But hark, for those of you who don't know- it's not easy to receive. Along with the obvious blessing of getting something you want or quite possibly need, the act of receiving is altogether nerve-racking. What, you say? Yes, I say. Let's explore.
What you don't know about getting is this:
- You have to swallow whatever natural dignity you may have and attempt to gracefully say "Thank you" without wincing.
- You must endure the pain of wondering why someone thought of you for the gift- as in: "why am I the charity case? did i complain about something? are my clothes ratty or my kids or my car?"
- You are forced to fight the prevalent lie that tells you that somehow, in the evil fifth dimension, receiving weirdly places the giving people above you on the invisible social ladder of life.
- You must make a monumental effort to ignore all of the above, pray through them, and simply eat what is put before you (i.e. don't worry/ overthink/ overblow).
After being a getter for long enough I have decided I am over it and I want to be a giver. I am following the example of my sweet friends, one in particular:
Beth: she's such a big giver that you have to be careful what you say around her lest she gets a big idea to give you something you mentioned offhandedly that you just may want a teenylittleweenylittlebit.
In my resolution to cook more new things, I hit Beth up for a visit to her killer kitchen to make some luscious chicken soup from scratch. Just say no to broth in a box. Disclaimer: I fear chicken and all meat and am a closet vegetarian. Although the casual observer may see me on any given day consume two fish tacos, or a Hawaiian-style beef burger (hold the pineapple), or a slice or two of turkey bacon, the fact is every time I take a bite I cringe a little. My brainy-brain screams various warnings like: "WAIT! THIS HAD BLOOD IN IT!" or "HOW DO THOSE HORMONES TASTE??!!" or "FREE- RANGE IS A TOTAL LIE!" But I keep eating and laughing and cringing. Ha. Ha.
Cooking in someone's kitchen is a bit like flipping through somebody's diary. You get a sneak- peek at their secrets (Beth's secrets are in parentheses):
First up: the cleaver.
We create the mirepoix.
- how many junk drawers? (none that I saw)
- any ant/ mouse traps laying about? (they wouldn't dare invade)
- secret loves? (utensils)
- what's rotting in the fridge? (fresh vegetables)
We don't just make chicken soup, Beth turns out to be my chicken soup doula. She guides and eases me from cleaver to counter to chicken bones with patience and support and grace.
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| check out june cleaver |
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| this totally grosses me out |
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| it's french! |
What's mirepoix, you say? Ha! Its the first brand new kitchen vocabulary word! It means aromatic vegetables: celery, carrots, onion. Oh, you say! Soup base. No, mirepoix. Meeeer-pwah. Dig it.
Every step of the way Beth was there. She was like your favorite teacher- totally chill, showing and telling, doing the interim dishes (!)- all to the soothing soundtrack of piped-in classical music. It was a weird relief being there- at one point I sat on her kitchen stool and breathed. I didn't even know I was stressed for no reason until that moment. That's a good kitchen.
She has all these tools. The spider. The wooden conical thing. It was neat-o frito.
She has all these tools. The spider. The wooden conical thing. It was neat-o frito.
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| these are not medieval torture devices |
You have to sautee until the chicken pieces are brown and then add the water then the mirepoix then boil then strain and use the spider and the strainer and the wooden cone-y thing which nobody else in Illinois has but Beth, because her secret love is utensils. Add veggies and boil and eat. Easy peasy.
We used the Cook's Illustrated Recipe, which you seem to be able not to get without signing up for a subscription which Beth has, so bully for her! I told you I wasn't really gonna share recipes. There are a million out there for Chicken Soup you got this, girl.
Anyway, I made the dang soup. I overcame. Noodles on the side so they don't soak up the broth.
I waited until the next evening (meld, meld, meld) to serve it to the fam with rosemary bread and a salad on the side. Purrfect. I ate. I didn't cringe. Everything is better when you make it with Beth.
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| just like granny's |
Giving doesn't have to be a present bought. Beth's gift was allowing me to invite myself over, invade her kitchen and sit there and practically cry for no reason on earth. Some people are naturally good at being a friend. Me, I need a manual. I think Beth's got it down because she's a giver. Givers are good friends. They give not just things, but stuff. Her energy, time, food, love.
You know who else is a giver? The Lord. He gives good gifts. He loves and gives in so many different ways: Himself, people, gifts, love, mercy, eternity. He opens wide the door and eats with us. He gives. That's way better.
You know who else is a giver? The Lord. He gives good gifts. He loves and gives in so many different ways: Himself, people, gifts, love, mercy, eternity. He opens wide the door and eats with us. He gives. That's way better.
I go to Beth's and I take. Her time, her effort, her kitchen. But as God is my witness, I resolve to take less and give more. To be a better friend. With my time, my energy, my thoughtfulness, my words, my money, my love. Like Beth and like Him. It took a fat chicken to teach me that. That's some pretty good soup.
Proverbs 11:24
One person gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to poverty.
