless life. How like when we come out of the oven we are like the delicious cookies ready to take on the world. “Our mood Jimmy is like the aroma of the cookies. Everyone can smell it in the atmosphere especially if you’re a rotten cookie.”
All Jimmy heard was, “Blah blah cookie blah blah oven blah blah delicious blah blah cookie.”
His stomach began to yearn and complain, “Give me cookie. Give me cookie. Grandpa’s voice continuously droned in the background becoming more emphatic with each new point. Jimmy began to reason in his mind, “I’m never going to get a cookie so I should find some way to escape. He slowly backed his way to the door trying not to look so obvious in his escape. “Well, Grandpa, I think I’m going to go and check out that fort I made last summer.”
“Wait Jimmy don’t you want some cookies. There almost cooled.”
“Almost cooled?” Jimmy thought to himself as he dashed out the door disappearing into the woods.
“Don’t be a rotten cookie Jimmy! Don’t be a rotten cookie!” Grandpa yelled out the door.
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