Pet Peeve: Rock hard, frozen pads of butter at a restaurant.  I simply want to spread a thin layer of butter on my dinner roll, but instead I wind up with either of two things:

1. A large chunk of butter clumped onto one spot on my roll


2. Huge holes ripped into the roll from my attempt to spread said chunk of frozen butter

Typically, the roll is never hot enough to melt my spread.  The butter – obstinate and stubborn – sits there, taunting me, refusing to share itself with the rest of the roll.

“Curse you, frozen butter!” I mutter under my breath.  “Where is a tub of Country Crock when I need it?”

I recall a lunch appointment with a friend several years ago.  She took the frozen pad of butter – the one neatly wrapped in its sub-zero, thermal gold foil – and then stuck it behind her bent knee, pinching it between her calf and hamstring!

What in the world was she doing???  You guessed it: she was warming the butter.  She was prepping the butter so it would spread better.

What am I learning in this?  There is something very good that happens to a cold, hard heart when it is paired with a bended knee.

As I submit to humble acts of service, my heart is more warmed up to the idea of reaching out to others, soaking into their lives, adding God flavors.