Archives For Taste

I’m thrilled to have Annette Uza, a friend from church, kicking off a new series of blogs about how people find God in their work. These guest posts will run on the 2nd and 4th Tuesday of each month. Subscribe on the right to get these posts delivered directly to your inbox. And, if you have a story to share, I’d love to hear it

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On my fifty-third birthday I realized that my dad was only four years older than me when he died. As I faced the possibility of meeting Jesus than soon, my position as Director of Productions in a flavor company suddenly lost its appeal. I wanted my life to matter for eternity, so I decided to resign and find a job where I could really serve God.

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I applied for a chaplain residency program and for the next two years clocked fifty hours a week at the hospital before dashing to both of my part-time jobs, one at the flavor company. I worked every weekend and holiday without a single day off. The schedule nearly consumed me, but as I sat in the emergency room with family members, holding their hands and praying with them while their loved one lay on the trauma table getting bullets extracted and head wounds stitched up, I believed my work mattered to God in a way that my old job never could Continue Reading…

I dump the  powder into the pot and slip into the past…back to fifth grade and Miss Vanderlaan’s turtleneck sweaters in that same yellow-grey shade. A pungent smell—maybe garlic, maybe cumin—calls me back to the present and I shove the empty ziplock into the bear barrel.

 

Something black plummets into the pot. I bend forward through the smoky darkness and try to scoop it out, but the sparks fend me off. Probably a twig. Maybe a spider? Just then a freight train rumbles through my intestines, obliterating all traces of arachnophobia, and I stir the stew, intruder and all, at double speed.

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Photo courtesy of Angela Domini via flickr.com

 

Mugs loaded, I maneuver my backside between the branches of a fallen tree. I juggle the hot mug between city-sensitive fingers, pausing at intervals to land a spoonful of stew in my mouth. Steam billows out as I pant off the heat. The nerves in my fingers and tongue yelp in protest, but my empty stomach runs the show Continue Reading…