Many years ago, I was a very shy girl at my school. I couldn't forget the way I had frozen in front of the class. My hands had shaken so badly that I couldn't read my notes. My voice had become softer even to silence. Mr. Roberts had kindly stopped me, “Masha, I know you're shy, but you worked hard on this project. If I give you another chance tomorrow, can you find your courage?
I had nodded. I had kept my head down, hoping that the school day would end soon. When I got home that day, I could see an inviting light from the kitchen windows. Momma was backing. When Momma backed, I always watched and chatted with her. She said it was my company that made her baked goods taste so sweet.
Momma studied my face as I came into the kitchen. “What's wrong, Masha?” Tears shone in my eyes. I let the whole story out. Momma was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Let me show you something.”I followed Momma to her bedroom and carefully took out a blue ribbon that said “First Place” from it.
“I started the school year as the shyest girl on the speech team, but I ended the year as the blue ribbon winner. I won it for public speaking. It wasn't easy—I was not sure of myself at all. I worked hard, and mostly I faced my fears. You just need to find your courage.”
That was the second time someone had told me that. I followed Momma back to the kitchen. What was it that made me so afraid? Soon Momma's sweet cake rose in the pans, and the smell of it comforted me as I wondered where I would find my courage. Momma put a thick piece in front of me. “ There's nothing better for heartache than Momma's love baked in a cake.”
I raised a forkful of warm cake to my mouth. All the fear in the world could not take away Momma's love. I felt safe in Momma's kitchen. It was warm from the bottom of the heart.
The next day I walked to the front of the classroom to give my presentation again. As I faced the class, I remember the ribbon and the smell of Momma's kitchen and then took a deep breath and began to speak with confidence. Finally I succeeded.
