I have a salsa issue. Yep, you read it correctly, no need to go back. I have a serious salsa issue. We’re not talking about the spicy music kind of salsa here; we’re talking about the throw a bunch of stuff into a food processor, hit the button and voilà, the great eats kind of salsa.

Let’s go back in time a little. About a lifetime ago, I remember bringing my two very young children over to a friend’s house, which we often did as I recall. It was another famous Randy and Tammie get-together. We would hang out, enjoy each other’s company, play some games, and of course, enjoy whatever food we all happened to put on the counter as we walked in.

A memory that’s deeply ingrained in my memory is that of Randy standing behind the counter next to his little food processor. He’d toss some ingredients into the machine, let it spin for a minute or two, and every time he hit the stop button some magical concoction flowed from it. I thought Randy was the Wiz-Kid-Chip-Dip-King. No one could make better dips than Randy. I was a fan. He never whipped up the same thing twice, and every time it was fantastic.

Time went on, Randy and Tammie moved away, kids grew up, and life as we knew it morphed into something different. About ten years later, I had the privilege of being invited to Randy and Tammie’s new home for dinner. True to form, out came Randy’s food processor. In a moment’s time, we were feasting on some type of appetizer to die for. I was still a fan.

For seventeen years, every time I’d walked by a food processor I’d wanted one. However, I never seemed to buy one and bring it home. Randy had made it look so easy. All he did was toss in some stuff he happened to have ln the counter and push a button, instant yum. How hard could it be? So, one day, I did it. I was wandering through Wal-Mart, and I put one of those crazy machines in my cart. I’d waited long enough to make my own savory salsa or decadent dip. Minutes after I got home, I jumped on the internet and found a salsa recipe. I ran to the grocery store, got everything on my list, and headed back home to whip up a dip to make Randy proud. I put all the stuff in the processor and pushed the button. At this point, I was so excited I could hardly open the chip bag.

To my disappointment, my salsa was horrible. It was definitely not chip worthy.  I’m not saying it was bad in just a bad sort of way; it was bad in an awful sort of way. My daughter took one taste and spit it in the sink. That was strike one. Yes, there’s more. Without going into too much detail, let’s just say it was the same song, second (and third) verse, a whole lot louder, but not much worse. My poor daughter. 

I suddenly realized there was much more going on than met the eye. After three failed attempts, I determined Randy must have owned a magic food processor. This was the only possible answer. It made perfect sense at this point. It didn’t matter what he threw in the machine. It always, magically, created a masterpiece. This excuse also lightened my burden of failing to produce something edible for my salsa hungry seventeen-year-old daughter who was anxiously waiting for something fabulous.  After my third attempt, I sent Randy and Tammie a letter asking for a referral.

All joking aside, I finally did figure out Randy’s real magic. It was his experience, and knowledge. It was the time and effort Randy had spent in the kitchen learning to cook and learning to operate his little food processor that made his dip gift look so easy. He didn’t just wake up, dig through his refrigerator, and end up with a blue-ribbon creation. And those ingredients on his counter when I walked into his kitchen didn’t just happen to be there. They were there because he knew exactly what he was doing.  Randy’s superb culinary skills in action created those mouth-watering masterpieces.  He’d done the job a thousand times, or variations of it. He had spent time building a foundation of knowledge to determine what would work and what would not.

We can be so hard on ourselves, so critical, and so impatient when starting a new adventure. We decide we’re going to try something new, but we expect to be an expert immediately.

Our lives are like that cool little food processor. I hate to say it, but the saying, “garbage in – garbage out” is correct. Christians beware, be diligent, be patient, and be faithful. Don’t throw a bunch of junk in the blender and expect a perfect outcome. Do your homework. It’s not the blender; it’s what we’re throwing into it that makes all the difference.

This is what going to church, Sunday school, and small groups are all about. We need to build our knowledge by studying God’s word and learn by the examples of Godly people. We need to fill our minds with God’s instructions, warnings, and promises. Knowledge of Christ is incredibility powerful.

I know we’ve heard this verse a million times, but it’s still one of my favorites.

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things. Whatever you have learned, or received, or heard from me, or seen in me, put it into practice, and the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:8-9.

If you don’t know which pepper is the hot pepper, you are most likely going to get burned.

Wishing you joy and peace,

 Lorrie