“It must be nice to be a man,” I told Ryan in the aftermath of our family Christmas. We’d shared our traditional dinner and unwrapped gifts with the children before leaving Toronto for the holidays. All the responsibilities for cooking and shopping, cleaning and wrapping had, like most years, fallen almost entirely on my shoulders.
And goodness, can I really complain about that? I mean, if Ryan works hard enough to bring home the bacon, can’t I at least cook it?
But to what degree I cook it with a charitable spirit is always up for grabs.Though Christmas should traditionally be a season of joy, in truth, I can battle with resentment about the extra domestic work it requires of me.
And this is why I wrote my most recent post at her.meneutics. If you’ve been reading here for any length of time, you know well enough that I don’t often write about the areas of my life over which I feel mastery or control. (And by the way, I’m not even sure what those areas are.) Instead, I write in order to preach the sermons I most need to hear. I write as a way of living into what I know to be true but have a harder time absorbing.
This is true of my most recent post, which I hope you’ll read and find as a source of encouragement for your kitchen work this Christmas.