Thank you for this. Sixty-seven years of amazing life with so much promise and yet today the lump was confirmed. I will not despair. Tomorrow I make soup.
Prayers ascending Jean. I'm in the same boat my friend. I have cabbage to make soup. Tomorrow I'll make my soup. I'll keep you close in my thoughts and prayers.
Sarah, please do not doubt for a moment that your words have the power to nourish the quiet, brave souls out here putting our own pots on the stove and resolving to eat and live and love and keep at it. What blessing you are to us. Thank you.
Sarah, you are one of the gifts of God for the people of God. And I am forever grateful that you continue to say yes to the sharing of your life with us. I felt so invited into the sacred presencing of the ordinary. Envisioning the smells of garlic and onions and the vapor of steam, my chest cavity expanded giving me space to be and to breathe... In your words (your pot of soup), we find Immanuel, with us. In this space, we find the with-ness of community and it's offered up like bread and wine poured out. Thank you for this passing of the peace and breaking of virtual bread. It's very much needed today.
I needed this today, as do so many in my immediate circle. We’re all just barely holding on. Thank you for the reminder that we don’t owe despair our allegiance. 🧡
You are a recipe for restoration!! Thank you for adding ingredients to our hearts, stirring gently, and creating a homing beacon to our hope. Bless you for tilting the axis of our lives back towards balance.
Boy, did this speak to me today! I am learning to live with a chronic illness and am not a very good student. Lying low is not my style, but I understand that, at least for now, that is what is needed. I'll be trying a little something in the kitchen very soon. Thank you. Hoping you are in a better place, too.
This popped into my inbox on just the right day. On the day following the night before. The night when I came home from church crying, after pouring myself into worshipping God and loving others, but then, after one short interaction, feeling hurt, upset and fearful of rejection.
This morning I awoke very early; early enough to attempt listening to a daily meditation, and early enough to take up a friend's invitation to a small group of women from her church who meet online to pray. Every now and then I join them, and they welcome me so kindly. This morning was no different, and somehow my own distress enabled me to pray meaningfully for someone else. And I received prayer too, without being asked for the details of what I experienced.
I told myself that I would take the day a step at a time and not expect too much of myself or my kids. And doing the ordinary; the cooking, the washing-up, the laundry, and guiding the children through their day's learning - all of that felt like it was part of what today was about. Somehow making what had happened smaller in my mind. Not letting it take over. Recognising it as an attempt to derail me from getting on with what was good and healthy, and keeping on moving past it.
After lunch, I searched for something by Tim Mackie of the Bible project, and discovered a really thoughtful teaching all about Ephesians: about spiritual battles, and about the power of resurrection of Jesus residing in us so that all this distress and pain that seems to be part of life can be wonderfully transformed into something that brings light and life and love. He spoke a lot about the Christian life of power, and how it's not about gaining social status, winning at life goals, etc. but that it is a transforming power that comes when we serve others because we deliberately choose to put their needs ahead of our own, and choose serving them over our own ambitions. I then sent positive, encouraging messages to people that came to mind before carrying on with my daily tasks.
When I read the notes for today, it was such a fitting end to a day's gentle guidance from God about keeping going. Thank you for writing the right thing at the right time Sarah!
Exactly what I needed to hear today. My mother-in-law who never quite found me enough, and yet has come to trust me more than anyone is declining not by inches but by unpredictable leaps, has leapt again so far that even she noticed. I’m mourning and put out, why is it me and not her children, and I’m honored because this is close to the journey that brought me close to my father-in-law before he died, and I’m tired and sad. I will pray and make soup, and remember this is a privilege and a blessing.
“Look at that, you can breathe again. You found the pilot light of your soul still flickering somewhere underneath all the bad news and broken hearts and worries and disappointments.” 💕💕💕
Wow! I have started making yeast breads twice a week…just for the satisfaction of creating and discovering…it had not occurred to me that I am comforting myself to then go forward…not so much comforting as strength building. I am because we are.
Yes. All of this. Making stock and soup from that stock to nourish is one of my favorite domestic labors.
And yet. I worry that this work of soup and dishes and nourishment will fall only on women again, that it will be used to keep women “in their place.” Is it a balanced message? Are men hearing this message at this time, or only women? Maybe finding nourishment in giving nourishment is a picture of the feminine side of divinity we could all use?
I struggle with my own relationship with caretaking and nourishment, as the work of it emptied and depleted me in one season of life. Yet I know it is important work. Who does it if I don’t? I’m trying to learn and teach these lessons to my two high school daughters and middle school son, and I don’t have all the answers for me or them.
Societally, I don’t see anyone asking this question…I only see women saying we don’t want to carry this burden alone anymore. When will we (women AND men) start asking how are we going to take care of all of us well? In a way that works for all of us?
Got scan results at the oncologist yesterday and it wasn’t great news. Only now had the capacity to read this and it was exactly what I needed. Thank you Sarah as always 💕
Very helpful. Today was going to be busy with birthday celebrations, but for various reasons those plans fell through at the last minute. So it’s been the perfect opportunity for a soup day. I’ve enjoyed every second of it.
Thank you for this beautiful, soul-soothing reflection, Sarah. Your words feel like a warm bowl of soup on a cold, hard day, a reminder that even in the middle of our mess, there’s hope in the ordinary.
The way you write about making soup, about stirring and chopping as a kind of prayer, is so grounding. It’s the small, steady acts like olive oil and onions, washing dishes, folding laundry, that remind us we’re still here, still moving forward, even when the world feels too heavy. Sometimes feeding yourself is the bravest thing you can do.
I love how you remind us that hope isn’t loud or flashy; it’s quiet, like steam rising from a bowl or a breath we forgot to take. Choosing hope, even when it feels impossible, is its own kind of revolution. And sometimes, that revolution starts with something as simple as making soup and sitting in the sunlight.
Thank you for sharing this. It’s a gift, a gentle nudge back to the light. We’re all better for it.
Thank you for this. Sixty-seven years of amazing life with so much promise and yet today the lump was confirmed. I will not despair. Tomorrow I make soup.
Gentlest of hugs, Jean. Sending lots of love.
Prayers ascending Jean. I'm in the same boat my friend. I have cabbage to make soup. Tomorrow I'll make my soup. I'll keep you close in my thoughts and prayers.
Holding you in my prayers Lori.
Thank you Jean.
Jean, thinking of you (prayers are an always)
Jean, you are in my thoughts daily. How are you faring?
Jean, holding your today in the light of Love. May you be held in God's grace. My heart is with you in your news.
Blessings on your journey! The soup will be healing.
Holding you close, Jean.
Praying. Sending love.
Sending hope. Peace be with you, Jean.
Sarah, please do not doubt for a moment that your words have the power to nourish the quiet, brave souls out here putting our own pots on the stove and resolving to eat and live and love and keep at it. What blessing you are to us. Thank you.
🥹🥹🥹
Sarah, you are one of the gifts of God for the people of God. And I am forever grateful that you continue to say yes to the sharing of your life with us. I felt so invited into the sacred presencing of the ordinary. Envisioning the smells of garlic and onions and the vapor of steam, my chest cavity expanded giving me space to be and to breathe... In your words (your pot of soup), we find Immanuel, with us. In this space, we find the with-ness of community and it's offered up like bread and wine poured out. Thank you for this passing of the peace and breaking of virtual bread. It's very much needed today.
Amen to that!
I needed this today, as do so many in my immediate circle. We’re all just barely holding on. Thank you for the reminder that we don’t owe despair our allegiance. 🧡
You are a recipe for restoration!! Thank you for adding ingredients to our hearts, stirring gently, and creating a homing beacon to our hope. Bless you for tilting the axis of our lives back towards balance.
Boy, did this speak to me today! I am learning to live with a chronic illness and am not a very good student. Lying low is not my style, but I understand that, at least for now, that is what is needed. I'll be trying a little something in the kitchen very soon. Thank you. Hoping you are in a better place, too.
This popped into my inbox on just the right day. On the day following the night before. The night when I came home from church crying, after pouring myself into worshipping God and loving others, but then, after one short interaction, feeling hurt, upset and fearful of rejection.
This morning I awoke very early; early enough to attempt listening to a daily meditation, and early enough to take up a friend's invitation to a small group of women from her church who meet online to pray. Every now and then I join them, and they welcome me so kindly. This morning was no different, and somehow my own distress enabled me to pray meaningfully for someone else. And I received prayer too, without being asked for the details of what I experienced.
I told myself that I would take the day a step at a time and not expect too much of myself or my kids. And doing the ordinary; the cooking, the washing-up, the laundry, and guiding the children through their day's learning - all of that felt like it was part of what today was about. Somehow making what had happened smaller in my mind. Not letting it take over. Recognising it as an attempt to derail me from getting on with what was good and healthy, and keeping on moving past it.
After lunch, I searched for something by Tim Mackie of the Bible project, and discovered a really thoughtful teaching all about Ephesians: about spiritual battles, and about the power of resurrection of Jesus residing in us so that all this distress and pain that seems to be part of life can be wonderfully transformed into something that brings light and life and love. He spoke a lot about the Christian life of power, and how it's not about gaining social status, winning at life goals, etc. but that it is a transforming power that comes when we serve others because we deliberately choose to put their needs ahead of our own, and choose serving them over our own ambitions. I then sent positive, encouraging messages to people that came to mind before carrying on with my daily tasks.
When I read the notes for today, it was such a fitting end to a day's gentle guidance from God about keeping going. Thank you for writing the right thing at the right time Sarah!
Exactly what I needed to hear today. My mother-in-law who never quite found me enough, and yet has come to trust me more than anyone is declining not by inches but by unpredictable leaps, has leapt again so far that even she noticed. I’m mourning and put out, why is it me and not her children, and I’m honored because this is close to the journey that brought me close to my father-in-law before he died, and I’m tired and sad. I will pray and make soup, and remember this is a privilege and a blessing.
❤️
Wow. Gobsmacked with that one. Every. Single. Sentence. Feeling like the world is literally and figuratively on fire. Then this. Thanks so much.
“Look at that, you can breathe again. You found the pilot light of your soul still flickering somewhere underneath all the bad news and broken hearts and worries and disappointments.” 💕💕💕
Wow! I have started making yeast breads twice a week…just for the satisfaction of creating and discovering…it had not occurred to me that I am comforting myself to then go forward…not so much comforting as strength building. I am because we are.
Yes. All of this. Making stock and soup from that stock to nourish is one of my favorite domestic labors.
And yet. I worry that this work of soup and dishes and nourishment will fall only on women again, that it will be used to keep women “in their place.” Is it a balanced message? Are men hearing this message at this time, or only women? Maybe finding nourishment in giving nourishment is a picture of the feminine side of divinity we could all use?
I struggle with my own relationship with caretaking and nourishment, as the work of it emptied and depleted me in one season of life. Yet I know it is important work. Who does it if I don’t? I’m trying to learn and teach these lessons to my two high school daughters and middle school son, and I don’t have all the answers for me or them.
Societally, I don’t see anyone asking this question…I only see women saying we don’t want to carry this burden alone anymore. When will we (women AND men) start asking how are we going to take care of all of us well? In a way that works for all of us?
So true, so true.
Sometimes just the act of feeding yourself is the revolution.
Got scan results at the oncologist yesterday and it wasn’t great news. Only now had the capacity to read this and it was exactly what I needed. Thank you Sarah as always 💕
Patricia, I'm so sad and sorry to hear this. Sending lots of love.
Very helpful. Today was going to be busy with birthday celebrations, but for various reasons those plans fell through at the last minute. So it’s been the perfect opportunity for a soup day. I’ve enjoyed every second of it.
Thank you for this beautiful, soul-soothing reflection, Sarah. Your words feel like a warm bowl of soup on a cold, hard day, a reminder that even in the middle of our mess, there’s hope in the ordinary.
The way you write about making soup, about stirring and chopping as a kind of prayer, is so grounding. It’s the small, steady acts like olive oil and onions, washing dishes, folding laundry, that remind us we’re still here, still moving forward, even when the world feels too heavy. Sometimes feeding yourself is the bravest thing you can do.
I love how you remind us that hope isn’t loud or flashy; it’s quiet, like steam rising from a bowl or a breath we forgot to take. Choosing hope, even when it feels impossible, is its own kind of revolution. And sometimes, that revolution starts with something as simple as making soup and sitting in the sunlight.
Thank you for sharing this. It’s a gift, a gentle nudge back to the light. We’re all better for it.