It sits in the bottom of my pots and pans drawer. It does not get used often these days. In my home, it’s made a pot of soup or two. In my grandmother’s kitchen, it was put into use regularly. I would even venture to say weekly. Filled to the brim to bless her family. Carried carefully to different destinations to bless those who were in need. Emptied into many a bowl providing a tangible gift of love. A soup pot can be so much more than a soup pot. It can be a simple expression of love.
Who do I know that demonstrates loving service?
My grandmother’s love language was shown through her hands in her kitchen. The kitchen was filled with the delicious smells of favourites. The table was always full. Full of children and grandchildren. Full of food. Simple food that needed to stretch to feed all those who pulled up a chair. Full of favourites that we only got at Grandma’s house. It was all home made with love in every stir of the spoon. It wasn’t the words “I love you” that we heard from our Grandma, but it was shown to us over and over again. And because she showed it so well, we knew we were loved. Deeply loved.
Who do I serve with love? It’s not just who I serve, it’s serve with love. Sometimes I serve because I’ve signed up for it, it’s a box to tick. Other times I serve regretfully. I’m not serving in delight but out of duty, even frustration. There are times when the act of service feels like no work at all. It’s full of joy and delight. I want to serve, fully engaged, brimming with love more often. I want that kind of service to become a habit.
My acts of service may never involve soup, or a soup pot. I hope and pray that as I serve I will be the conduit of love to others that I have been called to be. I have been the recipient of great love. May I be that generous with my love to others.