As I was cooking dinner today, I noticed an incredible analogy with the physical changes involved in making chicken soup and the power of the Holy Spirit changing a soul. When the chicken goes into the pot with water and salt, nothing really much happens until the heat gets turned on. As the water begins to boil, the scummy stuff comes to the surface and needs to be skimmed. When the process begins, it seems like it takes forever. I skim a spoonful of brownish, thick foam, and 10 more appear. Faithfully skimming the waste into a cup, I cannot help but see how this is like me. It takes roaring heat in my life to make the yuk come to the top. As Christ patiently skims the yuk from my life, more just seems to appear. And then, as soon as it seems all of the foam is gone, the real work begins. The fat also rises, but it is in oil droplets, floating on top, and requires even more diligence to skim it from the soup. I stand over the steaming pot, patiently skimming fat droplets, and I know that if I complete the process, there will be some delicious soup soon. Of course I need to add the spices and the veggies and the noodles, just as my spiritual walk requires the addition of fellowship and working the disciplines of reading the word, prayer, mediation, and sharing with others. Once that is accomplished, the savory aroma of a Christ-filled life appears. As does my chicken soup
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Soup Pot
If a pot could talk, I am sure that my spaghetti/soup pot
would have quite a tale to tell. The
countless meals that this precious pot has helped me to make over the years
have been filled with just about every type of situation I think I could
possibly name. This pot has been around
for the good times, and the hard times, and times when I wondered why I need to
even use that pot, because eating the food I was making meant I planned to go
on with life. This pot also has been the
symbol of love and family, and all the sweet fellowship that goes with sharing
a meal with others. Indeed, this pot has
a story.
I remember
when my first child, Liesl, was born.
She was a permanent attachment to my breast, and I later found out that
she didn’t ever really fill up, but used my breast as an all day pacifier. I remember boiling some water in the pot for
spaghetti, and trying to nurse her at the same time. When her tiny bare foot almost touched the
boiling water, I realized that I had carried this nursing thing just a bit too
far. I put her down, let her whimper,
and finished the spaghetti without Liesl attached. It was an amazing feat to eat that spaghetti
with a baby suckling at the breast.
When my
second child, Nathan, came along two years later, I learned the importance of
keeping some chicken soup available. Nathan was my allergy-kid. He was sick every single month, and his
illnesses seemed to cycle in an eerie manner.
So much so, that he was tested for some serious health conditions, but
his allergies seemed to be the culprit.
Starting at 4 weeks of age, and then each month thereafter for the first
four plus years of his life, we would go through the following: He would wheeze for a day, then vomit for a
day. Then he would go into a raging
sinus infection requiring at least one round of antibiotic. He would seem to be fine for about a week or
so, and then we would begin the cycle again.
Homemade chicken soup seemed to help, or maybe it just made me feel
better that I was doing something for my darling little boy. I know my Jewish Grandmother had me convinced
that chicken soup is the best medicine!
And this pot saw us through so many of those under-the-weather days.
Cooking a
meal in my spaghetti pot helps me to feel whole. Somehow, the ritual of filling the pot with
water, and putting the salt in at just the right time before the rapid boil brings
me a sense of satisfaction. Taking the
hard, brittle sticks of spaghetti and throwing them into the churning
salt-water is like taking the negative parts of my day, and sending them for
the ultimate refining. But stirring the
spaghetti brings the most satisfaction.
First the sticks bend slightly, like a subtle warping. Then they soften and soon become exactly how
we like it – curling and whirling around, with each strand touching one
another, and somehow connecting all the chaos
-- al dente.
Sometimes,
I like to put my face over the steaming pot to feel the cleansing steam open my
pores. In the winter time, breathing in
the salty steam helps to soothe my dry sinuses.
It is just a healing time standing there with my pot. Some days, I talk on the phone to a friend
while waiting for the right time to add the pasta. Other days, I find it a peaceful time of
meditation.
Now, if it
is chicken soup I am making, I need to stand over my pot for quite a
while. First I skim the fat from the
chicken and the small particles and foam that float to the top, then cut up the
fresh carrots, celery and onion. Adding
the seasonings that make my soup truly a soothing elixir for the soul is the
very best part. Then I have to take out
the chicken, and remove the meat from the skin and bones, and add it back(burnt
fingers and all), along with the noodles.
I do cheat and use frozen noodles, but it doesn’t seem to matter. When I take my soup to a friend who just had
surgery, or to bring to the table for my family, it speaks the very same whisper
of love.
There were
days that my anger melted away over my cooking pot. Then there were days that the steam seemed to
bring my own heat to a boiling rage. But
somehow, after the meal was cooked, the act of preparing, and then cleaning the
pot washed away the sadness or angry feelings.
When I wash
my pot, it feels like a friend to me. We
have shared a lifetime of things together. Somehow the sponge in my hand just feels every
bit of surface like a long lost friend to my pot, and it seems almost like
there should be some purring as I scrub away the remnants of yet one more
bountiful opportunity that I have had to share with others. There is truly something cathartic about
scrubbing away the remnants of food – a reminder that once again, life can be
satisfying.
This same pot boils the eggs to color
for Easter. Oh those Easter eggs! My last child, Sam, thinks being a sixth
grader is too old to worry about doing that sort of thing, yet when I get the
pot out and he sees the little dye tablets on the counter just waiting for the
eggs to be ready, I know that I have at least one more year to share this
blessing at home with my pot.
Or how
about when those first ears of corn are ready to be eaten? Once the corn has made it into the pot, the
silky mess on my counter is cleaned away.
Stripped of the green leaves and strings, the cobs are simply waiting to
be enjoyed. Oh do we love the first
batch of fresh corn on the cob! Cleaning away the leftover silk from my pot is
yet one more reminder of the enjoyable and wholesome gift we have been given.
I work many
hours outside of my home each week as an Elementary Principal, but certainly
the precious memories that I have made over the years with my cooking pot have
helped me to form some deep-rooted reasons to wake up each day, ready to tackle
the new stresses life brings. Lessons
from my pot have come into focus of late.
Like my pot, I have learned to keep a strong
surface. The principalship, like any
other middle management position puts me in situations where quite often it
feels like the pressures from the top and from the bottom and from every side are
squeezing the very breath from my soul. Like my pot, I keep a strong exterior
and strive to keep my shape. Holding
onto my integrity and values that I hold near and dear truly has become what
keeps me coming back to school each day.
Losing the
luster on my pot would be a very sad thing for me, and by the same token, I
take care not to lose sight of the light within me. I know that I was designed for a
purpose. I know it is no accident that I
am where I am this very moment in time.
Becoming dull and lackluster would be outward evidence that I do not
believe that my life matters. Like my
pot, I need to keep my shine to prove that what is within me is vibrant and
purposeful, and has meaning.
Keeping my
pot clean is sometimes a bit of a chore.
Isn’t that just like me? My mind
often wanders to places I should not let it go.
Drifting to the land of “if-only,” is most likely my worst flaw. I need to scour my thinking to keep me in the
present. And while it is so much fun to
fill the pot and use it for making a meal, the clean up is the hard part, and
sometimes downright drudgery. So too is
cleaning the soul and purifying the thoughts.
Oh these lessons from my pot are simply amazing.
Being
versatile is also a good lesson my pot can bring. From corn on the cob and Easter eggs to
catching a leak from the pipes under the sink, and being a clanging toy and
container for my toddlers to pull from the cupboard and fill with toys, this
pot has certainly played many roles. It
causes me to think about the different hats
that I too have worn, such as daughter, wife, mother, sister, friend,
aunt, employee, boss, choir and praise team member, Sunday school teacher, and
how about just a child of God? How dull
life would be if a spaghetti pot could ONLY cook spaghetti!
As I washed
my pot again this evening after serving some piping hot chicken soup to our
small group meeting in our home, I realized that this pot truly was an amazing
symbol of all that is good in a life. It
hasn’t been easy, just as sometimes it takes extra time to clean the residue
from the meal, but when it is clean and ready to serve again, it brings hope of
a fresh tomorrow. And isn’t that just
what life is really about?
Snapshots Don't Always Tell the Whole Story
Today I was pondering the way we glorify the lives other people live, and frequently, yet mistakenly believe their grass is greener. The photos taken on a picture-perfect vacation with smiles and the appearances of close and loving family times are simply snapshots in time and not the whole event. While the children are smiling in the photos and the vacation-esque backgrounds of beaches and boats and good times make us believe all is well, the truth is, the cameras aren’t out when the kids are screaming, and throwing tantrums. No one is snapping photos when the adults are arguing, and tempers are flaring. Anyone who has been on a family vacation knows that there are moments of tenseness and the exact opposite of relaxation. Yet we snap the photos in those other moments of bliss, and the façade is created. It looks like a perfect time together. The reality is however, it’s the same stuff of life – just different surroundings and a slower pace. No one lives a picture-perfect life. Everyone deals at some time with things not going well. The keys are lost, the checkbook is overdrawn, the glass broken on the floor – life happens. To all of us. To think that someone else’s family “has it all together,” is really just Satan’s way of keeping us discontented. The lesson of the day – be grateful. Appreciate all of the wonderful moments – and yes – take pictures! Remember and hold onto that which is good. Those thoughts will sustain us through the rocky times.
Reframing
Reframing is the thought of the day.
Yesterday, I had a situation that caused me considerable concern. I felt somewhat violated and rather helpless, and I also felt an enormous level of angst to rectify what I believed was a very unethical circumstance. And then someone shared another possibility, and suddenly I could let the situation go. It had been reframed for me, and I was able to let go of that familiar, anxious, gnawing feeling that drives me to constantly try to “fix” everything. What had become my mountain for the day was instantly reduced to a molehill with a friend’s simple yet reframing comment.
This experience caused me to reflect on how God so easily reframes my thoughts of myself. I see myself as unworthy. He has made me worthy through Christ. I see myself as falling short of the mark. He sees me as his beloved daughter. I see myself as the sum total of all of my past mistakes. He sees me as whole and cleansed. God takes what He has in us, and reframes our beliefs and doubts for His good.
He has been doing this for a very long time.
Abraham was a liar. He almost got himself and his wife killed with his lies. God saw him as the Father of many nations.
Jacob was a deceiver. He tricked his father and stole his brother’s birthright. God saw him as Israel
Gideon was from the wrong side of the tracks. He was poor, broke, and unsure of himself. Yet an angel of the Lord came and told him that he was a mighty man of valour (Judges 6:12). He lacked trust, demanding the miracles of the fleece, and God provided these signs to help Gideon see himself the way God saw him.
Samson had no friends and could not keep a secret. God granted him a martyr’s death.
David was lustful and plotted a murder to steal another man’s wife. God saw him as a man after God’s own heart and made him king.
Peter promised to never leave the Lord’s side, and yet when being a friend was needed the most -- three times he denied that he even knew the man. Jesus called him to stay and wait. Peter threw in the towel and went back to his fishing. God made him a most powerful witness to the church and to the gentiles.
Saul was arrogant and persecuted good and Godly people. God made him Paul, giving him more revelation and doctrine than has been given to any other man.
If God can reframe us in our shortcomings and our faults, then we truly should be learning how to reframe our thoughts to line up with His.
Second Chances
I was dreading this meeting. The newly elected leader had absolutely no understanding of the organization she was now in charge of. She had never even been to a meeting nor served in any capacity, yet now, here she was – fully in charge. My first encounter with her was not at all pleasant, and our ensuing contacts continued as such. When I had gently suggested that she solicit some help from her predecessors, she bluntly informed me that she knew what to do. She continually made demands of me, and did not really understand her role, nor mine. I was truly disliking her.
Then, surprise! The meeting was great. She was facilitative and not autocratic as I had feared. She did not demand, she asked for feedback and suggestions. She genuinely asked for input, and admitted she was new and would need our support. I settled back with an incredible sigh of relief. The meeting went more than an hour longer than I had anticipated, and I didn’t care at all.
My lesson of the day? Do not lock people into little boxes of “this is how you are.” I pegged this lady as arrogant, demanding, and short-sighted. Yet today she showed me she was collaborative, enthusiastic, friendly, and reasonable. Everyone deserves another chance to show their true character. While I didn’t plan to do so, I am very happy that I have a new lens for viewing this person. I wonder how many others I have led to believe things about me that are not really who I am? Giving a second or even a third chance to see the heart of others is important. I will be working on that!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)