“Emma Anne!” My mom grabbed both of my wrists and twisted so that the pale underbellies of my forearms faced towards the clouds. It was obvious what she was so shocked by, the glaring light of the Texas sun highlighted two nasty burns on the underside of my forearms, my attempt at hiding them was futile. I yanked away quick, knowing they looked much worse than they felt, but she was already visibly upset. I glanced down at them again, both about two inches in width, they were quite intimidating, the glistening look that the burn ointment gave them only made the raw, red skin stand out more against the rest of my arm.
For the past three weeks I’ve been working as an Echo Valley cook at Laity Lodge Youth Camp deep in the heart of the Texas hill country. Hard work? Yes, my fellow cooks and I work from 7:00 in the morning to sometimes as late as 11:00 at night to provide 400 meals three times a day for eager campers and staff with only a few breaks, ergo, time to nap, between shifts. Rewarding work? I think people are surprised when I rave about how much I love my job this summer. They expect me to deflate and enter into a rant about how tired I am all the time or how boring it is. However, the seemingly mundane activities of chopping, blending, baking, boiling, and plating are endlessly exciting to me, I love to watch the individual components of a dish come together to create a meal. I never feel like my work is without purpose in the kitchen, and how could I? I’m in the business of keeping people full and happy.
The burns happened only four days into my ongoing 5 week long stint in the kitchen. I opened the oven doors that morning greeted by the usual rush of hot air and, this time, the smell of fresh baked buttermilk biscuits. It was 7:30 in the Echo Valley kitchen and my body hadn’t quite received the message that I was supposed to be awake and alert. I was ready to pull the first tray out of biscuits that had miraculously transformed from white, floury hockey pucks into little golden brown pillows of goodness. I was trying to close the oven doors with a hot sheet tray full of them when I felt the pan begin to teeter in my hands, in an effort to save the biscuits, I took some of the weight off my hands by resting it on the naked, unprotected skin of my left forearm. I heard a sizzle and then realized what I’d done, I bounced the tray up and slammed the oven shut only to have the tray come back down on my forearm again about an inch away from where it was the first time.
Two weeks later and the burns still decorate my arm, however, I’ve learned to love them, which sounds weird, but it is so true. John 6:27 says, “Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.” Though I really do find joy in chopping vegetables and browning meat, that’s not why I decided to dedicate the last few weeks of my time in the States before the race to feeding hungry campers and counselors. I work hard because I know the food that powers these counselor’s physical bodies then gives them energy to feed their campers with the “food that endures to eternal life,” the word of the Lord, and energy also for the campers to receive it. The marks remind me that by working hard as a cook I am inadvertently building the kingdom in indescribable ways outside of the kitchen walls. I wonder if Jesus looks at the scars on His hands in a similar way, a reminder that the pain He experienced on the cross (much more than dropping a hot tray of biscuits on His arm) was the ultimate act of love and the result of years of laborious kingdom work to produce the tastiest of soul food. I know there will be times next year when I’m aching to go home, much like there are times now when I’m aching to lay down in the middle of the kitchen and sleep right there, but, if I’m able to push through those feelings and apply myself in the most uncomfortable of situations in an effort to spread the Gospel I know I will experience spiritual fullness in a completely different way. Though the physical mark of my burns may be gone soon after I start the race, I pray that the reminder of the good fruits of hard work stays fresh in my mind.
