It’s Monday, I’m standing in my kitchen with the blue counters, and I spill out the day-old coffee. It’s a shame no one finished it. I look around and survey the other remains of the weekend—the dishes and cups stacked high in the sink, and a fruit bowl, nearly bare.
I pull out a worn recipe book from the bookshelf, the one from the church sale, with the missing front cover, and choose an old favorite.
Running late again, I skip the sifting.
I add a sprinkling of cinnamon, two scant cups of sugar, a mound of shredded carrots, mix vigorously, pour the batter in the pan, and then carefully place the heavy pan in the oven.
I stand up and turn around to see the cracked eggshells on the counter, which remind me how I am also like that, a being with cracks…
needing to be sifted, mixed and turned…
to be made whole, into a creature new and real, more than the sum of cracked, spicy, or bland segmented parts. He takes it all and makes something I never imagined, never thought could be possible. I can see the goal.
I treasure this moment, knowing that He has sifted, turned, churned, mixed, kneaded… and He is still doing this work. While the mixing isn’t painless, I recognize that He’s making me into someone who looks like one of His own daughters; adopted, I am, so there is work to be done. He takes the time to sift and measure. He knows what He’s creating. I don’t have to worry that His timing will be late and I’ll end up burned and useless, since He promises me that He gives me grace sufficient for the day, and that I will not be consumed by the fire. He uses the tools of time, circumstances, other people and His word to fashion me into something different from what I was. I am not who I was and I am not now who I will be in the future… all because of His grace. He is so patient to wait for this work, as I sometimes try to concoct my own menu plans.
It is a work He still does, in the inward parts, even in quiet moments of waiting and standing on the kitchen floor…
amidst an assortment of tools and spoons, on the blue counter, next to the overflowing kitchen sink.
And here is the song that inspired me to write this post, “You are more” by Tenth Avenue North:
And with Emily: