On one of our last snow nights (right, Spring? You are still making an entrance this week?), I whipped up some banana bread. It had been a year or more since making this yumminess, but one that I was planning on. Heck, I had been trying to ripen bananas for the cause for more than a week!
But whoops, a few phone calls with friends, a shower, a dish-washing escapade later, I realized I may have overdone it. I smelled burnt bread.
Before I knew it, I was impatiently shaking the bread out of the pan, wanting a slice immediately. It came out easily, and I grabbed a knife. To cut? Nope. To shave.
Done with one edge, I laughed as I realized what I was doing: I was making this bread ‘perfect’. It didn’t matter that I was probably going to be the only one to eat it or that this was never meant to be a show-boaty loaf of bread; it was not the way I wanted it. So I changed it.
Which of course lead me to thinking, “where are the ‘burnt edges in my life”? Don’t we all have them? Broken promises, hurts, ended relationships, disappointments, loss.
Cleaning up the blackened crumbs that had flown everywhere during the aesthetic adjustment, I thought about this idea. That bread, the burnt bread, was simply delicious. Sure, I bet it would have been tasty with or without the crisped pieces, but as for a metaphor for life, there might be something more.
Could our own ‘burnt edges’ be good? Maybe they protect and draw boundaries. Maybe they hold the heat and passion in. Maybe they allow the core to be soft and warm.
Therefore, could I be more tolerant with the burnt edges, the imperfections, the things not to the fullness of my liking in life?
Maybe banana bread is just bread, and life is just life…. but maybe the burnt edges are where the true story lies.