Last night, since Kit was in major pain, it fell on me to make dinner. I’d found a good-looking chicken recipe, which instructed me to cook the chicken for six minutes on each side, then use the nice crusty bits to make a sauce. While waiting for the sauce to thicken, I started cooking up some vegetables and cut into the chicken. To my dismay, it wasn’t done. Preoccupied with that, I let the sauce go too long and burned it. I stopped just short of yanking my hair in frustration, cursing out loud. Dinner needed to be done already, and I was screwing it up.
This whole spectacle is a good example of my distinct lack of patience. It’s a quality that follows me in my communication with Deity as well, and no time has this been more apparent than now. Little can happen towards my collaring ordeal until I finish making the collar. I can’t finish the collar until I finish ordering and fashioning all the parts. I can’t finish ordering and fashioning all the parts until I save up the funds for all the materials (precious metal clay isn’t cheap). Until all those pieces come together, I’m not getting many details about the ordeal. And without all the details, I’m becoming an impatient fluttery bird.
What I’m neglecting to remember is that I’m not twiddling my thumbs during this period. The collar is a piece I am making, my first real devotional Work. I undoubtedly have other lessons to learn along the way, definitely have other work to do (both mundane and not), and have people to take care of. I’m not going to be idle, that’s for sure. I just have to remember that, and remember to stop, breathe, focus, and quit bloody fussin’. (Not that accomplishing this will be anywhere near immediate; most modern humans aren’t well known for their patience, and I’m no exception.)
So, after all of that, what happened with the chicken?
I took a breath, cleaned the pan, cooked the chicken a little longer, and tried the sauce again.
It came out perfect.