It's like watching rain drops race on car windows,

and shooting stars we both saw. 

It's like straight from the drier clothes and the first sip of a Chevron fountain drink. 

It's like the smell of desert rain. 

Like good morning texts

and belly laughs.

Like Parowan walks and heated car seats. 

Like lucky pennies and the new Blink 182 song. 

Like waking up to another hour to sleep before your alarm goes off 

or a Sunday night when there's no school on Monday. 

It's like the quiet that comes when it's snowing,

and the package I'm excited for getting delivered. 

Like never running out of mascara and remembering we need milk before M&D closes. 

It's like an extra blanket on my side and trash cans that always make it out to the street on Tuesday mornings.

Happy 7th Anniversary sweetheart. 

I'll love you and we'll be happy forever. 

They're not for us. 

The treats. 

The bread. 

Homemade chicken noodle soup.

Chocolate Chip Cookies.

They're not for us. 

They're for Mrs. Smith. She just had a baby. 

They're for Brother Johnson, his children are grown and moved away, and his wife passed away years ago. 

He's alone. 

They're for the new family on the corner. 

We don't know their names yet, but we will.

Just after 3 when shoes came off and coats and backpacks were hung up, most days we could smell something cooking. 

"Is that for us?"

"No".

But I think in another sense it was. 

"I need your help delivering!"

My mom did it for us

to teach us about Him. 

The One who always gave the bread away

even when He was hungry. 

To the moms.

To the lonely. 

To the new. 

And somehow when we got home there was an extra plate of cookies with just enough for us. 

And the pot seemed to hold an endless supply of soup. 

Enough for everybody. 

We made cookies this week. 

They definitely weren't as good as my mom's. 

As we loaded up plates and put shoes on my own little boy asked, 

"Are these for us?"

"No". 

But I hope he figures out that they are. 

When Hank was tiny, we read the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000.

Based on one artist's rendition of the story, Hank insisted that Jesus didn't feed the multitude fish and bread, but fish and cookies. 

I wouldn't put it past Him. 

At the very least, He can feed a multitude with cookies today. 

When we got home Hank found that there was a cookie on the cookie sheet left just for Him. 

He said it was delicious. 

He asked to do it again. 

​And that makes me happy.