The first batch of pancakes I made were... edible. Pour enough sugar into a batch of anything and you can pretty much push it down.
Mary was right.
But with the chemical taste of baking soda burning a horrid hole in my mouth, I was determined - nay, I vowed - to make a better tasting batch.
The second batch of pancakes I made were horrid. They tasted like the struggle and sweat of my cotton-picking ancestors. I couldn't logically process what could have gone so wrong that several spoonfuls of sugar made no difference to the medicine.
I spent an entire evening wallowing in defeat. I was useless in the kitchen. My mother's stern voice came to me like a portent of doom; of what use was I to a husband now? I wailed (inwardly). Thankfully, there was no potential husband within any distance of me so, hope renewed, I brushed the flour off my shoulders and straightened my dignity. And then I turned to the unwavering arms of Google and whipped myself the fluffiest batch of pancakes I had ever seen.
Between the first batch and the scrumptious fluff-fest above were at least seven days. One week, (at least) three batches, one round of self-pity and not at any point did it occur to me to ask for help from an actual person. Even my turning to google was as a last resort, after allowing myself to fail repeatedly. And here's where the lesson(s) revealed it(them)self(ves):
- Many times we are so afraid of sharing our shortcomings that we do not allow ourselves to receive help. Many people have the same frustrations as we do, and in holding so much in we miss out on the opportunity to share, learn, and encourage each other.
- Asking for help is not a sign of weakness but an opportunity for growth.
- Even when we should have all the answers, we often don't. That is not a crime; neither is it a shortcoming, seeing as all we have to do is ask for help for everything to be solved.
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