Apron

Wearing an apron is below my conscious mind. My close friends and family know this: I don’t (or can’t) cook. 

Once I dabbled in painting that required an apron. I didn’t wear one because I had none.

One day long ago, I was asked to have promotional photos for my book Secret Ingredient, which is about cooking. I had to borrow the apron from a friend.  

Many years later, just last week, I was awarded one in pink! 

If the organizers weren’t sincere and serious, I’d consider this a prank. They gifted me with an apron as my prize for being the oldest attendee at an event that gathered women from various churches in our area. The thing is, while this gesture is much appreciated, I no longer have the energy to develop interest in cooking. 

But I wore it just the same for a photo to record how a non-cook looks like with an apron on. If Tony were still around, I knew he’d immediately say, “Give it to Teresa.” 

  

And so I handed it over to Mother Teresa who jumped with joy when she touched it. She reminded me of myself when I am given a new book assignment by my publisher. 

Both instances demonstrate the fullness of grace.