Burnt soup

 I been wondering what to write today. 

And I've been thinking about moments that I thought weren't so great. 

But somehow Grace always makes it good. 

Burnt soup. 

Sometimes we forget, when we try to plan things out in our mind. 

The grace in Burnt soup. Is always there.

Last week or so, well, the Saturday before last, one of Bessie's violin students, had been very ill. So ill that we both felt we wanted to do something for her. She just wasn't getting much better.

So, I decided to make her some chicken noodle soup. And some pine needle tea, and also some Elder berry tea, that Amelia had given to us. With a little bit of Stevia, it tastes so good. So soothing.

 That was my main focus of that day---chopping veggies, and making a soup. I peeled so many potatoes, I guess I put too many in, because they made the soup more like a stewoup. The potatoes just melted into the soup.

My brother was in the kitchen at the time, and noticed that it was burning, so he poured it into another pot. Which I very much appreciated.

But by that time, it did have a very noticeable burnt flavor.  I wasn't sure if I should give it away. We had planned on taking it to her, on Sunday, but we had Messiah rehearsals, and had never been to her house, so we thought we would take it to her on Monday. 

 Sunday rolls around, and about at the end of our Handel's Messiah practice, Bessie got a phone call from a man who was part of an ambulance team, that had taken my aunt Rosie to the hospital to the emergency room.

We left, and went to see if she was okay. When we went into her room, she looked surprised to see us.  Surprised we even knew. She has some really nice neighbors, who are always checking in on her. Which I appreciate. 

Anyhow, she looked real white, and was in a lot of pain. I guess something was wrong with her stomach, so much so, her son called the ambulance. 

We sat with her, and stayed with her while the doctors looked after her. The curious thing was, I thought the doctor there looked familiar. He had the same last name as the Bessie's violin student I had been making soup for.  He looked like a boy I had gone to seminary class with. And I asked him if his mom was my sister's violin student. 

He said, he was. 

The very lady I had been making soup for. How curious.

We stayed with my aunt, and tried getting a hold of my mom, as my mom and her are very close. But for some reason all the phones---the land lines weren't working. So we got a hold of my brother, and he told my mom what was going on, so she knew we wouldn't be home for a while, as we would be taking my aunt home up to Oak city. As her husband is a trucker, and is rarely home. 

While we were sitting with her, it brought back memories of the last time we had been in the emergency room, with my sister, earlier this year.  And while she was ill we had massaged her feet, we had sang, Angel armies, to her. 

We tried massaging my aunt's feet, but we didn't have any oil. But we did the best we could, while we were waiting.

Another curious thing, Bess and the doctors mother started texting each other while in the room. And Bess found out, that she still wasn't feeling well. 

It was all so curious.

All in all, they didn't really figure out what was wrong with my aunt. But they gave her some medicine, and we took her home, and so far she is feeling okay. 

Back to the soup. The next day, the lady who I was going to take soup to, wanted to come by, and bring by an exercise bike for my brother to fix. As she was still not feeling well, but wanted to come. 

Bess told her we were going to go her house, to take her soup. But she came with her husband, anyway. So we gave her the soup, and and tea, and I apologized that it had a burnt flavor.  And she was so sweet, and so appreciative. She has such a good heart, I can tell.

She used to be a nurse, and you can tell she has looked after so many people, and cared for them.

The funny thing was. Bessie told me afterward. That perhaps the soup was supposed to be burned, as her husband makes fun of her, and says, she is always offering him burnt offerings. And she feels a little self conscious about her cooking.  

And that made me feel a little better, knowing, that perhaps maybe by giving our burnt soup away, in its not perfect state, we are saying to ourselves.

I love. Love. The intent was and is beautiful. Regardless of how the form manifests. 

So I am grateful for the burnt soup. Maybe it was supposed to be burnt. 

As the soup, itself is just a little offering, to mirror just a fraction the real presence and intent we bake into our recipes. 

For the real is beyond these things. 

The real is so much more than the soup.

The soup may not always be perfect. But it is love. And the intent. Though the form may look imperfect. 

The soul of the soup is beautiful. 

And I am grateful for the gift of knowing that truth. 

That spirit works through all these cracks, and makes them so beautiful. 

I am grateful for way grace weaves her magic.

For the gift of seeing, that so often is gifted to me. To know it. And remember it. 

Maybe it is our burnt offering. And offering of our best, even as it doesn't always turn out the way we want. 

But it always turns out the way it should. 

How beautiful it is. The beauty in the story of God.

Where no light is ever wasted. 

And everything is loved, perfectly.

How I love it. 

And the space, and grace to be able to see it, in such a way, that every off key thing is a chance for us to see the glory of God's goodness.

 

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So the music today...

While I was also baking yesterday a gift for our play director's Birthday.  I was listening to my playlist. I had found this guitar player last year, I think. And I really enjoy his music, and thought I'd share it here. It's so fun, and fresh, and flowing. I was going to share al of the songs I like of his. But my computer is running slow. So I'll post just one.