I Can’t Control Much But I Can Make Soup

I can’t control that I caught the flu.

But I could let my body rest.

I can’t control that in my flu stupor I left my journal in Roanoke when I left to come to Charleston.

I can choose to use what I have instead of pushing my journaling practice off.

I can’t control the lack of crew causing flight delays. 

But I can commiserate, kindly, with the people around me.

I can’t control the flight getting canceled.

But I can be kind to the clerk at the desk, reassure him that he is doing a good job continuing to be compassionate even in the most stressful of circumstances. 

I can’t control the woman speaking angrily behind me.

But I can choose to treat her with the patience that the clerk in front of me also deserves.

I can’t control that my husband’s car was stuck due to the ice storm and I was out of town and unable to help.

But I can thank the friend that came to help him.

I can’t control that I am still not at my house with all my cozy things.

But I can make tea—even if the kettle isn’t mine.

I can’t control the news and what the media overwhelms me with.

But I can choose to stop my scrolling, write in my journal, color in my coloring book, and watch a hallmark movie with my mom.

I can’t control the accident that shattered the life as someone knew it.

But I can let them know I am here to hold space whenever they need it. 

I can’t control the violence and hatred that violates innocent people and destroys lives. 

But I can tell a room full of women about the incredible and true power of a man who asks a woman, a Samaritan, for a drink of water.

I can tell of a love so great that it crosses every conceivable boundary and dares to be as subtle as asking for a drink of water.

I can tell of a story of a woman so utterly flabbergasted by her encounter with this strange man, who dares to deconstruct all the societal, religious, and cultural barriers that surround them and speak truth without judgement to her that she has no other option than to run and tell others her shocking tale.

I can let this story tell me who it is that Jesus loves and what he is willing to do time and time again to bring us all into his fold. 

I can let this story give me hope for world riddled with labels and propaganda of who my “enemies” are—to know that to Jesus there are no enemies only wounded people desperate to be known and to be reassured they are loved.

I can let this story teach me how I ought to live and how I ought to love. 

I can preach on what true power is—and it is a God, who chose to become human, to be thirsty after a long journey, who sits by a well, sees a stranger who has been ostracized, a woman from a community considered his enemy, and asks her for a drink of water.

I can emphasize the story’s shock further and highlight just how scandalous and marvelous it all is because this same man who is somehow also God is willing to drink from the container of his enemy (that would have been religiously and culturally unclean). 

I can’t control the world with its violence, hatred, division, and massive winter storms.

But I can offer you a drink of water.

And for now I will let that be enough.