Saturday morning pancakes are the best!
My kids love them and so do I. One of them loves plain pancakes. I love them with blueberries. The majority vote is with chocolate chips- lots of them!
When my children were younger, the moment the rich, buttery smell of pancakes traveled up the stairs and into their bedrooms, they were immediately up and scurrying into the kitchen to call dibs on the first batch. Everyone…. except my youngest. He was a sleeper and loved to cozy up in his covers snuggled with his favorites stuffed animals.
When he would eventually decide it was time to wake, his other five siblings had already eaten their share of the rich fluffy morning feast. He would slowly make his way downstairs with his blankie and animals in tow. As he was climbing onto a bar stool, the sweet aroma would captivate him, and he would be halfway through blessing his breakfast before finally being seated.
While preparing and whisking the batter for another batch, I reminded him to wait and pour the syrup with mom’s help (we tend to go through bottles of syrup due to pouring overload). He smiled and said, “I know, I know… wait fur mom to help.” With my back turned, I continued to grill and flip the pancakes.
Little did I know that there was a pancake still on the kitchen counter left by one of my other children.
My youngest decided that this pancake was for him. Without me knowing it, he proceeded to open the bottle of syrup and pour it over the pancake, the plate, and the countertop. We had just gone over mom’s simple little reminder. I raised my voice at him and said, “Michael! What did I tell you?!! Go to your room and stay there until I clean up this mess!”
I grabbed paper towels, turned on the faucet, and impatiently waited for the water to warm up. While I was doing this, I glanced over and saw that he was trying to remedy the situation by taking his plate and attempting to pour the syrup back into the bottle, only making an even bigger mess. I raised my voice again and told him to “get out of the kitchen!!”
He hopped off the barstool and ran up the stairs sobbing.
While begrudgingly cleaning the pool of syrup, I not only burned the remaining pancakes, but also felt like a terrible and over dramatic mom for raising my voice. I gathered his animals and blankie and called his name as I slowly walked up the stairs. He met me halfway into his room and with his big blue eyes filled with tears smeared across his face, he looked at me and asked “can I have a redo?”I scooped him in my arms and squeezed him tightly as a huge lump welled up in my throat and said “yes, you can have a redo and I want one too.”
As he wiped his tears, he hugged me with sticky syrupy fingers and said, “errbody needs redos.”
He was absolutely right! Redos are necessary. They’re beautiful. They enable us with a chance to a fresh start. The absolute sweetness of the moment made me think of how Jesus tenderly waits for us to redo any wrongs we may have done. I thought of how all of heaven rejoices and sees the victory even over the smallest confessions and redos.
It was evident Christ was present in the meekness and sincerity of his sweet face, full heart, and simple request. Redos and restarts are a beautiful reflection of God’s love and forgiveness. Redos also require humility. God rejoices over this small victory because He can work with a humble heart (not a prideful one). Overall, True victory lies within the beauty and humility of acknowledging our faults, weaknesses, and shortcomings…. and it all can begin with a simple redo.
St. Dismas (patron saint of second chances/redos) pray for us!
