Coffee & Common Grounds

I’ve been cooking these past few days, getting meals ready ahead of the wintry weather we’re expecting. As I moved around the kitchen — gathering ingredients, pulling out utensils, chopping, stirring, seasoning, and letting pots simmer — the Lord began to nudge my heart. Somewhere in the middle of all that ordinary preparation, He reminded me that what I was doing in my kitchen is often what He is doing in my life. 

Every meal starts with ingredients. Some are fresh and ready; others need peeling, trimming, or a little extra work. And that’s exactly how we come to Jesus. We bring Him the parts of us that are healthy and whole, but we also bring the bruised places, the stubborn habits, the attitudes that need cleaning up. He doesn’t ask us to hide any of it. He simply asks us to place it all in His hands so He can shape it into something useful. 

As I reached for different utensils, I thought about the tools God uses to form us. His Word cuts away what doesn’t belong. Prayer stirs our hearts and keeps them soft. Fellowship sharpens us. Obedience applies the heat that brings everything together. And through it all, the Holy Spirit guides like a master chef who knows exactly what He’s doing, even when we don’t understand the process. 

Cooking also reminded me that every recipe has steps. You can’t skip them and expect the dish to turn out right. Jesus gave us a pattern to follow — humility, forgiveness, service, love, surrender. Dying to self means choosing His way over our own, trusting that His recipe leads to something far better than anything we could create on our own. 

And then there’s the heat. Nothing transforms without it. Raw ingredients stay raw until they encounter fire. In our lives, that heat often comes through trials, stretching, correction, or seasons where God is refining us. It’s not punishment — it’s transformation. Just as heat softens and blends flavors, the refining work of the Holy Spirit shapes us into the likeness of Christ.

When the meal is finally ready, it’s meant to nourish others. And that’s the part that settled deepest in my spirit. A life surrendered to Christ — a life that has died to self and been shaped by His hands — becomes nourishment to the people around us. Our patience feeds weary hearts. Our forgiveness restores relationships. Our compassion comforts the hurting. Our obedience strengthens the faith of those watching. 

All of this left me with a gentle but honest challenge:

Will I let Him prepare me the way I prepared those meals?

Will I bring Him everything — even the parts I’d rather hide?

Will I allow His Word and His Spirit to shape me?

Will I stay on the stove long enough for real transformation to happen?

Will I follow His recipe instead of insisting on my own? 

Preparing for a winter storm reminded me that God is always preparing us too. Just as we brace for cold winds and icy roads, we also face spiritual seasons that require readiness, surrender, and trust. The wintry weather outside may slow us down, but perhaps that’s the invitation — to quiet our hearts, to let the unnecessary fall away, and to allow Christ to form something new within us.

Winter has a way of stripping things back to what matters. Dying to self does the same. And as surely as spring follows every cold season, Christ brings new life to every surrendered place. 

May we step into this season — both the one outside our windows and the one within our hearts — willing to be prepared, refined, and made more like Him.