Last night I was grilling cheese sandwiches. From three decades of mothering I still have a deep urge to get things done promptly, but melting the cheese takes a few minutes. The dishwasher was clean so to distract myself from the stove I emptied it. It felt like getting a chore done without using up minutes allotted to anything else, because I did need to wait nearby. I have scraped enough sandwiches to know that the allure of stepping into the sewing room for one seam has consequences.

My family likes cheese. They have opinions about Vermont extra sharp cheddar, and smoked gouda, saving feta for salads and brie for crackers.  John was pleased when he found out that blue is gluten free, having sighed over the article he read years ago claiming the mold is from bread. He skips the dressing and buys it by the pound. 

Emptying the dishwasher went quickly enough, and I set down the last fork just in time to flip the sandwiches. Golden brown,  just like they like it. 

I pondered the task God has of melting us. 

"And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit will I put within you. And I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and I will give you a heart of flesh." Ezekiel 36

Those are the words John and I sang to one another thirty six years ago on a grassy knoll in the morning sun. The notion of a stony heart felt purely theoretical back then. We were as mushy as jello, though being vegetarian we did not eat it. 

I notice that God distracts us, while we melt. We are hammered with a string of do thises and do thats. Often we are quite attentive to the task, as if separating the forks from the spoons is of great consequence. Benjamin certainly operates under that belief. 

But maybe the Real Event is happening across the room, where our hearts are softening over a refiner's fire.