Anyone who knows me well has no misconceptions about my cooking skills: I am about as comfortable in a kitchen as a polar bear would be in Taiwan. For this year's fellowship potluck, Faith coaxed me out of my comfort zone and persuaded me to "go where I had never gone before." In other words, I decided to attempt a dish I knew only by taste-- not by recipe.
I awoke Saturday morning, muscles taut and soul tensed for the day's challenges. I donned my new apron and tried to make sense of the recipe. Thank God for Faith, who coached me through the process ("Boil the water before you peel the potatoes... Dump out the water and let them cool before you try to peel them.") and for Mom who helped me with the work when time was running away from me. As I neared the final stretch, I encountered a big dilemma: "season to taste." To whose taste? My complacent taste buds are easily satisfied. Was it too salty? Too bland? Too--? How was I to know what others would like? As I scooped my dish into a plastic container, I had a sinking feeling that all my hard work would only pass as "average" in comparison to other dishes. No one would know the sweat and worries I had invested in that meager offering. And then the Lord reminded me of something I had read earlier that week in Keep a Quiet Heart:
[God's] wisdom is perfect, His knowledge embraces not only all worlds but the individual hearts and minds of each of His loved children. With intimate understanding of our deepest needs and individual capacities, He chooses our curriculum. We need only ask, “Give us this day our daily bread, our daily lessons, our homework.” An angry retort from someone may be just the occasion we need in which to learn not only longsuffering and forgiveness, but meekness and gentleness; fruits not born in us but borne only by the Spirit. ("God Curriculum" by Elisabeth Elliot, p. 82)I took a deep breath and reminded myself that the Lord may have ordered this potluck, so that the Spirit could bear meekness and humility in my life. Balancing my tupperware container and Grace's beautiful plate of seven-layer jello, I flagged down a taxi, purposing not to compare with others, not to measure my success or failure by other people's tastebuds.
My resolve began to waver, when I walked into the fellowship hall to hear "oohs" and "aahs" (and near drooling) over dishes far more exquisite than mine. Not wanting to draw any undue attention to myself, I dropped off my box and occupied myself far away from the serving tables. When the potluck concluded, most people took home empty pots and containers, while I had to swallow my pride and quietly put my box-- still partially full-- back in my bag.
But that was OK. I knew the Lord had a far deeper lesson for me to learn than simply cooking. He used the potluck to teach me once again that true servanthood is to do all things for no one's praise but His. He knew what I had done-- and that was enough.
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"I never made a sacrifice. Of this we ought not to talk when we remember the great sacrifice which He made Who left His Father's throne on high to give Himself for us." ~ David Livingstone
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PS: My hat goes off to all family and friends who cook day in and day out... for God's glory and not their own.
Soul Lemonade, No. 2
Taipei, Taiwan
