She's not at all squeamish about things like cracking eggs and cutting up raw meat, unlike most kids, who would wrinkle up their noses at slimy uncooked animal parts. No, Susie is exuberant in the kitchen, as she is in most of life - she likes to be involved.
For me, this presents a problem. It would be a lot easier to make meatloaf myself without the help of a four year old who has a penchant for falling off of chairs. The messes she can make in five seconds flat easily take longer to clean up than it would take me to just make the meal and get it over with.
But there is no fun in that.
As little as she still is, we share a companionship in the kitchen, and I like that. It's worth egg shells in the cake batter to spend this time with my girl, doing something together we both love.
I start by pulling a mixing bowl out of the cupboard and turning on the oven. Like the call of the sirens, Susie hears me and comes bouncing in.
"Are you cooking, Mom?! Can I help you cook?!"
"Sure. C'mon up here."
Susie climbs up on the kitchen counter, her verbal stream a rushing springtime river. I explain that we're making meatloaf for dinner. Yes, she can crack the egg. This meat? It's venison. Deer meat. Yep, it's kinda bloody. This seasoning is pepper, this one is salt. Sure, you can put it in. Woah, not so much. Ok. Um. That's ok. Here, put in these onions. Whew is right, they make my eyes sting too! Ok. Here - want to make some broth? Let me just put this in here, and you stir it up. Woah - ok - just stir it a little. Slowly. That's good. You got it.
Back and forth we go like this. Somehow we manage to get the spices and such in the bowl. I'm pretty sure the salt and pepper are out of proportion, but oh well, we could all use a little more flavor, right?
Now I've got the ground meat in the bowl. Susie wants to help mash it all together. I do meatloaf the messy way - with my hands - and of course, Susie wants her hands in it too. In for a pound.
I let her hold the meatloaf before we shape it into the casserole dish, my hands underneath her hands underneath the meat.
"Wow! It's heavy! And weird!" she says.
I laugh. Yep, it sure is.
Now is the part where things get dicey. Really dicey. Me and my four year old are wrist deep in raw meat. I've got to get this conglomeration called dinner into the pan before she decides to taste it. And then I've got to get my hands AND her hands washed with soap before her hands have the opportunity to touch anything or go in her mouth or get wiped down the front of her sweatshirt. And my hand are just as messy as hers. I've got, like, a nanosecond to perform the miraculous.
So I scoop my daughter off the counter with my arms, sit her on the edge of the sink with my whole self wrapped tight around her little self to keep her from falling, and together like this, we wash our hands.
She's giggling like only she can, and I get to snuggle my face down in her neck, breathe in her sweetness and tickle her with kisses while we scrub. I am surprised to feel the unexpected companionship and precious closeness of the moment begin to heal some cracks in my heart.
And after all the crying out to God I've done in the past months - all the neediness, unanswered questions, confusion, frustration and tears - THIS is the point in time God chooses to speak to me.
I wonder why He doesn't just do things Himself and get them done.
He says I like doing things with you.
I say "But I make such messes!"
He says It's still worth it to me.
I say "I don't know what I'm doing..."
He says You don't need to know. I'll tell you how as we go along.
My heart constricts and I watch soap bubbles rinse down the drain.
You're my daughter - the one who is so exuberant about what I'm doing! You hear me moving and come running. I love that you want to help, and I love doing things with you. Understand this - I'm going to let you get messy in the process so that when you need cleaning up I get the chance to wrap my Whole Self around your little self, balance you on the edge of precarious, protect you from falling, and enjoy a closeness and a companionship with you that no one else gets but Me.
If you were not messy, you would not need me this close to you.
I was willing to get my hands bloody to get this close to you.
Let me wash your hands, daughter.
Susie's verbal stream is still running and though we are finished at the sink I take an extra nanosecond to breathe her in before setting her gently on the floor. I am to Him what she is to me, only He is the Great I Am.
It's just meatloaf.
Oh, but it's so much more. So much more.
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