“This makes me ponder what we call the Easter moment. In all our Easters isn’t there that element of the unexpected? Perhaps it is that I wanted to be reinstated to a position from which I’d been wrongfully dismissed. Instead, a new job comes along, one closer to my particular skill set. Or my house burned down and I prayed for the money to rebuild.”
My gumbo represents my desire to adhere to the rules and my tendency to question them. Honoring tradition, it harnesses my own primal instincts as co-creator with God. It celebrates the goodness of our very essence along with our brokenness. It offers endless opportunities to grow and change, to be reborn again and again through its muddy waters. Batch by batch, the thin places of my life grow more and more transparent, loved ones in my dream world inch closer, and the desires of my heart wait eagerly in the caverns of my own callused hands.
No two batches are the same, but the flavors of love overflow.