The First Tortilla Before Sunrise

The first tortilla reached the griddle at 4:43 in the morning.

He pressed it flat between two sheets, peeled the top sheet away, and laid the circle onto heat. No guest was awake. The dining-room lights were off. Only the refrigerator motor and the soft slap of dough answered him.

By seven, the basket would be empty and somebody would ask for more coffee without noticing the flour along his sleeve. By noon, the kitchen would be clean enough to look as though breakfast had made itself.

He loved God, but he thought spiritual purpose began after he clocked out. Purpose sounded like a microphone, a mission, or a visible kindness. It did not sound like forty identical circles before sunrise.

Perhaps you add the word just to your work too. I just cook. I just stock. I just clean. The word shrinks what your hands do until it seems too ordinary for God.

Whatsoever reaches the griddle

Paul writes into ordinary labor:

And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.Colossians 3:23

Before the dining room wakes, flour clings to the heel of your hand and the griddle gives its dry hiss. The first tortilla tells you practical things: whether the dough rested long enough, whether the heat is even, whether the press needs adjustment. It does not tell you whether your life is progressing.

You are fully accompanied by God at this worktable now. The written Word gathers whatsoever you do toward the Lord, and the Holy Spirit makes that direction living without promising better pay, a larger role, or human notice. Dawn does not have to become dramatic to become holy.

Pinch off the next portion by weight and feel. If the edge cracks, adjust the moisture according to the kitchen's safe method. If the center scorches, lower the heat. The first tortilla can be instruction without becoming accusation.

You have grace for the torn circle and skill for the next one. Scripture receives honest correction as service to Christ, and the Holy Spirit stays present in the second attempt without demanding perfection. Learning is not evidence that commission was absent.

The basket will serve people who never learn your name

A guest may lift one warm tortilla from beneath the cotton cloth while thinking about an early flight or a difficult meeting. They may never see the kitchen. Useful work often disappears into the ease it creates for someone else.

Keep the food-safe temperature. Use clean tools. Report equipment that is not working. Service to Christ does not spiritualize away health rules, breaks, or the limits of your assigned role. Love for the unseen eater looks like careful practice more often than a grand gesture.

Your hidden care is seen and received by the Lord. Colossians turns the task toward Christ, and the Holy Spirit bears witness in the quiet without making gratitude the payment. The guest owes you no testimony for the work to be whole.

Some mornings you will be grateful and strong. Some mornings your wrists will ache and your attention will need deliberate returning. “Heartily” is not a command to pretend delight. You can offer the strength actually available and ask for help when the batch exceeds it.

You are a beloved person with limits, not an appliance in the kitchen. The written Word places Christ above the labor, and the Holy Spirit guards your dignity when you work and when you stop. Rest does not betray the basket.