"Would you like a batch of sourdough? It makes delicious muffins and loaves."
I nearly tripped as I backed away from the well-meaning gift bearer. My girlfriends all fled the scene with a smirk, but somehow before I could craft a polite 'no thank you', I held a warm, smelly container in my hands, complete with bonus recipes. "Add raisins, chocolate chips, or dried apricots for a different flavour."
It's still sitting in my freezer. Nothing against the delicious cinnamon topped, warm from the oven muffins, but my kids have made it clear they're tired of the growing, overflowing dough on my countertop.
Sourdough reminds me of my stinking thoughts. It starts out with an innocent thought like 'why am I so tired?' or 'what will happen if my plan fails?' or 'what will my boss say if...?' However, rather than taking that thought out and exposing it to fresh air, I stir it every day. Soon it begins to grow. Then every few days I toss in a few more negative thoughts such as 'maybe it's a disease I have'. Before long I have a mess of worry that begins to overflow. Fear stinks. Anxiety carries an offensive aroma.
"Casting all your care on Him for he cares for you," (I Peter 5:7). If only I would think of this first, rather than allowing the yeast of anxiety to grow.
Today I shared a worry with a friend of mine. She immediately shared her perspective on it. She had a line of reasoning I hadn't thought of. New information and knowledge opened my eyes to another way of thinking. My worry shrunk. Instead of stirring it and adding more yeast, I left the lid off and open to the fresh air. Now it has no chance to fester.
It reminds me of lifting a rock and watching the insects scatter. They don't like the light nor the breeze. Worry starves when we add the truth of God's light and the wind of His spirit.
My sourdough thoughts were exposed by my friend. God used her to share truth and light. I would like to return the favour. I wonder, would she like some frozen sourdough? I hear you can use applesauce in place of oil...
© Pam Mytroen