The Recipe Card That Never Fed Anyone

Margaret Chen kept a wooden recipe box on her kitchen counter in Portland, Oregon — a gift from her grandmother. Inside were over two hundred handwritten cards, each one stained with the fingerprints of a woman who had fed her family through the Depression, through wartime rationing, through decades of Sunday dinners after church.

Margaret loved those cards. She organized them by season. She photographed them for Instagram. She told friends about her grandmother's legendary pot roast, the one that made grown men weep at church potlucks in 1957. She even framed the card for her dining room wall.

But Margaret never cooked a single recipe.

The cards sat in their box, admired and untouched, while she ordered takeout three nights a week. She possessed her grandmother's wisdom without ever letting it reach her hands, her kitchen, her table. She knew every ingredient by heart but had never once tasted the fruit of doing.

James understood this temptation intimately. "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says." The Greek word he uses — poietes — means "a doer, a maker, a poet of action." James is not asking us to admire God's Word from a distance. He is asking us to get flour on our hands. To let the truth move from the page into the Christ-shaped rhythm of our daily lives, where obedience becomes nourishment — not just for us, but for everyone gathered at our table.