The other day, I made apple butter in my Crock Pot. Those unfamiliar with the gloriousness that is apple butter, think apple pie on a spoon. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and apples in a thick brown concoction that bursts warm Autumn sunshine on your tongue. It’s that good, but then I’m a long-term devotee. I guess you’d have to taste it to be convinced.
Anyway, I peeled the apples then cut them into chunks. I dropped the apples into the ceramic bowl of the slow cooker then added the apple juice, sugar and spices, just as I always do. I set the cooker’s timer on low for many, many hours and waited. Soon I was tantalized by the delicious scent of cooking apples wafting through the rooms of my home, and I could picture the apple butter on my spoon making its way to my mouth. But, alas, it would be several hours before I could enjoy the fruits of my labor; I had to wait. So, I did – wait and wait and wait and wait. After eight hours, I poured the whole hot, steaming lot into my blender and whirred it down to the consistency of applesauce then back into my Crock Pot it sloshed to cook off more liquid. Finally, ten hours after I had begun the process, my apple butter was ready. And was I ready to try it!
I scooped up a bite and joyfully brought it to my mouth. As I sipped at the flavors, I patted myself on the back. I had hit just the right notes of spice and sweet. A thrill jolted through me – until , disaster! There was a slight crunch. In case you’re wondering, there should be no crunch. It’s “butter” – crunchy “butter” is never a good thing.
I took another spoonful. Same result. Crunch. I had waited ten hours for crunchy apple butter. I had waited ten hours for something that was inedible. I contemplated all possible solutions, ways to salvage this batch of apple butter, but I could think of nothing. Yep, this Crock Pot full of potential deliciousness was garbage can bound.
So many times I eagerly wait for things, count on things, hope for things knowing that when they happen – if they happen, that something wonderful will occur because of them. And all too often, I am disappointed. ( In case you’re wondering, I’m not necessarily talking about apple butter anymore.) Maybe what I thought would happen as a logical outcome just didn’t, or maybe it did happen, and I was disappointed in that.
One of the things I routinely forget is that waiting can be its own reward. Waiting teaches patience and perseverance. Waiting teaches strength and reserve. Waiting teaches calm and peace. Or at least it can if I allow it to work in me, dropping my guard and resistance. (Again, not talking about ten hours for apple butter here, folks. )
Disappointment can be an amazing teacher, too, and an amazing gift from God. Learning to see something through a new lens is a gift given only when I don’t get what I originally thought I wanted. If everything turned out as I hoped or planned at the outset, I’d never learn that the world is not “Rachael-centric”, or that God is in control. When He takes my failed hopes and dreams and turns them into something amazing, something even better than what I’d known to imagine, then I get to see His power and glory in action. ( This is a gift I’ve been given a lot. I know what I’m talking about, my friends, and it’s only a little bit about apple butter.)
One of the most difficult parts is that I can’t always see where the “good” part of the waiting and disappointment comes. How is He going to use the sadness and hurt to a positive end? I know He promises that He will, but sometimes I just see the detritus of my life. (Kind of like wondering how can there be anything good about waiting ten hours for apple butter that gets thrown out.)
Years and years ago, I was in law school, a dream I had waited to accomplish for many years. Now, I do not have the temperament to be an attorney, never did, but it was my hope, my plan. Apparently, it was not God’s. Had I become an attorney I would have missed what was quite possibly the best eight minutes of my 2013 – small children presenting a Nativity pageant in the middle of the day during the work week. Mary and Joseph pulled a chair “donkey” to an unsympathetic Innkeeper holding a “No Vacancy” sign. A “stable” full of babies were costumed as animals complete with blackened noses and paper ears. Three tiny wisemen forgot or whispered their lines, and at the completion of the pageant, the kids old enough to talk sang “Away in a Manger.” It was wonderful!
The “lifeplan” God scripted was so very different from mine. His was much, much better, but I didn’t know that in the middle of my mess all those years ago. So, I guess it comes down to that terrifying “F” word – no, not the one that your mama made you eat soap for saying. The one that is even scarier. “Faith.”
As far as the crunchy apple butter, I’m still thinking about a positive spin. It’ll come to me eventually. It always does, and maybe that in itself is lesson enough.
The Unexpected Life 