The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
The cottage was cold when I woke up; I threw a sweater over my shoulders and made my way to the kitchen. A stew would be good tonight, I thought to myself. I poked around in the fridge and found the vegetables I wanted—parsnips, turnips, carrots, onions, sweet potatoes, and rutabagas—along with some grass-fed beef. I took my time peeling and chopping everything, savoring the quiet of the morning.
Hours later, I was curled up on the chaise lounge working, when the stew’s heady aroma found its way to me. It reminded me of fall, of gathering together to share a meal. A melancholy welled up in me. I missed my children. “God, I’m a bit lonely,” I said. “I’m cooking a gorgeous stew and there isn’t anyone to share it with.” God started to reply but a knock on my kitchen door interrupted Him. “Coming!” I hollered down the hall. I opened the door to find Tom, my elderly neighbor. I motioned for him to come inside.
“Whatever that is cooking sure smells good,” he said, as he took his hat off.
“Would you like to come by later and join me for dinner?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” he asked, twisting his cap in his hands.
“Heavens no. I’d love the company,” I said. “But what can I do for you now? Did you stop by for anything in particular?”
“No, not really. I was driving by and something made me want to stop in and see how you are doing,” he said. I smiled because I knew who had sent him.
“Thank you,” I said to both Tom and God. I opened the lid on the crockpot and stirred the stew, looking forward to setting the table for two.