But I see it differently. When I cook, I'm honoring my grandmother's life, her work, her love. Every meal she made was an act of service, of care. She fed her family with her own hands. How is that not powerful?

I want to be that kind of woman. The kind who knows how to create a home, not just live in a house. The kind who can feed people real food made with real care. My faith teaches me that serving others isn't degrading—it's holy. Christ washed feet. He broke bread. He fed people. If service was good enough for Him, it's good enough for me. ✨

Maybe I'm too traditional for my generation. Maybe people think I'm trying to go backwards. But when I hold my grandmother's recipe book, I don't feel like I'm going backwards at all. I feel like I'm continuing something beautiful that should never have been abandoned.

Why did we stop seeing the beauty in simple acts of love? 🙏