I stir the contents of the saucepan on the stove as I reflect.
Much lies ahead. Much uncertainty lies ahead, I should say. That which I’d brushed off to a dark, damp corner of my mind has come to the forefront. Stuff like where we’ll call home and what we’ll be doing and how we’ll be doing it and what community will look like and what ministry might look like . . . dustbunnies can only be ignored for so long, right? The dust and dirt and disgrace I had labeled “worry about it later” and “tackle it someday.” Later and Someday has arrived, and so I gather the dustpan and broom.
Still stirring. I know what to do with my hands, but not what to do with my mind. Racing. That over-active imagination gets me again. When I don’t know, I’m not in a good place.
A humble, mis-matched communion is taken: a glass of wine plus a few Ritz crackers.
Forgive me, I whisper as I stir. Forgive me for making my future an idol. For dreams of a stuffed wallet and fat bank account and square feet square feet square feet. For hands that grab like kiddos on Christmas morning and the mine-mine-mine that plays on repeat.
Mr. S. is facing much — academically and otherwise. Is this what it feels like to care about someone, I wonder, this gnawing feeling of if-only-I-could-fix-it . . . is it? When we face much uncertainty, this communion is a bittersweet surrender.
Bittersweet? Because I know He is good. But oh, that pride . . . hard to defeat.
Oh, we face much uncertainty together, me and Mr. S. We think we know what lies ahead, but the details overwhelm me. Where and what and how and who present themselves; outwardly I boast and inwardly I cower.
I don’t know what the next few months and few years will look like for us. And I hate that.
I laugh at the irony as I remember that post about how to wait well. I was waiting when I wrote it and I’m waiting now. I fancy myself a Dear Abby and today I have to just take my own advice.
But today, I can stir. Today, it’s communion and quiet joy as we try to be wise and try to plan.
I stir. God gave me the grain and the ingredients and the recipe, plus the saucepan and the spoon. So here, I make a meal. I stir fiercely as I try to quiet this fierce heart of mine. I think it’s communion.
What I forgot about waiting: in waiting, we must keep doing. We must keep living, we must keep doing what lies right in front. That’s strength.
Body and blood, Ritz and a bottom-shelf Cabernet. God is good.
And, in case you’re curious, I’ll share this recipe for a barley/feta/chicken/olive/cranberry salad tomorrow!