Grits, Grace and Gratitude

     With Thanksgiving just a few weeks away, I find myself thinking of food. It’s not turkey and dressing I have on my mind, however. My thoughts have turned toward grits— that good old southern staple— and a dish I attempted to prepare when I was twelve years old.

     I’m sure my family was thankful my cooking adventure was not meant to provide a holiday meal. Instead, it took place on a seemingly insignificant weekday.

     My mom was away from home, and I decided to surprise her by cooking dinner. I looked through cookbooks, hoping to find a recipe for which we had all the ingredients. Grits casserole fit the bill— sort of. We didn’t have everything called for, but I decided I could substitute.

     If you’ve ever seen one of those cooking shows with child prodigy contestants, you can picture me— I was the opposite. 

     My dad, pleased with my attempt to help, offered his assistance. He could have been on a cooking show, the one called “Worst Cooks.” Only problem would have been that he didn’t qualify as a cook, at all.

     In spite of our combined ignorance, together we forged ahead, making adjustments as necessary. When the recipe called for “zest of orange,” we weren’t sure what that meant. Dad suggested we throw in the whole peel. “It will give it more flavor,” he assured me.

     At suppertime, we served our version of grits casserole. It bore little resemblance to the original recipe. My mother got the orange peel in her portion.

     My cooking fail reminds me of what I am most thankful for— God’s grace. Not only because my family survived my cooking, but because of the grace God gives when I attempt to make adjustments to another recipe— one that happens to be his favorite. It’s the recipe for salt. (Matthew 5:13)

     Detailed directions for making salt are included in his word. I know this because I’ve read these instructions many times. I even have parts memorized. But just as I did with grits casserole, I tend to veer from the recipe, substituting ingredients as I go.

     Below are a few examples:

• Original Recipe— Give up your life for Christ’s sake. (Matthew 16:24)
• My Version— Giving up my life sounds like too much. A dollop of good deeds should suffice.

• Original Recipe— Love difficult people. (Matthew 5:43)
• My Version—  Loving certain people is tough. I prefer something easier to chew. Like a marshmallow. “Love people who agree with me” is more to my liking.

• Original Recipe— Rejoice when mistreated. (Matthew 5:11)
• My Version— Substitute “complain loudly to everyone who will listen” for this hard to swallow ingredient.

• Original Recipe— If someone asks you to go one mile, go two. (Matthew 5:41)
• My Version— I prefer to adjust the measurements here. Half a mile, if the weather is nice, is about right for my taste.

     I mix my version together and serve it up. I call it salt. But it is not salt. Like my grits casserole, it doesn’t even resemble what I was trying to create.

     So I make another substitution, replacing “trust God” with “try harder.” But instead of salty, the result of this effort turns out to be as bitter as an orange peel. 

     The truth is, I don’t have what it takes to make salt. My cupboard is bare.

     But that is truly good news because it makes room for Christ. At just the right moment, he stepped in and made one perfect, grace-filled substitution— the secret ingredient for making salt— his life for mine.

     My role in the process is to put my faith in the cook— to trust him even when I don’t understand his methods. Life may feel like I’ve been left alone in a hot oven, but grace means he is in the heat with me. It’s there that he teaches me to give up my life, love others, rejoice always and go the extra mile. 

     Thank you, Jesus, that the hands-on time for your recipe is forever. (Deuteronomy 31:8) There is no substitute for being held by your grace.

        And thank you, too, for grits casserole with orange peel. It’s a memory that helps me remember.