“Mom, you’ve got butter down on the list…and we’re gonna need lots of it!” my daughter commented the other day as we wandered down the dairy aisle of the grocery store. I loved the moment. This is the daughter who informed me some years ago that she didn’t need to learn to cook, because when she grew up she planned to order out whenever she needed to eat.

Today she’s right there in our family’s kitchen when she’s home or talking cooking techniques with me over the phone from her college apartment. Life is good.

“Load ‘em up!” I responded to her inquiry. “It’s that cookie time of year. Let’s marathon it!”

It is a driving desire that sneaks up on me every year. It begins when I put aside most thoughts of low fat dining and healthy snacking and choose, instead, to exercise daily as a way to compensate for the increased calorie intake. As if I were on a mission from God I dig out the old family Christmas cookie recipes and cover my kitchen counter with lists and supplies. I deep clean the kitchen, iron the Christmas curtains, and alert the family: It’s nearly Cookie Day!

What is it anyway? By the end of Cookie Day I’m absolutely exhausted. My hands have dried and cracked from all the dish washing, my lower back aches, and I feel like a stuffed pig from all the sampling.

I think it is a nod of respect to those days long ago when I baked with my grandmother and extended family members. But is it not also the Christmas music playing in the background? The story telling. And what about the aromas? The sneaky licks? The pleasure that fills faces, begging for just one more taste? Today cookie baking involves my daughters and friends. Some of the people who fill my memories are gone or live too far away to participate. But the baking process allows me to draw them close and make a heart connection. It always manages to fill the emptiness that can threaten my sense of well-being if I let it.

Baking with my mom was always an exercise in assembly line processing and accuracy. Ingredients were fresh, precisely cut, and laid out ahead of time for easy access. We read recipes carefully, followed them to the letter, and carefully leveled off all dry ingredients with a straight edged-knife.

Friends and family were treated yearly to gifts from our kitchen that included candied nuts, peanut brittle, divinity, and to-die-for fudge, turned out onto a marble slab to be stirred and cooled before being packaged. Mom’s treat trays also included gingerbread boys and girls, spritzes, frosted sugar cookies, thumbprints, and maraschino cherry bonbons.

We cleaned and put away things as we went. Even Martha Stewart would have been impressed.

Baking with my up-the-street neighbor (who eventually became my mother-in-law) was another experience altogether and I switched gears and expectations with little stress. We created and improvised in a whim and felt successful if every pan was used. If we got interested in an unplanned treat, we hurried to a neighbor to borrow the missing ingredient. We worked in high gear, fed the traffic of cookie lovers that traveled in and out the kitchen, and frequently stuck to or slid around the kitchen floor because we were too involved to stop and clean. It didn’t even matter if our cookies made it onto a decorated plate. We laughed, ate, and made memories.

Will your Christmas experience be made or broken with marathon cookie baking? Certainly not. Professional bakers provide us with lovely delectables this time of year. This is, however, the time to stop and fashion your response—whatever it may be—to the reason for this season. Be deliberate. Make a plan. Alter a schedule. Think beyond your routines and include others. After all, this is a season to consider what it must have been like for God to physically enter our world. The event took place a long time ago to be sure, but Christ’s birth is meant to revolutionize our lives today. It’s meant to change us. To draw us near to a living God. To introduce the idea that there is a deliberate plan for each one of us. A purpose for our lives. And just as we have the freedom to decide what to do this holiday, so must we carefully pick and choose how to respond to this life adventure–all the while knowning we will ultimately be held responsible for the way we live.

May each one of us think carefully this next week. What are we going to incorporate into our family celebrations, and why? Are we as individuals, then collectively as family members and a community, growing closer to each other and God because of these experiences?