Starbucks, Steaks, and Slowing Down

This
is a new season for me and I’m trying to learn how to navigate it.
For the last few years I’ve had two speeds, crazy fast and
semi-comatose. After living for so long in the extremes the balance
between those two is a nebulous, intangible reality. What does life
look like without three jobs and Kamikaze schedule?

Every day
I ask, God how do I be diligent to what you have called me to in this
season? I’m finding that most of the time God’s answer is different
then mine. My answer is normally to work longer, make lists so I feel
like a important human being, and start conquering my “to do’s.”
Last night I came home with the full intention of continuing my
quest for productivity throughout the evening.

After I walked
in the door and greeted the dogs, I started talking with one of my
roommates. Without going into all the details, we realized that we
were having a similar internal struggle and it was hurting our
household. So we started praying, confessing the hard things, owning
our part, asking for help with something we couldn’t overcome on our
own. While we were praying I felt like God was saying, “As an
act to receive what you are asking me for, make dinner!” So much
for my plan to check things off my to do list.

Before I
continue, a little background is required. When I was young I liked to cook, (check out my proud toothless grin in the photo) but somewhere along the way I started to disdain it.  The kitchen belonged to my sister and my Dad. Molly and
I hated being compared so we subconsciously split
things up. I did sports and academics, Molly did theater, dancing,
and cooking. I loathed having people tell me what to do, (stubborn
much) and every time I stepped into the kitchen my ineptitude, mixed
with the bossy gene that runs in my family, would leave me mad at the
people flinging advice my way. I stopped cooking. Over the last few
years I’ve slowly started to experiment in the kitchen, but my
repertoire consists mainly of stir fry. I can count on one hand the number of
times I’ve used the oven in the past few years.

A friend
had given us a beautiful Tri Tip. We looked up a recipe online and
started in. I was afraid, cooking a steak elicits more fear in me
than getting on a plane to Swaziland. Fact is, I’ve gone to Africa
far more times than I’ve turned on the oven. Our limited house hold
grocery budget does not offer us the luxury of purchasing red meat so
I was apprehensive about messing it up!

We had a blast cooking
and dancing to what I call my “ghetto booty hip hop station”
on Pandora. At one point I called my Dad for guidance and he said
the lady on the internet was crazy and we should turn the oven down.
Good thing we called because the meat turned out medium rare and
perfect.

The meal was truly beautiful, a huge salad, potatoes,
onions, a perfect red wine someone had given me for my birthday, and
to top it all off Tri Tip. At one point I might have said, “take
that girls who take up my Facebook newsfeed with pictures of your
perfect culinary successes.” I’m not competitive or anything
:)… but seriously I should have taken a picture.

The best
part was sitting outside watching the sun set and chatting away with
my roommates until long after twilight had faded. As much as I’m
struggling to find the balance, there is something beautiful about
the place between running like crazy, and being dead to the world in
front of the T.V.  The next morning I woke up and my to do list
was still there, but somewhere between patting spices into the meat
and finishing my last bite of potato, a little of my self important
hurry had dissipated.