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Peace Seeker: Influential Women

I baked cookies this week.

I know, this is something that shouldn’t be blog worthy. But it actually is.

When we first got married, I baked cookies for my husband. He ate them but they definitely weren’t like the ones his mom made.

So I got her recipe. Still no glowing praise.

I literally cried over this. And while today it doesn’t take much to make me cry, back then it did. I found different recipes here and there. I tried butter. I tried margarine. I tried everything.

No glowing praise.

We went to his parents a few months after our wedding. They live out of state. And while there, I told his mom the trouble I was having getting him to like my cookies.

She thought for awhile and said, “Well, I often don’t hear the time so they bake to long.”

Sure enough. That’s what he meant by “brown cookies”

It’s been a source of both humor and annoyance for me. I don’t like burned cookies. He doesn’t like soft cookies.

This week I baked cookies.

I baked them for 10 to 11 minutes instead of 8 to 9. I lined them on my cooling racks carefully. I texted Lamar and be sure to let him know, then stated my friend was coming and we would probably eat the whole batch.

I apologetically told my friend I baked them to Lamar’s preference. She didn’t laugh or mock, she approved.

We celebrate 8 years of marriage this May.

And through these past almost 8 years, there’s a few things I’ve learned.

1) Marriage is ridiculously hard.

2) If there are 2 sides to an issue, Lamar and I will typically find ourselves on opposite sides.

A) I’m very competitive and it’s really hard for me to lose. So yes, it’s okay to pity Lamar sometimes.

Our marriage didn’t survive all our low down valleys and mountain top moments because I overbake the cookies or because I’m some super wife.

Believe me. If there’s a guideline on the perfect wife and mom, I’m probably no where close to reaching it.

I have had amazing women in my life, women who’ve kept me know that even though I don’t love pink, keep a Martha Stewart style house, or always have my ducks together in the same pond, it is okay.

Not even joking here: I used to pray that God would make me into a boy.

I have made the local police jurisdictions quite a bit of money from fines from my heavy foot. [*facepalm*]

I prefer jeans over dresses or skirts.

While I have good, truthworthy friends now, I used to prefer being in the garage with my husband and his friends.

I can service my own car and in the event that my husband is away, I am independent enough to survive.

I am strong willed, opinionated, and I don’t back down from a fight.

Well I am learning to choose kindness, walk away, and bless and release toxicity but it takes a lot of praying on my part.

I am a natural leader, and a fixer of problems.

Again, a lot of prayers go into my silence in the faces of some folks I believe to be in need of fixin’!

I have godly ladies sprinkled into my life. Well placed. Firmly rooted. Ladies who love me, care for me right where I am.

A bad day when I can unload and say “This isn’t fair!” and they can respond without judgement or a cliche.

Ladies who don’t ask if you lost your sweeper or forgot the parenting rulebook when they come over.

Ladies who say “I made cookies. Let’s have coffee.”

Less drama. Less judgement. Less hate. Less comparisons. Less of us, more Jesus.

More cookies. More coffee. More real conversations. More sharing life. More caring. More love. More love.

And if in doubt, sprinkle in some extra love in someone’s life via cookies, donuts, coffee, and hugs.

I hope someday to be a woman like the many amazing ones God has placed in my life.

As a girl, I had a woman I affectionately called Mom. She was a woman who stood in my life, tall and proud as a Christian that didn’t ram dresses and sewing and rules in my life. A woman who saw a pain filled young girl and loved her through it.

A counselor who showed me it’s okay to be me. I am who God created me to be. That same woman later connected me with a group of women who could love me through a season of marriage where all I wanted was a divorce and away from the fiasco we had created.

A mother. A mother in law. Sisters in law. Friends.

Women at church. Small group. Worship team.

All different. All beautiful souls that God strategically placed because He knew I would need them. And lately, whether these ladies know it or not, I cherish their texts. Their gifts. Their love.

Ladies, stand up and let’s seek to be women who stand up and love other women.

Let’s be women who love without conditions, without expectations

(Not sure who to credit for the photo. I found it on Facebook)

Love, Rachelle

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