a cow in my fridge

This evening I depart for the hills. My destination: a lakeside camp nestled in the oak forests of the hill country. I will be on retreat with my church family, and I am looking forward to it for many reasons. I need to get out of Austin; I need to be away from my office and work. I need to be away from the internet; to staunch my addiction to current events. I need to spend time in nature and hear around me only wind in the trees, songs of birds, laughter of friends. And, should He choose, the gentle whisper of God.

Of course, there’s another reason my excitement grows. Other than renewal of spirit and mind, retreats are good for meals. I have much to say on the subject of meals, and should devote time in another post to that. For now, just let me say that we are too quick and exceedingly solitary with what sustains us. Our destination this weekend requires that we prepare our own food, which I find superior to having the food prepared by an unknown staff, which has been the case for the latter portion of retreats I’ve attended. I understand the convenience of it; to relieve retreat-goers of the burden in the kitchen allows them to focus on “more important” things. But in my mind, this misses the point. The discipline of preparation and cleanup in regard to meals allows myriad opportunities for service to others in addition to the personal rewards.

There is a cow in my fridge. Okay, I admit it’s a bit of an exaggeration. Yet, there is enough meat to feed a significant number of people. The main course of our meal Saturday night will be brisket, made in true Texas fashion. I was thinking last night that many people are a little afraid of brisket. It’s been my experience that if you prove capable of cooking one well, there’s a little bit of fame coming your way. People will whisper to one another, gawk, smile sheepishly in your presence. Sometimes people will ask for your autograph and girls will swoon. Again, I’ve dipped a little bit into the well of hyperbole, but the impression should be clear.

When asked about my favorite holiday, I usually respond with the Fourth of July. The appeal of rockets exploding into bright colors against a darkened sky is hard to deny. There is the great movement of history and the destiny of brilliant men preserved in the prevailing document of freedom we celebrate on this day. All of those things come to mind, of course. A more primal reason, however, is our family backyard barbeques. Early in the morning, my father would light the fire. I would be apprenticed to him throughout the day while checking the meat, the temperature, the initial tasting, and the final carving. It was about recognition, appreciation, and good things done well, which even now seems a good analogy for the holiday. I learned from the master.

On a retreat in 1998, our campus minister committed a grievous error. I have a deep admiration and love for this man, and he is a person of extensive ability. Even at the grill, he wields a certain skill (shark steaks come to mind). Despite prowess in other areas, the ability to cook a brisket eluded him, and by a wide margin. The fall of 1998 found him manning the grill, which was piled with chicken and brisket. Apparently, he was under the impression both these items would cook in the same amount of time. The end result was good chicken and a brisket that was still bleeding. Some were polite and nibbled around the cooked edges. It was too much for me; and somewhere inside, I wept. On that day while staring into red tragedy, I determined that no longer would I suffer ill-prepared brisket. I would bring to bear whatever training and knowledge I had, and I staked a claim to the barbeque pit. Looking back, this was a bold step for a nineteen year old, although necessary.

I am eager to get started. Tonight, the ritual is renewed. Tomorrow evening, I will have the opportunity to serve my friends, a deeply humbling experience. I will treasure the reward, surely. I am only a dot in time, a representation of all that has come before and all that will flow after. I admit a certain anxiety that things won’t turn out perfectly. Do they ever? But I have faith…

Already the goodness of the coming days is within me.