Chocolate Brittle Crackers

Last Updated on June 20, 2024 by Michelle

Because I’ve felt a little brittle at times this week, and because, well, chocolate is always a good thing, I thought I’d share my recipe for Chocolate Brittle Crackers with you.

Scroll right to the bottom for the yumminess.

It’s been a week of blindsides. Which are harder to deal with when you’re feeling brittle.

It’s a funny thought, brittle. An oxymoron really. A conundrum. Seemingly strong, but so fragile. If you have a friend wading through grief right now, you should know something. Maybe it’s been a few months since their source of grief and they say all the right things and look so strong. But, trust me, their sadness is still raw to them. They still have a spot or two in every day that feels oh-so-very empty. They’re still brittle.

Four months after sitting with mom as she left a world of pain and cancer to meet her Savior . . . three months after collapsing in disbelief in a hospital waiting room under the news that God had called my Daddy into glory as well . . . and I’m still brittle. I’m still prone to shatter into tears when the fullness of my loss cascades down on me at odd moments. But I’m also still reminded daily that I serve an omnipotent God who does more than watch my back. He is my backbone.

{{ I was blindsided by emptiness. }}

One day this week I was looking through pictures for something entirely different and tripped over ones of mom and dad’s extended visit to our farm last summer.

I was blindsided when I stumbled on images of their smiles shared with granddaughters, eager hands stained with mulberry juices, and tired slouches that resulted from barn chores they wanted to help with. I suddenly felt empty and alone. (I’m writing occasionally about my experiences in dealing with grief these past months, if that interests you those posts are all gathered here.)

{{ I was blindsided by spring snow.}}

Then, in typical New England fashion, we enjoyed a winter blizzard on the first day of April. The forecast said a few inches. When the skiffs started, we wrapped up farm chores and I decided to go for a walk with Bixby, realizing it would be the last chance to hear the patter of the snow fall while surrounded by the silence of the white-washed woods until next winter (well, hopefully).

We walked our typical route for checking the sap buckets–well he ran it; seven times; back and forth. (Bix is a New England snow dog at heart.) But there was no need to peek under any lids. It hadn’t warmed up enough that day to convince the sap to dance, or even amble.

Then we woke up to find the snow had done all the dancing, all night long, and kept on waltzing through the day, leaving us with about 15 inches of beauty by the end of April Fool’s Saturday.

I enjoyed the view from my desk and helped, here and there, as the maple syrup operation manager (aka hubby) ran nine buckets of sap through all his stations. For a good hour, in fact, he had every stage busy, from the outside propane boil, to the indoors RO filtering, to the stovetop final boil time. (I’ve written lots here about how we make our delicious backyard maple syrup.)

We had stored the buckets of sap in the back hall this week. Because in a 2oo-year-old farmhouse (give or take a few decades) the back hall that leads to the barn is unheated and can be a nice walk-thru cold storage area, if you use it wisely, unlike we did on our first winter on our homestead.

{{ I was blindsided with hope. }}

But this week I was also blindsided in a marvelous way. You may remember my daughter whose example taught me about seeing beauty in the midst of sorrow? After 18 months of chronic pain, after 10 specialists, after the appearance that there may be no end to her pain, she met the right team of doctors, at the right hospital, at the right time. This week, three weeks after surgery, my sweet daughter has had some joyful, pain-free moments.

I realized the baby chicks that had just hatched when I first wrote about my daughter’s chronic pain– which no medical professional seemed able to help with– are now providing us with those longed-for eggs that we thought seemed so far away. The promise is fulfilled every morning when I reach into those nesting boxes and pull out nourishment that I can carry back to the house in my pockets.

Even better, the one we named Brooke (because her mother was River, the calm beautiful hen) has decided to go broody and mother a flock of her own. We’ve incubated eggs many times, and we also had the joy of watching a mother hen raise her young on our farm last spring. The latter option is, by far, the better. But it’s not something you can force. You just have to hope for it and wait. If you can rest while you wait, all the better.

And, much more importantly, my daughter is recovering well from surgery. She’s dealing with therapy and retraining nerves and muscles to do what they’re supposed to do, and do it without pain.

So, yes, I’m still brittle. Maybe I always will be.

But God chooses to fill my brittle days with blessings and blindside me with reminders to lean on Him, because He is the omnipotent source of all strength, He’s the most glorious fullfilled promise ever, He’s unbreakable, and He chooses to be my backbone where I am brittle.

---

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me. Psalm 13:5-6

 

 

 

I’d love to connect!

To find me in some other neck of the woods, just click any (or every!) icon below:

PIN this for later! Just hover over an image for the Pinterest logo.–>

And have you tried my a-MAAHZ-ing Maple Sugar Cookie recipe that’s in my Resource Library? It’s one little peek into Sweet Maple waiting for you over there.

v v v v v v v v v v v v v