I don’t know what it is about casseroles, but sometimes they fight me back.

Just the other day it was nearing dinnertime, and I only had a meager amount of energy (and brain power) to come up with something for dinner. Seeing as I had all of the ingredients for a tuna casserole, I decided to go with that, since I can pretty much make one with my eyes closed.  After sautéing the vegetables, adding the tuna, and stirring in the pasta with cream of broccoli, I was nearly home free. All that was left was to add the shredded cheese on top and throw it in the oven for a quick stint, and supper would be served.

I had nearly gotten to the bottom of the bag of cheese (which I had purchased earlier that day) when my eyes fell upon a most unwelcome sight: a little clump of green fuzz among the shreds. I searched what was left in the bag and found more. I googled which cheeses were safe to consume if they had a bit of mold and the Mayo Clinic advised against the one I was using.

You gotta be kidding me. What do I do now? Serve it and hope no one gets sick?!

Not a chance. I’m just not built that way when it comes to laying food before my family. For me, feeding is a form of love, and I do love my family enough to protect them—even when I am as tired and strung out as I was in that moment.

There was nothing to do but start a second casserole, which I did in zombie mode. Thankfully, I had enough ingredients in my pantry to pull together another one, although I did make some substitutions. It turned out tasty nonetheless. I even managed not to burn it in the oven despite forgetting to set a timer.

Looking back on the situation, I wish I had stopped and invited God into my weariness and asked Him for help. My sense of grim resignation was a step below the disciple Peter’s, who was still willing to connect with Jesus and do as He asked, even after a grueling night of fruitless work.  When Jesus had finished teaching the crowds from Peter’s boat, he commanded him to return to deep water again and “let down your net for a catch” (Luke 5:4 NASB).

Peter’s answer? Nothing snarky or cynical, just—to my ears anyway—exhausted. Surrendered because he’s too tired to put up a fight:

“Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing. But at your bidding I will let down the nets.”

(Luke 5:5)

The fact that Peter and his crew proceeded to catch so many fish that the weight of them began to sink both their and their partner’s boats, does not surprise me especially. Jesus performed wonders like that all of the time. Rather, Peter’s response to the miracle is what catches my attention. Peter falls at Jesus’ feet and says, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!” (Luke 5:8).

Does he not want to spend time with the miracle worker who just performed a great kindness for him? Or is he afraid that trouble will surely come if the likes of Jesus associates with the likes of him? The fact that Jesus replies, “Do not fear, from now on you will be catching men.” (Luke 5:10) leads me to believe that fear played a big part in Peter’s about-face from guilty skeptic to devoted disciple. Once that fear was dealt with, Peter was free to follow the One who would change his life forever and make him into one of the boldest witnesses for Jesus’ identity as the Son of God.

I wonder if Jesus would have shown something of Himself to me—if He would have filled my nets to the breaking point—if I had paused that evening before putting out into deeper waters for a second attempt. Yes, a miracle did happen that night in that I managed to make a second casserole in time for dinner without burning it. But the attitude of my heart wasn’t great.

I was mad at the grocery store, resentful of the extra drain on my energy, perhaps even a little peeved at God for letting this happen at all. Didn’t he know what this little snafu was taking from me? What every day of caring for a special needs child while having mental health issues of my own costs me?

Despite all that, would He have shown Himself?

The answer of course, is YES. And if I could get in touch with that “yes,” that incomprehensible truth of an infinite God walking straight into my experience, then I too would probably end up flat on my face before him.

A few days ago, I went to my podiatrist and she ended up snipping my toenails and filing them down. I confess, I squirmed a bit as she did this; she is a highly trained doctor and my feet are just that, feet—one of the most humble parts of my body.  Hours after the appointment, I heard a voice in my head quickly, quietly whisper: That was Me. And it just about undid me, as it must have undone the disciples when Jesus undertook the lowly task of washing their feet (see John 13). Noticeably, it is Peter who protests that Jesus not debase Himself by washing his feet. Then when Jesus insists, Peter does another about-face and demands that Jesus wash more of him: hands and head too. Whatever Jesus is up to, Peter wants to max out on it. Gone are the “depart from me” days, replaced by “I want it all.”

I wonder if one of the reasons I don’t invite God into my difficult moments is because I don’t know what He would do with them, and whether it’s something that will soothe or upset me in the end. In the story of the miraculous catch, those who hauled in all the fish immediately left their boats, nets and financial gain behind as if it all were nothing (Luke 5:11). The only thing they want to do is pursue the one that can turn a hopeless, head-banging-against-brick experience into the start of something wonderful. How can one compare the profits of that haul with this mysterious, power-wielding teacher who reverses devastating woe with a word?

I know of at least two cases when Jesus asked someone in need of healing what they wanted from Him before performing a miracle (see Matt. 20:32; Mark 10:51; Luke 18:35). The direct answer (“I want to be healed!”) provoked an equally direct response from Jesus. If I were to speak to God as if He were asking me what exactly I want in those gut-punching moments, would I, too, get a direct response? And what would I do with it? Follow Jesus further or take the money and run (so to speak) moving on from the miracle without fully absorbing it?

Friends, life is full of these casserole episodes. On the surface they don’t look like much, but they can connect, like moldy threads spreading through shredded cheese, to more serious issues and do real damage. If we are careless and harden our hearts in self-defense against the problems that life, we stand in danger of missing out on a miracle that was custom made for us. A miracle  crafted to open our hearts even wider to the Maker who loves us and wants to knit back together our fraying edges.

I’m so grateful God showed me the mold when I could have easily missed it. So glad He has equipped me with some skills in the kitchen to create and cope and create again. I guess what I want at this point is to be undone some more, to realize He is not looking down in judgment of my puny faith or foul attitude, but lovingly tends those parts of me that not even I am gung-ho about attending. Perhaps all I need to say when I at my most depleted is: I want You to have mercy on me, then let Him decide how He wants to do that. Presumably, I need not boss him around when He moves in my direction to help.

When we are tired, have mercy

When it’s all so unfair, have mercy

When we’ve spent our last dime

Emotionally, physically, mentally

Please do have mercy

And when our hearts threaten to become

Hard, either in anger or defense

Especially then, have mercy

Protect us from ourselves

And teach us Your ways

Which are always higher, better

And more loving than we know

Amen