The Sacred Table Co.

There is a pot on the stove this afternoon, something simmering low — onions gone soft, the whole kitchen beginning to smell like supper. I’d stirred it a few times without really thinking, the day pulling at me from every direction. Then I lifted the spoon, blew across it, and tasted. Added a little salt. Tasted again.

It’s the oldest habit I have in this kitchen, and one of the most honest. You don’t really know a thing is good until you taste it for yourself.

I think we do this with God more than we know. We believe He is good. We can say it, sing it, write it on the little chalkboard by the door. But believing a thing and tasting it are not the same. One lives in the head. The other gets on your hands.

Taste and see, the psalm says. Not study and conclude. Not agree and move on. Taste. Come close enough to know for yourself.

It’s a tender invitation, when you sit with it. God doesn’t ask us to take His goodness on someone else’s word. He hands us the spoon. The quiet morning. The friend who calls at just the right minute. The prayer answered so plainly it makes you laugh. The bread still soft in the bag. He is not far off and theoretical. He is near, and He is good, and He wants you to know it the way you know a pot of soup that’s finally right — by the taste, not the idea.

So slow down long enough to notice, friend. The goodness is already on the stove.