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Last week's attempt at making fresh New York style bagels for my Brooklyn sweetheart was practically flawless. They were as soft and round as a baby's bottom.

Not this batch.

And, wouldn't you know, this was the batch I tripled for a delicious Saturday morning brunch for guests.

Funny thing is, during my first attempt, I went with my gut instead of following the recipe. I left off the seemingly important step of refrigerating the bagels overnight. It didn't seem to matter because they looked and tasted delicious.

Fearing an even better tasting bagel could be had for my company this week, I decided I had better get those babies shaped a day earlier and put in the refrigerator to proof. The morning of the big bake, a peek behind the fridge door revealed twenty-four supple bagels.


I grabbed the first one to dunk in the boiling water and it deflated. Flat as a pancake. Twenty-three more followed suit and soon my beautiful bagels turned into flagels - flat bagels. It was the first and hopefully only time I'd ever cried over bagels. My heart sank like the stupid dough.

I messed up.


I never considered the possibility that something outside of my control could've went wrong. I assumed instantly that I screwed up yet again. And, perhaps I did, but isn't that part of the process of learning? And, can success really come except through failure? Because of me everyone would be disappointed.

They weren't supposed to look this way.

With that thought, I knew the Holy Spirit was using my flagels to teach me something important. It happened to come just two days before I was to embark on a journey that I have attempted before and failed. Or so I thought.

Just because you have a bad batch this time doesn't mean your next one can't be great.

Yep, this was about so much more than bagels. I dusted the flour off my hands, dried my tears and buttered one up for my hubby. His response floored me.

"They taste good."

I got out my pretty glass dish and plated those bad boys up! Butter, cream cheese, and fresh strawberry jam decorated my table and in walked our guest. Apart from a near smack to one of the boys who said,

"Eww, Mom, what happened to the bagels," everything went great. He followed up after his first bite with, "They look weird but they actually taste good."

No one was distraught over my mess up. And, this time, after a gentle nudge from the Holy Spirit, neither was I.

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