How I learned to make soup.

I remember as a little girl: short, stocky and chunky as I was, the numerous times I tried (and failed) to make a good bowl of soup. I wasn't aware what the word "condensed" meant-- I would dump the can into a bowl, a solid and gelatinous mess of goo and microwave the living daylights out of it until it was some form of a hot mass of edibleness. Thinking that was the way to partake of "condensed" soup, I went on, time and time again preparing my soup the same way.

One evening, I was sitting in the family room with my mother watching television. She mentions the philosophy of making some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. Excited, and thinking I knew what the heck I was doing, I jump up and "make" some tomato soup. Can. Bowl. Dump. Microwave. Done. Lumpy and hard to cruise through, I present to my mom my accomplishment. She puts her hands on her hips, shakes her head and says "If you would have just waited..."

She takes a small saucepan out of the cabinet, opens a can of soup and puts it into the pot. Turning on the stove and adjusting it to medium, she takes the milk from the refrigerator and pours a little into the pot. A pinch of pepper and a pinch of something else and mixes it together. I sat and watched as she carefully took out two slices of bread, buttered both sides and put them under the broiler, carefully watching and waiting for them to brown. She took her two slices of cheese, placed them on the bread, toasted a little more and then took it out of the oven. Her soup made faint bubbling noises as her cheese hissed and crackled on the hot buttery bread. She stirred her soup a bit more, and put her hand on her hip as she looked over at me and smirked. I sat there, elbows on the table, looking at her in sheer disappointment that I didn't wait for her in the first place. I looked down at the solid goo that was my soup and the mass of burnt bread and room-temperature cheese that was supposed to be my sandwich. I heard the click of the stove as she turned it off. She got a big bowl from the top shelf and ladled her soup into the bowl. She manufactured the rest of her grilled cheese sandwich, cut it in half and placed it on a folded paper towel. As she made her way back to the living room, she paused as she was about to walk past me, looked into my bowl, and poured some of her warm, smooth, creamy soup over my solid goo. She smiled at me and hummed a little diddy on her way back to the big cozy chair in front of the TV.

I looked down into my bowl and compared mental notes. My soup, dark, clumpy and needs to be spread with a knife, started to absorb the smooth, consistent soup she cared to make. I picked up my spoon and scooped just enough of her soup to taste. It was hot, but so much more palatable-- she was right. If only I had waited.

From then on, I know that making soup takes a little more time and energy than most people are willing to make. Just because its in a can for our convenience, doesn't mean that the right preparation won't take precious time.

See, sometimes we are at times of our lives where we are in a hurry to get to the end result. We see what we want, we take short cuts and take-- and more often than not we do get what we're aiming for, but it won't nearly be as awesome as it would be if we just took our cotton-pickin' time.

Ladies and gentlemen-- God has a big plan for us. That's no secret. If you find yourself getting rather impatient and contrite with Him because what you desire hasn't manifested yet, please, don't try to do it your own way. I can guarantee you, you can still get what you want. But it will be a solid, gooey mess compared to what He really wants to prepare for you.