Oh, it broke my heart.
I was going out for a walk with a friend this evening while supper was cooking in the oven. I desperately needed the time out... but I had wanted to cook a special dessert (it *is* Sunday, after all!) and couldn't do both.
Enter Sean and Reilly.
Looking at the recipe, I thought that this would be the perfect "do it completely by yourselves" sort of dessert that would bolster their confidence in cooking and following recipes -- key lime pie. A pretty standard recipe, but just enough "difficult" parts thrown in to REALLY make them feel like they had done something special. I ran through the directions with them, pointed out the ingredients, and took off for my walk.
I came home an hour later and there was the pie, cooling on top of the stove. It looked heavenly and smelled even better. In there was the result of all their hard work -- freshly zested limes, the pulp and juice from the limes added in there, eggs, etc. However, I saw the can of condensed milk still on the counter.
One taste of the pie and I knew what they did. They added regular milk instead of sweetened condensed milk.
I was heartbroken.
I *KNEW* all the hard work they had put into this, and it was completely inedible. There was no way that I knew of to "fix" it. I had to fess up and see if, together, we could whip up a new pie before suppertime.
Reilly and Sean were trying to hold it together, but they were so upset that they had "messed it up" (their words).
While I was glad to see that their inattention (a big problem over here) caused some serious consequences that "hurt," my heart just broke for them. They did such a great job... except for the milk part.
Does God hurt for us the same way, when we get all excited and do what we think is a "great job," only to have it blow up in our faces?
As a side note, during all the tears and drama of the "kitchen crisis," Thomas (a constant jumping, twirling, excited little bundle of energy) came in literally dancing and exclaiming, "Oh boy! I smell pie!! Are we having pie for dinner?" To which Christopher (usually very dry, matter of fact, and deadpan) explained,
"Really man, don't get all excited. I tried some and it tastes like cream cheese."