When you burn food, you apparently ruin it by overcooking. Too much time, too much heat, and the thing burns. This morning, I nearly incinerate the bread in the toaster oven as I attempt to make toast for my daughter. I'm not paying attention, and before I know it, the bread loses that delicious browned toasty color and suddenly adopts the despair of burnt black waste.
But I'm standing by a grandmother who, among millions of other wise lessons, teaches me not to waste anything. I pick up that toast and consider the truth that it's only surface damage. I can salvage something good from this disaster.
I scrape the charred landscape to reveal the real thing underneath: perfect toast.
It only looked like disaster. It only seemed like despair.
These things about my day, my life, that feel like something burnt beyond repair might be perceived differently. Underneath the surface, the true good thing remains. I ask God to run the butter knife over the landscape of my life, clear that surface damage, and let the real me shine through.
Living with flair means that when I feel like burnt toast, I remember what's unseen beneath the surface.