“Now this is really different,” I thought to myself as I watched the gravy drip down her nose and off her chin. Inside my mind a small question pushed itself forward and raised its hand, “How is it that these things keep happening?” I actually didn’t have time to answer the polite little question standing in the forefront of my mind, because I was reaching past my sister-in-law for the paper towels. “Hmmm…,” she said un-phased, “that is really warm.” She took the paper towel from my outstretched hand and set to work at rinsing the brown liquid from her left eye.
I would have liked to have been more help, but I couldn’t be because at that moment thick black smoke started to billow out of the oven. “Fire!” I yelled to no one in general and opened the door to the oven. A black cloud of oily vapor escaped but there were no flames present. “No fire!” I yelled again and set to turning on every fan I could find and opening all windows and doors on the bottom floor of the house. My sister-in–law didn’t bother responding, she was now cleaning gravy off the wall and muttering under her breath at the rebellious blender who had started all the trouble in the first place.
Ah yes, it was dinner time at the O’s house. Just another evening where my sister and I decided to get precious in an effort to treat the children and hubbies to Yorkshire pudding and gravy. That sweet intent to bless had turned meal time preparation into a battle of epic proportion and so far she and I were getting our **** kicked. The kitchen appliances were winning. “For the love of…..” I heard her say as she leaned over and watched gravy flow freely from the rim of her trendy hat. Again, my desire to be helpful was overcome by another cloud of black smoke. Be damned if I was going to take the Yorkshire out of the oven now, they were almost finished and I would not have them collapse. I waved my hands in the air in order to distribute the smoke more evenly. It didn’t work. I grabbed a tea towel and set to waving it in the air before the smoke alarm turned itself on. That way, if my husband walked in the kitchen he might not be able to tell the smoke was billowing from the oven. I figured the overall effect of a kitchen filled with smoke would somehow put his heart at ease.
“Cook you stupid things!! Oh how I hate you!” Things had taken a personal turn by this point and I was now rebuking my sister-in-laws new oven. It was a stainless steel beauty with a delicious royal blue interior. It was a gorgeous, sexy stove capable of convection and conventional roasting. It had been added to the family last year and looked fabulous. Problem was, in my book it was the incarnation of Jezebel. Beautiful on the outside but a heart of a demon lurked with, ready to incinerate all Martha Stewart inspirations with her elements manufactured in the forges of hell itself.
“Wow, that is really everywhere.” My sister continued cleaning rubbed the underside of the cabinets. She was either oblivious to the smoke filled kitchen or was choosing not to micromanage my part of the crisis. I appreciated her confidence in me. I was at about that time, as I was peering through the hazy cloud at my gravy covered family member that I got the giggles.
My sister in law and I have been through a lot since the day I married her brother, fifteen years ago. Something about the combination of smoke and gravy launched me on a ridiculous memory trip. We have spent some really strange time together. I remember watching her smile at her first born son as he sneezed his way through my wedding because he was allergic to my favorite flower. Hugging her goodbye on a trip to Canada and having a bee sting her near her jugular vein as it got trapped in between us. The Christmas dinner we both got food poisoning and had to share a bathroom. Sitting in an emergency room taking pictures of her entirely stoned on Valium and sending it to our friends. I had another memory of me, lying on my bathroom floor vomiting all over creation as she made me tea in the kitchen. Special family time, fifteen years of memories people outside the family asylum wouldn't understand.
It was then that I realized how good at persevering we had become. Here we were, in the kitchen burning Yorkshire pudding and painting the walls with gravy and no one was crying or having a fit. No one was blaming the other or screaming. We were simply fixing the problems as they came, calmly with no fuss. Okay, well there was some volume and some fuss but the humans in the situation were functioning on the same side. This was the fruit of something... something good….it was endurance… it was amazing.
More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5:3-5
So take heart Dear One, next time you find yourself in a crisis take a moment to pause and reflect. What would you have done in this situation 5 years ago, or ten? God is doing a work in you. Look how much you are able to endure now. Look how much you have learned. When was the last time you turned an entire load of laundry pink or let the baby roll off the bed? Look how far you have come. You are amazing. Take heart when things go wrong, God is doing a fabulous work and he promised to finish it.
Philippians 1:6 says, “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” This does scripture does not guarantee that your blender will behave or that you won’t send another lip balm through the dryer. It does though, mean that Jesus will see you through. He will take the bumps and bruises and turn them into precious lessons. These lessons will develop your character and make you useful in His kingdom. So even if you do set the Yorkshire pudding on fire, with the Lord on your side you simply cannot fail……
Why do you think He invented take out?
