Squash

5/24/09…Father, I am sorry. Help me write words that will help my soul grieve before You. Oh how I want to feel You again. I miss You so much, and my knowledge is my pain. How can I ever feel worthy to know You again? Each day that passes is another lost opportunity. It seems I am writing more about how I used to know You versus how I am knowing You. This troubles me greatly…

I am hungry, so I wash the dirt off a yellow squash. My fingers hold it under the faucet and let Your living water wash it clean, no more sin held against me. I dry it and place it on the cutting board where I take my knife and I cut the squash every ¼ inch or so, and lay out its pieces like a fan spreading out. All these pieces represent the repulsive and wonderful parts of me. I place a bowl of milk by the cut up squash. Milk is sometimes all the nourishment I can take, even though I would rather have solid food. Next, I pour out corn meal, solid food, in a pile which also seems to represent the pouring out of an hourglass, for it seems my time here on earth is slowly running out. I take one piece of squash, dip it in the milk and wet it well, and then I take the squash and dip it in the solid corn meal, coating it well on both sides. The squash has started with milk and it seems the squash received the milk very well because when the squash is dipped in the solid corn meal, the meal abundantly sticks to the tender sides.

And then I throw it into hot oil…hot oil burns, and scalds, and blisters skin. It cooks, and it cooks slowly. If I am not careful the oil will burn the squash black. Seems the hot oil is this world, is the devil, and is my selfishness. Sometimes I think the squash does not stand a chance. But You are the cook, and always You seem to be minding the time the squash sits in the oil, ever aware it takes the Love of a Father to prevent the squash from becoming a scalded black piece of charred flesh, useful for nothing. All the while I am cooking, You know this is not what You had in mind. You never wanted me to fry did you? You wanted me to enjoy Eden, and an intimate relationship with You, and I messed it all up didn’t I?

Father, help this squash…he really does love You.