Slow and Low: A Lesson From the Soup Pot

This is now my third time turning my computer back on tonight. I keep trying to head up to bed, yet the call to write is so strong I can’t ignore it. It’s 11 PM — after a long, rainy day inside with three kids — and still, here I am, sitting in the quiet of the night with my warm cup of golden milk beside me.

Maybe it’s the stillness that softens my nervous system, or maybe it’s the ritual — the golden milk, the dim lights, the sound of rain — that invites my spirit to settle. Either way, I laugh to myself because what I feel called to write about is… soup.

Yes, soup.

But not just any soup — a slow, melt-in-your-mouth beef stew that I started at 11 AM and didn’t serve until 7 PM. By the time we sat down to eat, every bite was rich, tender, and full of flavor. And as I stirred that pot throughout the day, a quiet message began to unfold: slow and low.

Just like life.

We’re entering the season of comfort — the time to tend to ourselves, to come inward and rest. Rest and nourish. Two words that keep echoing through me tonight.

As I sit here, a vision comes through: a field of flowers cycling through the seasons. Seeds planted. Soil tended. Sprouts emerging. Blooms opening, then falling. Stems yellowing, browning, returning to the soil — waiting to begin again.

We are in that moment now — the stillness before rebirth. The invitation to release what no longer serves, to let die what’s meant to compost into wisdom.

We live in a world obsessed with the bloom. The constant growth. The perpetual “doing.” But that’s not how life works — and truthfully, how boring would that be? The richness lies in the full cycle — the rest, the surrender, the quiet tending.

And the synchronicity didn’t escape me — starting my soup at 11 AM and sitting here writing about it at 11 PM. A full circle. A reflection of the cycle itself.

So, my loves, I invite you to look within:
- What is ready to return to the soil?
- What fears or stories are you ready to release so new seeds can take root come spring?

For me, it’s the fear of not going for it. The voice that whispers, “Who am I to dream that big?” But I am the only one standing in my own way. And let me tell you — my dreams are wild, they scare me, but that’s how I know they’re true. That’s how I know I’m growing beyond the old containers.

And because no reflection would be complete without something nourishing for the body, here’s the recipe that inspired it all.

Slow & Low Beef Stew (Rainy Day Comfort)

Ingredients:

• 2 lbs. stew meat

• 2–3 carrots, chopped

• 2–3 stalks celery, chopped

• 1 small pack mushrooms, sliced

• 1 onion, diced

• 1 small can tomato paste

• 4–5 cups bone broth (homemade if you can)

• 3–4 cloves garlic, minced

• Herbs of choice (thyme, oregano, salt, pepper)

• A dash of soy sauce

• A splash of Worcestershire sauce

• A capful of apple cider vinegar

Instructions:

1. In a large pot over medium heat, sauté your veggies for 3–5 minutes.

2. Add stew meat to lightly brown.

3. Stir in tomato paste until everything is coated.

4. Add herbs, bone broth, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and apple cider vinegar.

5. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce to low and simmer for several hours.

Taste along the way — adjust your herbs, add what feels right. Maybe a can of black beans. Maybe zucchini. That’s the magic of soup: you can’t mess it up.

Closing Reflection:
As your stew simmers and your home fills with warmth, may you too soften into this season.
May you let things cook slowly — in life, in healing, in dreams — trusting that what’s meant for you will come together in its own divine timing.

Slow and low, my loves. Slow and low.

In Peace, Love and Service,

Rebecca