Chopping things in the kitchen is therapeutic for me. The repeat rhythm of my chef’s knife sliding through the food, tapping against the cutting board, invites my mind to wander, just enough. Often, these moments become prayerful ones. With every pass of my blade, my heart whispers another name, that name links itself to another situation, and so the chain grows in my mind, I could pray for hours this way. I hold each face and circumstance out to my very present, but invisible God. The more I chop, the more I pray.
Making Pico de Gallo affords me plenty of prayer time. So much chopping and dicing.
Late in the afternoon, I read the news on the small screen clenched in my tomato soaked hand. It’s all bad. My shoulders slump. The weight of recent tragedies presses itself down hard around me. How small we can feel beneath such enormous heartbreak. I head to the kitchen to prep dinner. To pray. I am a peacekeeper by nature. What I want, is to hold all things together, to calm ruffled feathers and smooth wrinkling brows. I want to bind wounds, and speak life and hope and promise in such a way to cause actual change. I am not so capable. The enormity of conflict can make you feel like your hands are tied, and there’s nothing you can do.
Fresh tomatoes from a local garden stand sit beside a pair of fresh jalapeno’s and red onions, all of them waiting on the cool stone countertop to become something more that they are….
I’m hanging out today over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s place, with a few words and a recipe for my favorite summertime snack, Pico de Gallo.