I love to cook. I
really do. But I rarely do it. Dinner most nights consists of whatever I
feel like throwing into a frying pan.
It’s always ready in 5ish minutes.
It’s always edible, but only occasionally delicious. I always give Ms. Roommate a fair warning
before she picks up a fork to sample.
But going to a potluck requires one to reach beyond the
frying pan. So I pulled out the recipe
book, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.
I was two minutes into my project when I felt myself calming
from the inside out. Flour was flying,
eggshells piling up in the strangest of places; the kitchen was beginning to
resemble a classroom after an art class.
But while the room was cluttering, something inside of me
was straightening. While the mixer
whirred, my anxiousness settled. “This is therapy,” I thought to
myself.
How can holding a spoon stir something so deeply within
me? Follow my thought pattern here…
When you cook, you know that if you follow the recipe, you
will get the product you’re aiming for.
More or less, at least. When you
separate an egg and beat the white, it will stiffen. When you add flour to hot milk, it will
thicken. When you forget your cake in
the oven for three hours, it will burn. When
you mix butter, sugar, flour, and a few other necessary items together, you
will get cookies.
Kinda nice to have a place to retreat to where formulas
work. Where an outcome is known and expected. Where if you do X to Y, you will get Z.
It kinda seems like most things in life don’t work in such a
predictable fashion. Yes, there are some
laws, some formulas (sowing and reaping, for one), but mostly working with
people, ourselves included, reminds us that there are not always formulaic solutions. A pep talk may inspire one and infuriate
another. Sometimes we need a call-out;
other times we need an extra dose of friendship.
In her song “Fireflies and Songs,” Sara Groves asks this
question: “Were you surprised our hearts were not like ticking clocks, with
faces and hands easy to read?” I’ve
often thought about that line. About how
we truly are not creatures of predictable formulas. About how we are wired to be relational, for
we were made in the image of a relational Being. About how the ultimate revelation of Truth
was revealed in the person of Jesus
Christ. Not in a formula, or a
three-step process, but in a relationship.
Goodness, we all know those things called relationships can
get sticky. The can cut long and wound
deep. And even after all of our love,
care, and guidance, those we invest in ultimately have to make decisions for
themselves.
But oh, how rich they can be. How much wealth we can acquire from
them. How something can resound deeply
within us, whispering “for this
fellowship, we were made.”
So, I choose the friend over the formula in my relationships. I choose the adolescent over the egg shell in
my career. And I choose to pursue a
relationship with my Father rathern than demanding that He reveals the whole picture in my faith.
And every once in awhile, I’ll pull out the old mixer to
satisfy the need for a formula within me.
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