Pride goeth before the charred remains

Never give in to the temptation of acting like you've gotten everything together, just because you're older.

Never.

My younger sister, Tiffany, and I made breakfast together this morning. She asked for a day to do all the baking, and Mom gave her today. When I think of how old I was before I had the idea to make a similar request, I am a little envious of my younger sisters - they get all our ideas earlier than we did!

Anyway, Tiffy's been assigned as Queen of the Kitchen today, but she wanted my help with breakfast. We planned to make egg biscuits. You know; flaky golden homemade biscuits, with cheese, sausage, and eggs inside. It's one of my favorite breakfasts.

Mom and Dad grew up eating bread or rolls, not biscuits, and Mom rarely makes biscuits. A couple years ago, however, I became interested in learning how to make biscuits. Really, really, good biscuits. After a lot of trail and error, my biscuits actually starting turning out high and lovely. Yes! You know how wonderful it feels to succeed with something? You know how wonderful it feels to have people ask for your biscuits? Nice feeling.

Well, I hadn't made biscuits in...oh, I don't know....a month or two, maybe, but I was confident this morning that our breakfast would turn out lovely.

Tiffany and I dug out the recipe (I was careful to inform her that it was the recipe I had created myself), and put all the ingredients on the table. Together we mixed up the dough. I carefully instructed her through each step, trying not to sound patronizing...but failing, I'm afraid.

Well, the dough turned out very well. I rolled it out, and Tiffany cut the biscuits. She was great. We shoveled the pan into the oven, and I told Tiffany to set the timer for 25 minutes.

"Even with speed bake on?" she asked. (We have a fan in our oven, which circulates the air, and that cuts 1/3rd of the baking time off most recipes.)

"Well, I don't remember if I factored speed bake into my recipe or not...just set it for 25 minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Of course I was sure. I am the older sister, right?

Two minutes later, Tiffany excitedly peered through the glass part of the oven door and exclaimed "Hey, they're rising already!"

"Good. Let's not peek at them until they're done baking, and then we'll be surprised at how much they've grown."

"What if we get a black surprise?"

"Oh, we won't. If 25 minutes ends up being too long, they won't turn black in a few extra minutes of baking time. Brown, maybe, but not black."

"Okay," Tiffany agreed in a hesitant voice.

We sat down at the kitchen table to read our Bibles together, and slowly a deliciously tantalizing scent filled the air. We grinned at one another, and jokingly pretended that we were struggling hard to keep from peeking in the oven.

Exactly 25 minutes later, I opened the oven door while Tiffany was cutting sausage.

"Uh-oh."

Tiffany turned around and saw the deep brown color of our biscuits.

She didn't even need to say it. I wasn't looking at her eyes, but I could almost hear "I told you so" spoken in her gentle way.

Later on, she did say it. I think she got a kick out of being smarter than her older sister. I insisted, of course, that I had been right; the biscuits did NOT turn black. Not one speck of black! Only lovely, deep....deep...deep brown.

But we both knew the truth:

Ambers aren't always right.

Duh.





(P.S. Sorry about the "duh." I don't usually use that word in everyday conversation, because it sounds a little coarse to me. But I make an exception if I'm talking to myself. After all, when you are reminded of the obvious [like "I'm not always right"] what is there left to say to yourself but "duh"?)