Taste and See

When God's Goodness Met Me in Beautiful Food

My husband is the cook in the family. No, cook is too small a word—master of cuisine more aptly captures what he is. Even when we first started dating, I knew he had a special talent for culinary arts. I’d sit at his computer working on lesson plans and deliciously aromatic smells would waft in from the kitchen tantalizing my senses until I lost all focus.

The food I make can keep us alive, but Richard’s? The food he prepares is nothing short of a whole-body experience. The care he infuses into our meals and his attention to detail create a feast for the eyes as much as it is for the stomach.

And while I make conscious efforts to express sincere gratitude for him and his arrays of beautiful bites, it’s not enough to sustain me during his extended absences—like so far this spring, on the road 34 of 38 days.

I haven’t been feeling well the past two weeks. Whether spring allergies or a virus, I’m not sure, but what I do know is how I’ve dreaded dinner time. My children need fed and all I’ve wanted to do is go lie down. My brain enveloped by fog—too thick to think. I desperately want to be the voice of optimistic hope. To be inspiring. To be impervious to fatigue and viruses. Superwoman.
But as dinnertime looms, a voice whispers, just be honest. And honestly, I just want someone to take care of me.

It reminded me of a time when food served my spiritual body as much as it did my physical body.

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His Still, Small Voice

In 2016, I attended a three-day silent meditation retreat at a restored mansion in West Virginia with forty women I never spoke a single word to but felt indescribably supported by. It was a surprisingly difficult time for me, and yet an experience I hold with deep gratitude for how much it taught me about myself, my relationship with others, and my dependence on God.

I believe the idea of silence—particularly extended silence—is so unsettling for many people because it forces one to be alone with his or her thoughts and emotions. The same thoughts and emotions that are too often drowned out by the noise and busyness of ordinary life. The same thoughts and emotions that once get an opportunity to be heard become overwhelming for having had so long a lack of expression.

I had had a horrible first night of sleep. Thoughts and fears consumed me.
With no alarm clock, how will I know when to get up? What if I sleep through breakfast?
What if I snore and keep my roommates up—roommates who had been quiet as a breeze? How are the boys doing without me? I’ve never gone so long without having some kind of contact with them.
I shouldn’t be here. I should be home with my family.

I did not sleep through breakfast. In fact, when the tinkling bell sounded outside our bedroom door, I was already awake staring blankly at the ceiling wondering when I should get up and begin getting dressed.

By the time lunch was served, physical weariness had stepped aside as emotional unrest assumed center stage. Though surrounded by dozens of women, I felt incredibly lonely. All our needs taken care of, we were free to be present with ourselves and our environment. It was an unusual experience—not to be needed. I never knew how much I depended on it for meaning.

As we had been instructed to do upon first arrival, I took my first spoonful of soup slowly and mindfully. My full attention on the task of eating, my tastebuds were delighted by an explosion of flavor that awakened my being. It took actual restraint not to down the whole meal in great gulping slurps. It was nourishment for my body, yes, but more so a hug for my soul. The salad comprised of crisp greens and vibrant vegetables grown right there on the property. Food so beautiful it brought me to tears. Each bite a burst of sunshine and life. During my solitary meal, I felt my isolation acutely. It went deeper than just being separated from my family. I felt it in my bones—a suffocating heaviness. Felt ever more palpably in my time of inaction and quiet. The more deeply I felt, the more slowly I ate—concentrating on the wonderfully rich, earthy flavors of my meal.
Eating became a type of meditative prayer. I sensed the nearness of God in that food—His quiet, patient love ministering to me in the wilderness of my sorrow.

“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” Psalm 34:8

Tender and Gracious

I think about how often Scripture likens our need for God to being hungry and thirsty. (“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, O God.” Psalm 42:1)
How closely tied our spiritual and physical bodies are. The Lord created them both and therefore cares for them both. And oftentimes I find that He cares for one through the care of the other.

In First Kings 18, the Lord demonstrates His sovereign power in a spectacular display on Mount Carmel through His prophet, Elijah.
Israel had fallen into detestable idolatry under the leadership of King Ahab and his wife, Jezebel. Elijah proposed a challenge between the Lord and Baal. The 450 prophets of Baal danced and chanted and slashed themselves with swords and spears feverishly trying to “wake up” their god, but the impotent idol did nothing. At the calm prayer of Elijah, however, the “fire of the Lord fell and burned up the sacrifice, the wood, the stones and the soil, and also licked up the water in the trench.” (1 Kings 18:38)

After the Lord’s victory, Elijah had all the false prophets seized and slaughtered. Upon report of this, Jezebel sent out warning to Elijah: “May the gods deal with me, be it ever so severely, if by this time tomorrow I do not make your life like that of one of them.” (1 Kings 19:2) The very next verse reads: “Elijah was afraid and ran for his life.”

My first thoughts toward Elijah are critical and scoffing. “Elijah! You just witnessed a powerful miracle! Yahweh kicked butt and took names! Why should you now be afraid of Jezebel??”
The Lord’s response, however, is much more gracious and tender toward His faithful servant.

Elijah ran 80 miles south to Beersheba in Judah and continued yet another day’s journey into the desert—further isolating himself. Finally stopping under a tree, he prayed that he would die. “I have had enough, Lord. Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Which sounds to me like, I can’t do this anymore. I’m a failure. I don’t deserve to live. “Then he lay down under the tree and fell asleep.” (1 Kings 19:3-5)

Our friend feels incredibly alone and is deeply discouraged.

But instead of jabbing him in the ribs and scolding him (as my initial judgment would have done), the Lord meets him in his literal and emotional desert and offers him gentle touch and a meal.

“All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” He looked around, and there by his head was a cake of bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.” (1 Kings 19:5-6)
This happened a second time and Scripture tells us, “Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God.”
(1 Kings 19:8)

Thank you, God, for remembering the weakness of our flesh—that we are formed from dust, and for your kindness that ministers to us in our valleys of despair. Thank you for faithfully meeting us even in our failings with steadfast compassion and love.

God is so very good. I marvel at how so simple a word can encapsulate so much of His amazing character. “Taste and see that the Lord is good!” David exhorts. He doesn’t expect us to take his word for it; he tells us to go and experience it for ourselves. Go get a nibble of God’s goodness and see if you don’t agree!

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Bread of Life

During their 40 years of wilderness wanderings, God’s goodness rained down food from heaven to feed Israel’s body. And later, we learn that Jesus Himself came from heaven to be the Bread of Life—sustaining us for eternity. “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever.” (John 6:51)

Food is a delightful gift from the Lord. The varieties of flavors and textures are a treat for the senses. Because of its abundance, though, I think it’s easy to look to the provision and miss the Provider in times of emotional upheaval. I think it’s too easy to try to quiet the cries of our souls by feeding the rumbling of our stomachs.

While it’s important not to neglect the feeding of our bodies with proper nourishment, it’s equally important not to become spiritually starved. Jesus thwarted the devil’s temptation to turn stones to bread by saying, “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” (Matthew 4:4)
David declared God’s Word to be sweeter than honey (Psalm 119:103—this entire Psalm is a love letter to God’s Word) and the weeping prophet, Jeremiah, described God’s Word to be something he took pleasure in consuming: “When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart’s delight” (Jeremiah 15:16).
Likewise, Job emphasized the value of God’s Word when he said, “I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my daily bread.” (Job 23:12)

God is not only the Provider of food for our bodies, but also of nourishment for our souls. He truly is the Sustainer of life, in all its facets. The Lord’s kindness met me in that very dark and lonely place and fed me with more than just soup and salad. He saw my emptiness and filled it with Himself.
Whether we find ourselves in fields of abundance or in the scarcity of deep valleys, let us seek God who can provide what no one or no thing can—the all sustaining and soul-satisfying Bread of Life.

“For He satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul He fills with good things.”
Psalm 107:9