...good intentions...

I tend to talk myself out of doing things that increase my potential of looking like an idiot. And, if we're being honest, that's a long list of things.

I've been meaning to take some baked goods to our local police precinct ever since we moved here. I really do have good intentions. Still, I'd never done anything like that before and, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit uncomfortable with the unknown. What if they don't accept baked goods for fear of being poisoned? What if I make the worst treats ever? What if they point at me and laugh? Irrational, I know, but aren't most fears?

So today I scoured the internet (for, like, five minutes) for the best soft baked chocolate cookie recipe I could find. Here it is, if you get the hankering. I spent the afternoon baking and had every intention of delivering them before I started my teaching day, but another snow storm hit our area and I had to leave the house much earlier than expected to navigate the messy roads. This meant the cookies were stacked on a Chinet paper plate, secured with saran wrap and carefully placed in the passenger's seat of my car.

After teaching, I made my way to the police station. I wasn't sure where to go, so I trudged around the building in the snow before spotting the door. I gave it a swift tug, only to find that it was locked. And there on the door it read, hours: 8am – 5pm. I was too late! I laughed. With wet snow matting the hair to my head, I began to walk back toward my car. Oh, well, I thought, much too relieved, this is how some adventures will turn out.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Surely the police are still here! They wouldn't just close up at 5pm and go home. I stood there in that falling snow for a second and weighed my options. I could go back and knock on that door, or I could go home, tail between my legs, and fess up to you all about my failed adventure. Sigh. I walked back toward the entrance.

As I brought my fist up, I noticed a doorbell. Within moments of pressing it, a tall burly man swung open the door.

When I get nervous, I overcompensate by laughing...a lot. All through the long drive on those dreadful roads, I kept my mind occupied by imagining what I would say and how the other person would respond. Though I had been planning that conversation in my mind for a good 20 minutes, it ended up sounding something like this:

Me: (giggle) I made cookies (giggle), holding a saran wrapped Chinet plate up to his chest.

Him: Oh, thanks.

Me: Just to (giggle) thank you for your service. (giggle, giggle)

Him: Umm, ok, thanks. Uh, who are you with?

Me: Blank stare...(giggle)

Him: Uh, are you just a resident?

Somehow we managed to carry on a conversation for a few moments before parting ways. As I walked back to my car, I went from feeling so proud of myself for finally doing what I'd been meaning to do for years, to feeling so bad about myself for not making those cookies look cuter. No fancy plates, no bows or ribbons. Not even a note! Would they not like them because they weren't packaged more prettily? I spent a bit too much time with these thoughts before I was willing to cast them aside.

So, I may have looked like an idiot tonight. But as I continue to venture out into my unknown, I'm thinking that maybe it's less about me feeling like an idiot...and more about someone else feeling loved.

And I think everyone is worth that kind of sacrifice.

(ps. To all y'all reading these silly posts, thanks for inspiring me to press on.)