Sandra Heska King

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Worry Soup

September 23, 2010 By Sandra Heska King

“Worry is a cycle of inefficient thoughts whirling around a center of fear.” ~Corrie Ten Boom

I pull out the old red crockpot that my mother-in-law gave me 35 years ago. I have newer ones, but I like this one better for soup. I chop onion, dice carrots, slice celery and snip the leaves. Pour in split peas. Salt. Pepper. Stir. Cover.

Simmer. Simmer. Simmer.

Sniff. Sniff.

Mmmmm.

Gracee has a rash on her face, and so I go to school to pick her up because Abby is caring for a friend post surgery.

A delicious aroma wafts out the window and curls under the door, and Gracee complains. “What is that awful smell? It reeks!”

I guess she won’t be having soup for supper.

It strikes me that I often (well, used to) make soup out of worry.

A little of this worry and a lot of that. Stir it all up. And turn up the heat.

Simmer. Simmer. Simmer.

Sniff. Sniff.

Yuck!

It smells! It reeks! The stink of it clings to me and spreads its fumes everywhere.

Making that kind of soup is a waste of time. Time that could be better spent doing something worthwhile. And nobody wants to eat it anyway. And it’s certainly not as healthy as split peas.

Better to take that pot and dump it in the field.

Because, really, why should I spend time worrying about something I can’t change?

Or something that might happen (but probably won’t) that I can’t do anything about anyway?

Most of the things I’ve worried about never happened. Some did. And some things turned out worse than I could have imagined.

But I came through. Survived. Gained strength.

And why worry about something I can control? Why not just do whatever needs doing?

Worry paralyzes me and drains my strength.

And one more thing. Isn’t worry just pride in disguise? Thinking I can take control of something only God can control?

I can even make worry an idol.

Yet God is the God of the what was, what is, and what ifs.

So I’m going to give all the ingredients to Him and let Him make the soup. Minus the worry. Because I know it will be good for me and maybe even eventually smell good.

Serving up this post for Bonnie Gray’s Faith Barista Jam, “Letting Go of Worry.”

FaithBarista_Jam

Also offering this post for Emily’s Imperfect Prose on Thursdays.

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Filed Under: stories and reflections

Comments

  1. HisFireFly says

    September 23, 2010 at 10:11 pm

    Amen.. why not give it all to the One true Master Chef!

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 10:54 pm

      He’s a much better cook that I am!

  2. Jennifer@GDWJ says

    September 23, 2010 at 11:55 pm

    Very cool, Sandra. The God of what was, what is, and what ifs! I love that.

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 10:55 pm

      😀

      Have I ever told you what an encourager you are?

  3. in the hush of the moon says

    September 24, 2010 at 2:06 am

    i love this concept, sandra, and how you worded it, beautifully. i love the candidness of gracee, and the red crock-pot. and i love how you made me realize the futility of grace. my grandmother lent me her book once–how to calm an anxious heart. i think i need to read it again. but it opened my eyes, as did your post. thank you so much for linking. i love it, here. xo

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:05 pm

      I’m pretty sure you meant the “futility of worry,” right?

      Is that the Linda Dillow book, Calm my Anxious Heart? I just peeked into it on Amazon, and I think I should buy it. There’s a great recipe for contentment right there in the first chapter.

      *Never allow yourself to complain about anything, even the weather.

      *Never picture yourself in any other circumstances or someplace else.

      *Never compare your lot with another’s.

      *Never allow yourself to wish this or that had been otherwise.

      *Never dwell on tomorrow–remember that [tomorrow] is God’s, not ours.

      And this from a woman who served pygmies in Africa for 52 years!

      Yes, I think I need this book.
      I love you here.

  4. Michael says

    September 24, 2010 at 6:49 am

    I was talking to my dad the other night on the phone and I was telling him some things I was worrying about. He said, “Shut up and don’t worry about things that haven’t happened.”

    Your post was beautiful as always.

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:32 pm

      I like your dad.

      Thanks.

  5. Leslie says

    September 24, 2010 at 10:09 am

    Your post and Corrie Ten Boom’s quote also reminded me of this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “What torments of grief you endured, from evils that never arrived.”

    I deal with chronic, sometimes severe, illness, and worry/fear is definitely present with physical pain. So it’s a battle to put my mind in the present and not think about yesterday or tomorrow or what might happen. That’s why I like Corrie’s words. I know she went to the pit of hell and back in her life, and still she learned the secret of trust in the One who held her life in His hands.

    Thanks for sharing this today.

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:36 pm

      Hi Leslie,

      I love that quote.

      I think that chronic illness and pain tends to wear one down so much that fatigue must be a constant companion. And everything definitely looks worse when we’re tired as well as in pain. Lifting you in prayer right now.

  6. Faith Barista | Bonnie says

    September 24, 2010 at 12:41 pm

    Hey, Sandra, you know what’s funny? 🙂 I felt like I was savoring a spoonful of yummy soup reading this post. There is so much I identify here, I just want to quote the whole post! LOL. btw, last week, I felt greatly encouraged by what you shared about words — and how they can last & be a legacy. This week, it’s more from Sandra! Thanks!

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:46 pm

      You are such a blessing, Bonnie!

  7. Susan J. Reinhardt says

    September 24, 2010 at 4:29 pm

    Hi Sandy –

    Thank you. I can always find a good word here. I’ve been making a pot of worry soup today. I think I’ll throw it in the garbage right now. 🙂

    Blessings,
    Susan

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:48 pm

      Toss that soup, Susan! 🙂

  8. Debbie says

    September 24, 2010 at 4:39 pm

    Oh yes! We can’t go wrong giving him all the ingredients and letting Him make the soup. It will be good for us and it WILL eventually smell good…of that we can be sure!! Loved the analogy!

    • Sandra says

      September 24, 2010 at 11:49 pm

      🙂 Thanks, Debbie. So nice to see you here.

  9. alittlebitograce says

    September 24, 2010 at 6:51 pm

    the funny thing is that i made delicious soup for supper that all of my children turned their noses up at. 🙂 worry is something that i do almost without thinking, it’s a pattern for me. i’m trying to stop and fish the worry out of my soup so i can replace it with some truth and trust. thank you. 🙂

  10. Sandra says

    September 24, 2010 at 11:51 pm

    I like that imagery–fishing out the worry and stocking the pot with truth and trust. 🙂

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“Courage, dear heart.” 🌱 “. . . I am the “Courage, dear heart.”
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“. . . I am the great Bridge Builder”
~ Aslan in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
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A plea... can we stop with the caustic criticism and the tearing down and the canceling and the division and focus on listening and compassionate conversation and love and generosity and unity? Can we take courage, dear hearts, and become bridge builders?
“To know what *would* have happened, child?” s “To know what *would* have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.”
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“Oh dear,” said Lucy.
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“But anyone can find out what *will* happen,” said Aslan.
. . . 
“Go and wake the others and tell them to follow. If they will not, then you at least must follow me alone.”
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~ from Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis
Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. ~ Psalm 133:1
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I expect that goes for sisters, too.
One of my favorite poems in friend @jody_lee_colli One of my favorite poems in friend @jody_lee_collins new book is the last one, "What My Grandkids Will Say About Me on Oprah." I sent it to my daughter @aeking8511 and asked what she (or her kids) would say about me. She sent this back to me and clarified that it was a quick flow without proofing. It made me laugh and also made me teary. I did *not* ask permission to share it. But I just had to.

“I don't know that I've ever watched Oprah, but I would say:

“When my kids talk to Oprah about their Nama, they will express her love for books, taking trips, and taking pictures of frozen iguanas.

“Our Nama would send us books all the time. She knew we needed to get off the electronics and get lost in our imaginations like she did. But the truth is, the books we received weren't even 1% of the books that Amazon sent to her house.

“She loved to take pictures, causing our car ride from point A to point B to randomly stop in the middle of the road. Papa learned very quickly to hit the brakes and pull over because maybe--just maybe--there might be a bird sitting on a fence near a weathered barn.

“Her love for trips was inspiring, because unlike our Mom's trips of margaritas and sunshine, our Nama's trips were to Haiti and places where she could love like Jesus loved. And write with other writers, to dig deep and write--wait, besides poems, what did she write again? Anyway, she met a lot of friends through writing and going to places like Haiti. Even if they had to be escorted by big men and guns to the orphanage in Haiti, or possibly die in a hurricane, she didn't care. She took those children back in her heart and never let them go. And if she didn't already have us, she may have physically brought them home.

“Our Nama was special. She made the best lasagna and goulash, and her scent emanates through her favorite perfume--Amazing Grace. She even bought us some so we can smell her any time we want.

“P.S. If you ever see a frozen iguana, stand still and take a picture.”
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D: Wow! Your foot is really black and blue. Me: I D: Wow! Your foot is really black and blue.

Me: It's yellow.

D: It's colorful. It's pretty. It looks almost like the northern lights.

Official diagnosis from my PT order: "Lateral malleolus avulsion fracture." That's a bright side. It could be worse. But apparently I still won't be running any marathons any time soon. He ordered PT 3x a week for 6 weeks. We will see about that. 

I will spare you a picture of my northern lights. But here’s some purple ones from a neighborhood walk when I *didn’t* fall. And how about this one of Kolbie and Brooks instead? This lights up my life. (Sorry @ryeruffking - I just had to steal-share it.) 

Also, I could be sitting up north cuddling Brooks, playing Legos with big brother Dax, and getting my makeup/hair/nails done by Kolbie. All in due time. Hopefully, before Brooks starts walking and Kolbie starts kindergarten.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106 BY ALFR In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
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Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
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Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
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Ring out the grief that saps the mind
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Ring out a slowly dying cause,
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Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
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Ring out false pride in place and blood,
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Ring in the common love of good.

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Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
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Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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I hope your new year is filled with more sunshine than clouds, more joy than sadness, more laughter than tears.
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Taken on December 19–technically still fall. Yes Taken on December 19–technically still fall. Yes, Virginia. There is fall in South Florida.
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I think I’ve posted this every year since I wrot I think I’ve posted this every year since I wrote it...

Seed of Yahweh

I’ve been thinking about this seed of Yahweh
conceived in love, then planted in the cave of a woman-child,
confined and nurtured in her soft dark womb,
nourished with her every heartbeat.
.
How cells of cell multiplied until he fluttered light,
then stretched and rose like yeast bread in her warm belly
until her body could no longer contain him.
.
How the walls closed in, contracted, kneaded,
and she expelled him down that painful passage toward the light.
How with a gush of blood and water he slid wet into the night
and was laid in a cold stone trough.
.
Whose hands touched him first, this son of man?
His earthly father’s?
Some midwife's?
Did his parents count his perfect fingers–
the fingers of God himself?
.
I think about those tiny hands that fisted around their fingers,
that held their hands as he grew,
about those hands that planted seeds in soil,
shaped wood, chiseled stone,
hands that touched and healed and held a scroll,
fingers that wrote in dirt.
.
How one day he, light of lights,
staggered down another narrow, painful passage,
toward the darkness, pummeled and beaten by hands of others as his own slivered palms quivered
with the weight of a heavy cross.
.
How he was stretched wide, this bread of life.
How this one whose hands pounded nails to build
accepted pounded nails meant to break Creator by created,
and how his mother’s heart exploded
with the pain of it and for the love of him.
.
I think of how his own limp body could not hold him,
how with a gush of blood and water he slipped his earthly life,
and how his mother may have caressed
and kissed those blood-stained hands.
.
I think about this seed of Yahweh,
this son of man, planted in a cave of earth,
confined to cold, dark stone
until the tomb could not contain him,
how he stretched and rose, this bread of life,
and how he comes to us still and plants himself in our hearts,
becomes our heartbeat for the love of us.
So our hearts explode with the pain of it and for the love of him.
.
And we cannot contain him.
.
~SHK, 2011
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I guess that becomes our yoke, our work, too.
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“‘For this my son was dead, and is alive again “‘For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.” ~ Luke 15:24
🌱
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🌱
It’s all so upside down.
“Salt is good, but if salt has lost his taste, h “Salt is good, but if salt has lost his taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” ~ Luke 14:34-35
🌱
“Jesus’ closing statement about salt seems abrupt. But it is perfectly in keeping with all that has gone before. The salt in Jesus’ area came from the Dead Sea and could contain impurities that would cause it to become rancid. This explains the notion of how salt could ‘lose its saltiness.’ It must remain pure to fulfill its purpose.” ~ Michael Card in Luke: The Gospel of Amazement
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