I
think my husband decided to pursue me for his bride because he needed a cook.
Although I was only age 15 and he 20 and
already working for the railroad, probably what did it was the apple pie I made
and took to a church supper. Guess he didn’t know I couldn’t cook much else.
We
married after I reached 16, which my Dad thought sounded better than 15, and God
tried to teach me patience through cooking. I think what I really learned was
creativity and ingenuity.
Take
for instance the first chocolate cake. I used the recipe on the back of the
cocoa box and I didn’t notice high altitude instructions. My creation looked
like the top of a volcano. Not to worry. I just turned a saucer up-side-down on
the cake plate and put on the caved-in layers. After the chocolate frosting, my
husband thought I had a masterpiece—at least until he cut it.
There
was no remedy for the first fried chicken that ended up raw in the middle and
burned on the outside. But I’m tenacious and kept right on cooking, reading my
little Pillsbury leaflets, asking questions and watching other ladies efficient
in the kitchen. I discovered after I bought a recipe book I could make nearly
anything—except meringue.
The
first time the lightly browned froth melted over my banana cream pie, oozing
water on top and around the edges, I thought I messed up the recipe. I love
meringue! My husband loves cream pies. So I divided egg whites from yolks,
whipped them, and added all sorts of different ingredients cooks told me worked
to make the sweet fluff perfect.
Over
and over and over I tried, and every time my pie was covered with tears. Some
were mine; the remainder— egg whites that decided to revert to their original
state.
Maybe
it was the chickens. Eggs are potential chickens, and chickens and I never had
a good relationship, even when as a kid I gathered eggs. Roosters never liked
me. I was flogged so many times I once jumped a fence taller than my head to
get away from an angry Papa Chicken. Could somehow chickens put hatred into
their DNA and allow me to reap it?
Naw.
I’d read in the Bible, “Tribulation
works patience, and patience experience, and experience hope.”[1] For
years I kept trying to master meringue. “Beat egg whites and cream of tartar
until frothy. Add 8 tablespoons of sugar, one tablespoon at a time, beating
well after each addition, continue to beat until sugar is dissolved and
meringue looks glossy with stiff peaks. Blend in vanilla.”
I tried substituting powdered sugar, as one
cook suggested, and it didn’t help.
I’ve
learned many of my goals aren’t important enough to pursue time and time again.
On the other hand, some are of such great significance I need to keep going
after them. I’ve always wanted to be a
Proverbs 31 woman, providing for the needs of my household, and to do it well.
Yet, it seems I don’t have what it takes in some areas, such as mixing up a pie
that would win a State Fair ribbon.
I
could blame my tenacious spirit to keep trying on the Apostle Paul. He wrote,
“This one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching
forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark, (the goal).”
(Philippians 3:13-15).
“Never
give up!” Paul tells me.
Well,
I admit Paul probably never heard of cream pie topped with meringue. But God often
uses ordinary things to teach us greater things, and He put within me a desire
to keep trusting, keep repenting, keep accepting his grace and love, and
perhaps my life will be the perfectly browned delicacy that will be sweet to
Him.
I hate to tell you, but the expected perfect
meringue, all tucked closely to the crust, towering four inches toward my fork has
never been created in my kitchen.
But
I have a little more wisdom and patience now—and use whipped topping.
--Ada Brownell’s writing appears in numerous
publications, including the book, “What I Learned From God While Cooking”
(Barbour, 2006). She attends Central Assembly in Springfield, MO.
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