A Road Less Travelled

I was washing a cast iron skillet last night and listening to Lecrae. Desperate. Lecrae’s take on Psalm 51 of David when Nathan the prophet went to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba. I scrubbed the skillet and watched my hands do it while my thoughts wandered far and near.

The skillet was filthy, dirty, unusable. It had bits of beans and rice all over in various forms of cooked on. If we tried to do anything with this skillet it would ruin whatever we put into it. So it needed to be cleaned.

I picked up the steel wool and started scrubbing, scraping my spun metal again the skillet again and again. For a moment I wondered if it hurt. As I scrubbed I ran water over the skillet washing away all the bits I’d scrubbed off. I worked hard at it and I didn’t stop until it was clean.

Then I dried it and I spray it with oil so that it wouldn’t rust and so it would be dark again. My scraping and scrubbing seemed like it had washed some of the black right off. So I oiled it carefully to make it shiny again and ready to be used. I stepped back and looked at the skillet fondly, pleased, almost proud as I might be with a well-behaving child. And again I wondered if all the scrubbing hurt. And again I remembered that it was more than worth it.

The song ended and I moved on to my next chore. The skillet sat shining on the stove, ready for whatever use we might need it for.