Burnt Pans & Broken Plates

     Let's be real about something real quick: I break things.  A lot of things.  I trip.  I fall.  I lose things.  I forget.  I show up late.  I'm messy.  I'm disorganized.  I'm unobservant.  I'm scattered. Keep these qualities in mind when I tell you what I did last night....
     Last night I cooked dinner.
     The whole endeavor began with good intentions. My desire was to honor my roommates with a special me-made meal in order to return the favor for their many incredible kitchen-creations I have shamelessly indulged in.  Comparing their expertise with my limited abilities of popcorn-making and Snickerdoodle cookies (hit or miss depending on whether I keep count right on all the measurements), I knew I was taking on a weighty task.  But a task I would take on.  And I mean FULL ON.  Go big or go home, right? Let's go salmon dinner extravaganza!
     The slight pangs of anxiety began when I watched the clock tick past my desired start time. Sitting down with little Edward to help him finish his math problems, I knew this was where I most needed to be...and, yet, I didn't want to disappoint my roommates by being further behind than planned. Rushing to the kitchen post-homework, I began my meal-making with some typical Kelsey Oops-Moments. Pulling out a pan I'd recently singed with my attempted tea-making experience (I put too little water in with some pineapple peels that burned to the bottom when I forgot it on the stove...), I started up a batch of green beans.  Some nasty pot burny junk surfaced to the top, quickly revealing my previous pan mishap in sight, smell, and sound.  Putting the must-be-cooked-with-precision-salmon in the oven that I couldn't quite tell whether or not was actually pre-heated, I completely forgot to set the timer.  Guess I'd just have to check it myself!  But, not understanding my roommate's directions about "flaking," I assumed I would have to wait for the pink little bugger to turn into a crusty, fried looking filet (hint: that's not what she meant).  Thankfully, my nearby roommate was able to salvage this mistake pre-disaster. Anyway, with these mistakes and others, by the end of the entire experience I felt the tension and disappointment of my less-than-worthy kitchen skills laid out bare before the eyes of the experts.  I wanted to do something special, but by the end I just felt like a disaster... again.  Fighting back tears of failure, I reached in the cabinet to pull out a plate.  My emotion-masking would have been successful if it weren't for that final action.  I dropped that plate, and it shattered, along with my resistance.  The tears came, and I left.
     Taking a moment to gather myself and cry out to the Lord, a few other things ended up surfacing along with the tears.  Something I'd been holding inside: I'm afraid to cook because I don't think I belong in the kitchen. I'm sure you know me well enough by now to know I don't mean actually cooking in an actual kitchen.  Burnt, raw, or perfectly "flaking", a piece of salmon is going to go in and out the same way no matter how perfectly cooked--not a big deal.  What I'm talking about here is this--do I see God's kitchen as a grace-filled place that allows for burnt pans and broken plates?  Or do I see him as a top-notch food critic letting me know all the little ways I'm not living up to his sophisticated tastes (not to mention having ruined his precious cooking equipment in the process)? Although I don't always allow myself to believe it, the truth is that God is full of grace, mercy, and loving kindness.  Yes, he's "the perfect chef", but he also delights in having me with him in his kitchen! He holds my hand and guides me step by step, and though I may slip up, he won't let me fall completely.  He even takes the "broken plates" of my life and finds ways to not let them go to waste. A funky art project perhaps?  A lesson learned in love?  Who knows how, but he does! The truth is, my God is a God of love, and he wants a relationship with me.  Perfect love drives out fear, and since he loves me, I don't have to be afraid of his perfection.  He's willing to walk with me step by step, tablespoon by tablespoon, on the journey to becoming more like him.
     Sure there are times when I'm tempted to stay out of the kitchen.  I find myself closing off to others for fear of their rejection, keeping myself from digging deeper into conversation for fear of saying something I'll regret, letting creative ideas be left undone for fear of never finishing... But in those moments may I remember whose kitchen I'm in: the Lord's.  And if the Lord is on my side, I have nothing to fear.  My Lord works all things together for the good of those who love him.  In the Lord's hands, our greatest disaster can be worked out into his greatest glory and our greatest good. Want proof?  The cross.  Our most shameful moment in history--when we nailed the God of the universe to that horrible cross--turned out to be the climax of our Lord's great mercy and love for us. Talk about redemption!
     So...would you like to know how my messy kitchen chaos ended?  A hug.  My roommates chased me down and drew me out of myself.  After a long embrace and refreshing words, they brought me back to an already-set table to enjoy the surprisingly delicious meal together.  If that's how my (sorry, ladies) totally imperfect roommates respond to me (mess and all), just imagine how much more love my Father who created me shows me!  And not just to me: to you.  He wants you in his kitchen! And though his capabilities far surpass that of a five star meal, he'll joyfully join you where you're at--even if, for now, that means you're still learning how to make toast.  Go on, join him in the kitchen, and trust that he loves you far more than his pans.