But that isn’t really the disastrous part of the story; maybe disasterous isn’t the right word, maybe humbling is what I searching for. You see, I had planned to take the soup to two church friends—an older woman who doesn’t get out much, and a woman who had just had major surgery.
“Poor choice, Bobs.” In my enthusiasm to cook a soup a day for a year, I had lost track of who might be eating the soup. I had become fixated on my life and my project, not on that greater life project--doing unto others.
What’s the expression? Eating humble pie? Well, I took the humble soup on my visits, explaining my inconsiderate spicy choice. I told my friends that I didn’t want to throw the soup away, but that they were welcome to do just that, and that there was always a chance that they might actually love really spicy.
It’s the thought that counts, but next time I’ll be more thoughtful.