A few weeks ago I came up with an idea for a fundraiser. Compound butter. Easy enough and right up my alley. Food. I can do food. You saw the pictures, you heard my desperate pleas. I had a goal to sell 25. Maybe I could bring in around $500 minus cost. That would be good for a fundraiser for the time spent.
Once it caught on it quickly grew. My goal of 25, thanks to friends and family sharing it at work and on Facebook, was quickly met. Just days before Father’s Day I pushed for 50. We were only two butters away from 50! By this point I realized that I was going to be challenged to present 50 butters at one time, so I took some deliveries in a few days early to work. My deliveries set me back 14 more butters.
I sold 14 more butters.
Realizing quickly that I was in way over my head I rallied the troops. The people that I go to first and always for help. Some of our closest kids and some of our closest friends. This was not 25 butters. This is not a nice relaxing hobby. It was go time we had to get this done. I had to get these butters completed. I couldn’t say no to “baby girl money” because of my stress level or time commitment. If you’re going to give me money to bring my baby home I’m going to give you butter.
Tuesday night I got home from work at 6pm. I had a 20 minute break for dinner and I worked on butter until 11pm. Got up at 5am, went to work, Wednesday night I worked on butter, except I had more friends involved. They also stayed till 11 o’clock at night and then they stupidly returned the next evening. They sacrificially gave of their time, energy, and the skin on their fingers.
They made late-night trips to Target and Walmart searching for supplies that apparently no longer exist. Friday night they treated us to a meal poolside. As I sat there enjoying the conversation, I kept on just thinking how much butter was waiting for me at home.
What a long night it was going to be.
I invited anyone who wanted to, to come over to our place. Five of them came, staying late into the night in a kitchen without air conditioning, mixing, freezing, wrapping, organizing, packing, and counting butter. A few of them handed me $20 to take a package home. We were all wiped. My entire kitchen was cloaked in grease.
Saturday came and I had no energy to move.
I was happy people came to pick up their butters, making light conversation as they did. Many gave a suggested donation. Many gave significantly more. I continue to be in awe at the generosity of near strangers and friends who believe in an orphan-less world.
I also realized that that guy I married to was still around. His face had gotten lost in a sea of neatly tied wax paper packages and bread. I hadn’t seen him for about a week, I was starting to forget what he looked like. We sat outside in quiet shock that so many butters were ordered, but more so by the servant hearts and ridiculous giving of our friends.
Thank you to all of you who have supported us with butter.
Next time we’ll have more than one mixer. Next time will have a much bigger freezer. Next time we won’t use those ridiculous rubber bands that rip up your skin. Next time? Yep it’s happening again in November. I’ll be offering a sampler platter of butter with fall flavors. We’ve figured out how to do it, and we can’t stop now. Next time we’re shooting for 100. Frankly, I can’t wait.
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