As the mackerdoodle discovered today that she LIKES cheese and doesn’t so much like sour cream, I began to ponder the gift that both her allergy, and now her healing has been to us. When the mackerdoodle was born I wasn’t a cook. People think I’m exaggerating when I say that all my recipes began “open the box,” but I’m not. Grocery shopping consisted of counting the number of meals in a given period of time (usually a couple of weeks or so) and buying enough boxes of Zatarain’s, Taco dinner kits, and Betty Crocker complete meals with a few frozen pizzas and bag of perogies, just for variety. If the mackerdoodle hadn’t had such a severe allergy that I had to learn to read every label of every product, I would still be cooking that way.
In the two years of living with a food allergy I have been forced to get acquainted with my kitchen and the fundamentals of cooking. I have gone from opening boxes and cans to making bread and fudge (mostly successfully) and cooking my own dried beans and soups. I can not only make a roux and home-made pizza dough, I do each at least once a week. Now that I’m acquainted with my kitchen, I’ve discovered that I quite like it – so much so that I’m going to keep doing most of those things even now that it isn’t such a necessity.
It’s got me thinking that most of those things about which we complain the most may be the biggest blessings in our lives. The gift of sanctification is often wrapped in sandpaper, and most of the sand paper packages in my life have had to hang around a lot more than two years before I could appreciate the blessing of the irritation.