What Happened in My Kitchen Last Night

Yesterday gave me the same lesson twice.

Once through work.

Once through dinner.

I have spent a lot of my life learning how to keep moving. How to solve the next problem, make the next thing, send the next message, and keep going when the answer is not immediately visible.

That kind of persistence has served me well.

But there is another skill I am learning now.

Surrender.

Not giving up.

Not becoming passive.

Just knowing when I have done my part.

Yesterday, I reached that point.

I stopped trying to make the day produce something.

I worked on what was in front of me. I learned something new. I made a few things. I let the rest of the day be what it was.

And then, late last night, an unexpected opportunity appeared.

I responded to it.

Calmly.

That was the interesting part.

There was no sense that I had to turn it into something larger than it was. No need to declare it the answer. No need to chase it down the hallway.

It was simply a door.

I could open it, take a look, and enter the room.

That may be one of the most useful things I have learned lately:

Not every opportunity requires urgency.

Sometimes the work is simply to recognize what has arrived.

Then my body reminded me about hunger.

There Is Always Something There

The kitchen did not look particularly promising.

There was fettuccine.

Garlic.

Half an onion.

Butter.

Paprika.

A little chicken bouillon.

Flour.

Vinegar.

That was enough.

Two cloves of diced garlic went into the pasta water.

Four more went into butter with the onion, paprika, salt, and pepper.

I kept the heat low and let everything soften slowly.

Then came a splash of vinegar, chicken bouillon, and a little flour.

The cooked fettuccine went directly into the skillet.

One minute later, dinner existed.

And it was good.

Really good.

I called it Sunset Fettuccine because the paprika gives the whole thing a warm golden-orange color.

But what I liked most about it had very little to do with pasta.

It was another reminder that there is often more available than I first think.

Cupboard Blessings

That is the idea behind Cupboard Blessings.

Not scarcity.

Resourcefulness.

The moment when you look at what is left and realize it is not nothing.

It is ingredients.

Possibility.

A beginning.

Sometimes there is no grand plan.

Sometimes there is just half an onion and a little butter.

Sometimes that is plenty.

Yesterday, the same lesson seemed to keep appearing in different clothes:

Stop forcing.

Look around.

Use what is already there.

Respond to what arrives.

Let the rest unfold in its own time.

Thanks be to God.

Welcome to Cupboard Blessings.

There is always something there.