Spatula

Steven Malcolm's "Spatula" turns an everyday kitchen tool into a picture of divine intervention: God flips the plan, scrambling human expectations the way a spatula turns food in a pan. The song opens with a hand that is taken and never released, a heart transformed, a pure spirit renewed. From there it moves into personal testimony — a stressful stretch in the Midwest, a wife struggling, a young son being raised, the garden watered with effort while all glory goes to the Heavenly Father. The canvas was painted perfectly but abandoned, then apprehended; the singer steps out of the boat and receives the family he never deserved. Later verses confess a past of self-made religion, a crown worn proudly until misery nearly drowned him, and a lifesaver who became family and made doubt vanish. The chorus returns to the same steady anchor: lifted from darkness, storms calmed, faith enough to walk. The closing lines lean on Paul's language about being crucified with Christ and no longer living, asking to be washed in love and held close. The tone is celebratory and raw, mixing gratitude with streetwise imagery and a clear-eyed admission that only God can take a broken soul and refuse to let go.