Seasoned

I wouldn't be a Southern gal if I didn't own an iron skillet or two. When I married, I was given ten. 

Opening the final gift of my bridal shower, I tugged tissue paper away to reveal yet one more five pound, cast iron bludgeon to add to my culinary arsenal. My grandmother hunched forward to whisper in my ear that skillets needed to be seasoned. The entire circle heard her raspy revelation which led to a round-table discussion on best methods.  Rolling my eyes, I thought: Somehow the excitement of being in love overshadows this Suzy Homemaker session.

When despite my heartfelt newlywed labors, I scorched the eggs four mornings straight; I humbly realized Grandma knew what she was talking about—seasoning is serious. I had a vague idea that seasoning had something to do with iron changing to a darkened state. After all, my skillets had been slate gray when new from the gift wrap unlike my grandmother’s coal black ones. And what was the current condition of mine?  They were orange with rust. Tongue in cheek, I swallowed my pride, and approached my grandmother, asking, "How DO you season a skillet?"  
            Her answer sounded tedious, not in the least romantic. In fact, it sounded like WORK.  But then a space bubble appeared just above my head, where I pictured myself scrubbing scorched eggs off the surface of the skillet while droplets of sweat ricocheted from the pan's surface; and I decided it wouldn’t hurt to listen. Though, this kind of activity was not how I imagined my first days of wedded delight, Grandma’s gentle admonition of marital purpose caused my heart to rouse, and I listened to her instructions with new found ardor and allegiance to backwoods kitchen warfare. 

1.      Grease the skillet

2.      Allocate the storage of the skillet to the oven

3.      Whenever you heat the oven to bake, the skillet will turn red hot

4.      Remove it from the oven while baking whatever you heated the oven to cook

5.      After it cools, grease the skillet again

6.      Repeat

7.      Repeat

8.      Repeat

9.      Repeat

Just as Grandma vowed, the oil and the heat seasoned my iron skillet over a period of time. Cornbread batter stopped sticking to the sides and bottom, and my eggs turned out light and fluffy. This meant my groom became a happier and less-hungry man.

Twenty years later, I lounged on the sofa, awake before the children for a rare moment of quiet. As I considered all the challenges and tangled problems of my life and tried to tell God how He could fix them, the image of my large iron skillet popped into another space bubble just above my head. Of all things to envision! And in the deep quiet place of my heart, I heard the Lord say, “Ann, you're just like that old, iron skillet.”

I grew quiet. Forevermore! How am I like a skillet? As I pondered the analogy, I realized that through the years of use and faithful seasoning, that heavy, blackened skillet had become my most desired kitchen tool and dependable friend.

How have You seasoned me, Lord? I just feel rusty, I thought as tears streaked my cheeks, and a sob swelled in my throat.

And the answer came. The fires of life: money pressures, marriage challenges, the blur of diapers, meals, training, homeschooling. Oh, the hours of homeschooling!  Will I ever make it through to graduation with one child—much less six—and, what about their unique learning differences? How will I meet everyone’s need when there is only one of me? He reminded me, I am never alone. Then His tender disclosure made my eyes grow wide with understanding. All the circumstantial difficulties of life knotted together were the oven of my seasoning. 

But I know that heat alone does not a seasoned skillet make; and I realized, neither do trials alone grow us into instruments of service fit for our Master. Layered between my red-hot oven moments when I think I might die from all the demands. God is the Faithful One who seasons me by anointing my head with the oil of His Holy Spirit. He soothes me with His presence and His Word. His mercy, new every morning, covers me while His love streams through me providing genuine joy. His patience gives me hope. He hardly ever takes the trials, the heat, or the oven away. But He consoles me again and again, oiling me to tackle the fire because I have an intended purpose. What about you? Are you a little smoky from the frying pan?

Listen for His Whispers