infuse me

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?” - Matthew 5:13 (NASV)

I’d been around the table twice and had tried a bite of every offering: potato salad, macaroni salad, fruit salad. Little ham sandwiches. Barbecued beans. Jell-o. I’d even had a tiny, tiny slice of Mississippi Mud brownies. Enough was enough.

“Ready to go?” my husband asked. I nodded.

Our host, Scott, chased us down and blocked our exit. “Not so fast.” He steered us back toward the kitchen and pointed to a platter on the counter. “One bite,” he commanded.

I wasn’t hungry. Not even a little. If I’d wanted more to eat, I’d have circled the table again. Who leaves a potluck hungry?

But Scott insisted. “Come on. One taste won’t hurt you.”

So I obliged. I accepted one polite mouthful. And that one morsel, that savory, drippy, delectable nibble made me drop my purse and reach for a plate. The bite was moist and herby. Succulent. The juices slithered across my lips and trickled toward my chin. I became, suddenly, barbaric and mannerless; a she-Viking before a banquet, and quite shameless in my exuberance.

What was the object of such rapturous ramblings, such gluttonous ecstasy? Deep-fried turkey. I’d been skeptical when I heard of the unorthodox procedure, but that one bite won me over. A half hour in that vat of oil had fried the skin to crisp perfection, while the meat inside was beyond tender. I’d never tasted a turkey as good.

“How did you make it taste like this?” I asked.

Scott grinned and held up a syringe with a wickedly long needle. “Cajun spices, salt, garlic, herbs, butter. I used this and I showed no mercy.”

“More,” I grunted, thrusting my plate toward the proud chef. I ate until I couldn’t. And I’m not ashamed. I’d do it again, without apology.

Some things are just that good.

Lord, here I am--aware of my uselessness and in need of your touch. You’ve called me to a task. You’ve asked me to be salt and you’ve sent me out to woo and draw the lost to you. But I know my ineffectiveness. I am salt that has long since lost its flavor. I am bone-dry and tasteless.

Inject me, Lord. No matter the cost. No matter how I might protest. Do what you must to flavor me with your essence, so that all I meet will know that I’ve been saturated in your presence. Pierce me and fill me with your compassion, your patience, your mercy, your love. Make me a carrier of your goodness to a hungry world.

Infuse me, Lord.