a cookie story

This morning, I was munching on some cookies that a friend dropped off from Thailand, and they reminded me of Pecan Sandies. The last time I had these cookies was some time in middle school... but the thought brings back a memory from long ago.

When I was four or so, I was at Winn-Dixie - the mighty Walmart of the South. My mom told me stories of how I would sing their "Winn-Dixie, everyday~" jingle whenever I was there because the lady at the bakery counter once rewarded me with a cookie. Apparently I did this at every other grocery store also... though they didn't think it as cute.

Anyway, I put a carton of Pecan Sandies on the checkout counter. They were to be a gift, so my mom paid for it, my sister did all the wrapping and card-writing, and I signed my name and put on a cute face. I loved cookies, and somehow word got to me that my dad liked this specific kind, and the cookies were for his birthday.

From that day on, Sandies held a sacred place in my heart. Whenever I walk by them in the grocery store, I think of my dad. And I think I got these cookies for him at least a couple other times.

At some point in time, I realized he didn't really love these cookies. There's a reason they're called Sandies. But to hear him say, "Thank you!" for a gift I was able to offer brought me a whole lot of joy. He would set the cookies on the living room table and eat them slowly as he watched TV or worked on his papers.

The more I learn and see, the more I realize I'm not a particularly tasteful brand of cookie in God's eyes. I say all the wrong things, think the nastiest thoughts, and can't do half of what I feel I'm supposed to be doing. But for some reason, He really seems to like those Pecan Sandies. He'll take them and say, "Thank you!" every time.

Thank you, Jesus, that I can still be loved despite me because God sees me the way He sees You.