It is the smallest things that turn my thoughts toward home - my mom's measuring cups are one of the strongest transporters. I just made a batch of cookies, and as I opened my kitchen cabinet to grab the measuring cups, it was like opening a door to a place in my heart where hundreds of happy memories are stored. These measuring cups were the ones I used since childhood.

I remember how my mother taught me how to pack the brown sugar deep inside, and how to shake the flour down and carefully scrape a knife across the surface to take the hump off in order to get a perfect measurement. I remember the frustration of learning to wash them properly and not leave remnants of sticky, wet flour in the interior. The sweetest memory, of course, was sharing the first tray of hot cookies with a glass of cold milk.

Cookies were a part of every Christmas, of snow days, and movie nights. They brought joy to holidays and helped dry tears on days when I was sad. Cookies meant time together!

As I was packing my things to move with my husband to Israel, my mom came into my room and handed me a set of measuring cups, not just any measuring cups, THE measuring cups. I looked at them in her hand, and in an instant a flood of memories came into my mind. I looked up into her misty eyes, and I could see the days gone by were fresh in her mind as well. She held them out and said, "Here, I want you to take these with you."

We couldn't speak words, our emotions were too deep. But the cups communicated what was unspoken with a wave of joy and sadness that we could not express. Tears filled my eyes as I reached out for them, knowing that I was taking more than measuring cups, but a precious heirloom worth nothing to anyone else, but holding a value beyond measure to us. We embraced and held one another close.

The hardest part of living in Israel is being so far from the family that I love. I came because I believe God called me to be here. It was going to be just two years volunteering at the International Christian Embassy in Jerusalem, but God had other plans. He introduced me to my husband during my time in Jerusalem, an Israeli who loves God as dearly as I do and wants to serve Him too.

Leaving for Israel wasn't easy for me or for my family. In fact it was the most difficult thing I think I have ever had to do. But following God isn't about taking the easy path. It was my mother who taught me that as well. She raised me, and my sisters, to follow hard after God no matter what the cost. I am so grateful for a mother who imparted to me faith, courage and devotion. I love her so deeply and know that I am so deeply loved by her.

A blog about life in Israel would be incomplete without sharing some of the feelings I experience - the difficulty in the extreme distance from all that I knew and loved. I am far from home, but my mother's love is near and even tangible. I feel it in so many ways and today I can taste it in my batch of freshly baked cookies.

A picture from when my mom came to visit Israel! Hoping the next visit will be soon!