The soup I ate for dinner last night was way too salty. When I make soup I have learned to wait and add this flavor enhancer gradually because, once it’s too salty, there’s no turning back. One time, I accidentally left salt out of my bread dough. The yeast went to town with no salt to get in its way, quickly boosting the rising dough ten times its typical volume. After tasting the finished product, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. The bread didn’t even taste like bread. Flavorless.
When I was young and learning how to bake, I attempted to make a grasshopper pie (the chocolate crème de menthe version). I was quite excited until I tried it. My sleuth skills determined I had measured salt when I thought it was sugar. One cup of salt in a pie is hard to disguise. Anyone, even an adoring parent, would have extreme difficulty complimenting such a finished product.
A few years ago, when our family was on vacation near the ocean, I visited the farmer’s market where someone was selling locally-made sea salt. This is one way the small town sustained themselves many years ago so I was interested in learning more about how salty ocean water was evaporated. I asked if the salt works was open to the public so I could view the production. The kind lady hesitated, handed me her card, and said, “There’s really not much to see; it’s a small place, but you are welcome to contact me and set up a time to visit.”
Salt. Subtle, humble grains. Not much to see, yet important and necessary to life. To me, that’s what faith is like.