💛 Some Things Are Worth Letting Simmer

We really thought winter was done with us.

Christmas passed and the cold loosened its grip just enough to confuse us. A few warm days and we were back in T-shirts. Flip flops in the middle of winter. Windows cracked open like this was normal now. Like we hadn’t learned better.

Global warming or not, our bodies believed it.

And then the temperature dropped again.

Not gradually. Not politely. Just a snap back to reality. Back to adjusting the thermostat. Back to letting the faucets drip overnight so a pipe wouldn’t burst. Back to remembering how quickly comfort can disappear.

We do this kind of adjusting all the time.

One minute relaxed. The next bracing. Expected to pivot without warning. To keep up even when the conditions change underneath us.

For a lot of us, Sunday is the only place where that pressure eases.

Or at least where we hope it will.

Growing up, Sunday Service wasn’t confined to a church building for me. Church mattered, yes. But it wasn’t the whole thing. What shaped me just as much happened after.

Sunday continued at my grandmother’s house.

Food already going. Some things started days ahead. Beans soaking. Greens cleaned and waiting. Flavors given time to deepen before anyone sat down to eat.

We helped where we could. Or we sat at the kitchen table and talked.

Picking beans meant conversation. Pulling collard leaves from thick stems meant listening. Rolling them tight before cutting meant slowing down enough for stories to finish themselves. No one rushed us. No one rushed the food.

Sunday dinner was never efficient. It was intentional.
It was filling in ways that had nothing to do with being full.

My grandmother is gone now. And still, Sundays ask something different of me than the rest of the week.

Sunday is my rest day. The day I cook. The day I move slower on purpose. The day I let my body come back to itself before Monday shows up early and loud.

No pews. No program. Just care practiced in real time.
This is what Sunday Service looks like for me now.

Sometimes I worry that choosing this kind of slowness will cost me something. That rest will make me fall behind. That not rushing will read as not trying hard enough.

I don’t have that resolved.

What I do know is this: her hands didn’t disappear. They became mine. And I’m using them now to steer my life toward health without trading in my Southern roots. Without sanding down the flavor. Without pretending nourishment ever had to be detached from memory or love.

This letter stands for presence over urgency.
For devotion that lives in the body, not just belief.

Maybe your Sunday Service doesn’t look like mine.

Maybe it’s cooking something that takes time.
Maybe it’s sitting at a table longer than planned.
Maybe it’s calling someone over instead of doing everything alone.
Maybe it’s letting one day a week belong to you before it belongs to anyone else.

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🕯️ The Becoming Line
Some things come together slowly on purpose.

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I’m glad you’re here this Sunday.

Until next Sunday.

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Sunday Chili

This is one of the ways I practice Sunday Service.

Below is how I make it. You’re welcome to cook along, or just read and keep it.

This is what I make when the weather snaps back and my body wants something steady.

I start the way my grandmother did. With patience.

I bloom the spices early. That part matters to me.
It’s how the kitchen starts to smell like intention.

This is a lighter, healthier chili the way I make it. If you use regular ground beef instead of lean meat, be sure to drain it well. The same goes for bacon. Regular or thick cut both work, just drain the excess fat before moving on.

What I Use

• 5 strips center-cut bacon, chopped

• 1 large yellow onion, diced (about 1 cup)

• 1 red bell pepper, diced

• 3 cloves garlic, minced (about 1 tablespoon)

• 1 lb ground meat (I usually use 96% ground turkey, but beef or a meat alternative works)

• 1 tablespoon brown sugar

• 2 tablespoons chili powder

• 1½ teaspoons smoked paprika

• 1 teaspoon cumin

• 1 teaspoon onion powder

• ¾ teaspoon ground black pepper

• ½ teaspoon salt

• ⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper

• 1¼ cups low-sodium beef broth

• 1 (15 oz) can dark red kidney beans, rinsed and drained

• 1 (15 oz) can black beans, rinsed and drained

• 1 (14.5 oz) can fire-roasted diced tomatoes, undrained

• 1 (7 oz) can fire-roasted green chiles

• ¼ cup tomato paste

How It Comes Together

I start with the bacon in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat and let it cook until crisp. I remove it and set it aside, leaving about a tablespoon and a half of the grease in the pot.

The onion and bell pepper go in next. I let them soften for a few minutes, until the kitchen starts to smell like something’s happening.

Then the garlic. Just long enough to wake it up.

I add the ground meat and break it up as it cooks. When it’s about halfway browned, I add the brown sugar and all the spices. I stir and let them bloom right there with the onions, garlic, and meat. I don’t rush this part.

Once everything smells right, I add the broth, beans, fire-roasted tomatoes, green chiles, tomato paste, and the cooked bacon. I stir it all together and bring it to a brief boil.

After that, I lower the heat and let it simmer, uncovered, for about an hour. I check on it now and then, but mostly I let it be. This is the kind of food that knows what to do if you give it time.

I serve it warm, usually with sour cream, shredded cheddar, and corn chips.

This is the kind of dish that makes you think about people.
Who taught you how to cook.
Who you talked to while your hands were busy.

If you decide to make it, you’re welcome to reply and tell me how it went. What it reminded you of. Who came to mind while it simmered.

And if today isn’t the day, that’s okay too.

Some things are worth letting simmer.