Putting your neck on the line

Dear Mr. or Mrs. Turkey,

I apologize in advance for your fate. First of all because you have spent the last three months in my freezer since I chose not to use you during typical turkey devouring season. Secondly, because you like many things became an experiment today. You see, my bachelor’s degree is in chemistry, and I like to experiment, since I no longer have a lab to do so in and stay home with children and teach. So please forgive me for cooking you in my crock pot, for not knowing how to remove the giblets, or where your neck is stored. Believe me, this is much more traumatic for me than it is for you. I am a recovering vegetarian.

Sincerely,

The Chef

P.S. Please excuse my husband when he carves you. If I have left anything by mistake, it may surprise him and cause his knife to slip unexpectedly.

I want to live with reckless abandon, to show the Lord, that I can live a life fully devoted for Him without regards for the worldly consequences for Him. And, in my thirty-first year on this earth, I seem to be going through a midlife crisis (hope it’s my first). I have teased about a nose-ring, pink hair, and packing a bag and leaving for weeks on end to somewhere tropical.
   So, today I cleaned, dressed and cooked my first turkey. On a typical Missouri, muggy summer-like day of 93 degrees, yes, I cooked a turkey. The ten pound feathered friend had over stayed its welcome in my freezer and I was determined to rid myself of it this week. Unfortunately our lovely 75 degrees spiked to 93 today and the bird was thawed and ready to cook or fly south to the garbage. My beloved Eskie, was at my side the minute he heard the package hit the pan. He was nearly as bad as one of the Bumpus hounds from “A Christmas Story”. He watched, waited and salivated as I prepared the bird.
   The preparation was not as run of the mill or methodical as the cooks on TV make it out to be. I read the directions. I knew I had to remove the parts from the inside, but soon realized I needed to Google them. I started out pre-med in college, but a turkey neck inside the cavity of the bird and giblets? Shivers ran through my vegetarian-recovering body and my stomach turned to walk out of the kitchen doorway.
   I reached my hand into the slimy cavity felt around and found nothing. I checked the directions again. They assured me there should be two things, besides the gravy mix stuff…giblets and a neck. I felt reckless. What might I find? Ew! I watched a video on youtube. I can do it… I can do it… I was the little engine that could. I peered inside. The dog cocked its head to the side and smiled at me as only he could do. He pointed with his right paw encouraging, as if to say, “Go ahead and put your hand back in”. I think he wanted whatever I pulled out. There it was. How had I missed it before? Gosh, I thought. It sure looks like there’s more than just a neck there. A bigish bulge hung from one end of it. I assumed this was the giblets. I tried calling my mother, but when I couldn't reach her I threw caution to the wind, pulled the crockpot recipe back up on my smartphone, doused the bird with olive oil, garlic salt, rosemary, salt and pepper and squished it into the pot.
   The aroma in the air was heavenly if nothing else, and by 3 o'clock it was causing not only Barkley, my Eskie to drool, but the four kids to follow suit. By 6 p.m. we had a turkey, fully cooked in a crock-pot (corroborated by the meat thermometer.)
    Despite my success, I still chose not to carve the poor dear. I left that up to hubs. When I returned to the kitchen to check on his progress 15 minutes later or so, I nonchalantly asked what he had done with the apples and onions I had stuffed it with and if he had found anything else inside while carving. “Uh, yeah, the giblets. Aren't you supposed to remove those before you cook the turkey?”
   Yeah, but it still cooked. Nothing exploded. It was a Christmas miracle at the end of May and my kitchen was none the wiser. The house was a cool 72 degrees. The oven had not been overworked.
   Reckless abandon is defined as doing something with some sort of a blueprint or map, and a desired outcome, but not sure exactly what or how it’s going to look and with no regard for the consequence for what it might bring. For me, my cooking experiment was a bit of reckless abandon. While I did have a desired outcome: to create a delicious meal for my family without giving them salmonella, I went about it in a different way.
   We also have a blueprint or instruction manual on life: the Bible. And our BFF, Jesus, has a way of asking each one us to abandon everything to get to our desired outcome: Becoming Christ-like. The question is... are you willing to take that leap and face life with Christ with reckless abandon?
______________________________________________

Crystal A Nichols is a once-upon-a-time special education teacher, now stay-at-home mom, who enjoyes digging in the dirt with her children, fighting for the father and mother-less through the foster-care/adoption world. She spends time writing, praying in the Global Prayer Room at the International House of Prayer in Grandview, Mo., and sharing her love for reading and learning with her children. You can follow her on the web at www.crystalanichols.com/wordpress, twitter.com/CrystalANichols, and Facebook.com/CrystalNichols.