Bad Baker
“Can you make a pan of cinnamon rolls for Sunday?”
I held the phone to my ear, a bit shocked. Why would they ask me? I had never made cinnamon rolls in my life! I didn’t remember my mom making them growing up—what chance did I have? It felt like my answer should be no. My head was spinning, desperately thinking of ways to decline. I could be sick? Maybe I wouldn’t be there? My thoughts were racing and jumbled, and I started sweating. Finally, I started talking, planning to say no—instead, I heard myself agreeing with the request. 😳 I would bring a tray of cinnamon rolls to church on Sunday. Father’s Day. As the conversation was about to end, the woman on the other end casually mentioned who else was bringing rolls. NOOOOOOOO. The other two women were experts! EXPERTS! They were practically chefs!
Oh, crap. What had I done??
I was going to make cinnamon rolls.
I found a recipe, and woke up early Sunday morning. I was ready. I followed the recipe EXACTLY. I really wanted these to be perfect. I left the dough on the counter for the first rise.
It didn’t.
Not even a little. I left the dough a little longer, hoping that more time would help.
It didn’t.
Time was ticking forward, and church was starting soon. I had to keep going. I spread the butter and cinnamon sugar all over, and shaped the rolls. After placing them in the pan, I prayed the hardest I ever had in my life. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE THESE ROLLS RISE!
They didn’t.
Maybe I would get a miracle as they baked in the oven?
NOPE.
The cinnamon rolls came out and they looked horrible. Awful. I couldn’t possibly bring these for the men at church! I could never show my face again! And yet—I said I would bring them. I was so embarrassed, and no one had even seen the baked atrocities! Regardless of my impending humiliation, I spread the frosting and drove to church with my two little kids in tow. PLEASE, PLEASE, KILL ME BEFORE THIS SERVICE ENDS.
He didn’t.
An annoucement about the cinnamon rolls was made. Happy Father’s Day!
I hung back. I stayed as far away from the kitchen as I could. After what seemed like a long time, I watched Brian walk toward me with my pan…FULL of the worst-looking cinnamon rolls ever baked. Not even ONE had been touched. Of course. My humiliation was complete. If you could actually die from embarrassment, I would have succumbed in that moment. Seriously. We drove home, the rolls went in the trash, and I never made cinnamon rolls again.
Well—at least not for many, MANY years.
I could cook, but I was a bad baker when it came to breads and cinnamon rolls—really anything with yeast. 😂 After a while, I got tired of thinking that way. I dabbled. I tried different recipes, new tips, tricks, and techniques. I tried A LOT of things. Honestly, some things turned out gross, and they went straight to the trash. But with practice, I got much better. I made cinnamon rolls for my family about a month ago, and guess what?? They were DELICIOUS!
This story has some good lessons—
It’s ok to say no, especially if you’re asked to provide cinnamon rolls for a lot of people and you don’t know what you are doing. Just say no. You’re still a good person, and God still loves you. 😁
Practicing ANYTHING makes you better. Baking, dancing, reading, writing, painting, kindness, whatever! Practice.
You won’t die from embarrassment. It FEELS like you are going to die, but you won’t.
Laugh at yourself. It’s really the best medicine. 😍
