Getting Antsy

Did you know that this time of the year is not actually the Christmas season?

Nope.

I have been reminded in a couple of ways lately that this part of our yearly calendar is actually Advent.

Now, before you yawn and close the page, bear with me. I know, it's a boring word, and most of us don't know what it means and perhaps couldn't care less. "Cut the chatter; I've got 15 gifts to buy and wrap, 3 Christmas programs to prep for, and 70 dozen Christmas goodies to make, so I really don't care that I use the wrong semantics when I tell people goodbye."

I get that, really I do - but there's something worthwhile to realizing the difference, something that could revolutionize the way you experience this holiday. I know this because it is happening to me.

So, Advent. What is it?

Wikipedia, the almost-all-knowing, says, "Advent is a season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas. The term is an anglicized version of the Latin word adventus, meaning 'coming'."

Or, in normal English, "a coming into place, view, or being; arrival; the coming of Christ into the world." (Thank you, Dictionary.com!)

Traditionally, this is symbolized through the lighting of candles, more being lit as the celebration of Christ's birth draws nearer, showing the light of the Word coming into a world dark with sin.

It's a nice little exercise, but like a lot of churchianity, it can become rote when we get too busy to think about what's going on around us - or even what it is that we are playing an active role in.

Think about the world that Jesus came into:
There was no New Testament. The people of Israel had their stories of God's Creation, passed down from Adam (he probably got it from God's own mouth!), canonized by Moses. They knew the who and where of where their people had come from, how God had called them as a nation out of Egypt, given them the law, and promised the beautiful gifts of His presence. They had learned, from the cradle, of the judges and kings; of idolatry and exile; of prophets of doom and hope and warnings and promises. And then? And then there was nothing. For three- or four-hundred years, there was a heavenly - yet how lonely - silence. The Romans swept through on the heels of the Greeks and became the most recent model of oppression. The proud Jewish people once again had to bend to the will of an earthly power rather than their all-powerful God and had to submit to the indignity of the conquered rather than living up to their dream of independence and freedom. I have to think that somewhere in there, children watched parents and grandparents living their faith and yet receiving no compensation, no assurance of being heard, and started to wonder if maybe God had forgotten to listen, forgotten His promises, forgotten His people. But they kept trying, kept waiting, kept hoping.

And then.

And then God came. He showed up in a way that few expected, but He was there all the same. He rescued them from chains they did not know they had but that had consequences extending far beyond the reach of the Roman empire. He brought freedom from sin rather than from earthly problems, and He formed a people out of all peoples rather than regathering anyone with a drop of Hebrew blood in their veins.

He didn't meet their expectations, but how far better was His plan! Salvation for all, not some; blessing for the many, not the few.

And so we have Advent, anticipation leading up to the full-blown presence of God on earth, the Divine becoming tangible, the Creator amid the creatures.

But that's not all!

Think about our world today:
Here we are almost 2,000 years since the final "Amen" was written, and we have the 66 books. We know God's great story. The Holy Spirit indwells us while Christ Himself intercedes for us before the Father who has good planned for us. But how dark it can be here in the day-to-day! The present is so real, so demanding, so all-consuming, that our mansions in the New Earth acquire the feel of a fairy tale - it feels good to think about it, but it doesn't seem to make a difference in our cleaning and laundry and jobs and vacations. Besides, faith is rapidly leaching out of vogue; the public mention of Christ is being ground out of what is permissible and decent - even during the Christmas season! Say anything except that Christ came to save us, the voices scream, Love anything rather than the Trinitarian God!

And then.

And then, God will come again. Someday, we will look back on it from a beautiful future, but for now we get to live in the anticipation of divine intervention. The story was begun in the Old Testament and brought to fruition in the New. We were even told the ending. But today, we get the privilege of living in the tension of the already-not yet. We are already saved; justice is not yet fully wrought. We have already seen God on earth; He has not yet come to make His final dwelling here.

Remember Christmases as a little tyke? Recall that feeling of nearly jumping out of your skin to see those presents under the tree! And you knew that some of them, a few of them, were wonderful gifts just waiting for the moment when you could unwrap them and then they would belong to you! There were the ones that filled out the paper in a shape suspiciously like the doll/Legos you'd been begging for; then there were the ones that gave no hint of their contents, yet beckoned promisingly with bows and bright paper of the excitement they contained.

That is what Advent is. It's knowing that there is a future planned for you full of good gifts. It's knowing that soon, God is going to break in on our humdrum life. It's knowing that these little glimpses we get now are just general shapes and shadows of the glories to come.

He has come, and He is coming again.

That is Advent.

Christmas Decorating

I was so excited to start Christmas decorating this year! Putting up our own ornaments in our own home . . . wow! It felt like an adventure to figure out where I wanted what, and my husband was so kind as to participate - it made for a relational memory that did my feminine heart good.

Except, I knew we were going to have a bit of a problem with the Christmas tree. The problem looked something like this:

Yes.

I had pulled our tree up from storage a few days earlier to see how Louis would interact with it, and it wasn't long before he let me know.

He had so much fun scratching that "bark" and rolling its papery substance around in his mouth! And of course he had to climb it once and tip it (I was surprised that it was only once, actually).

As you can imagine, I was starting to see visions of broken, bitten, scratched, and otherwise destroyed Christmas ornaments that represented many happy memories in my life.

Houston, we had a problem.

Well, as my husband is so fond of proudly saying, I am an engineer's wife, and with a little thought and a little of his muscle, we engineered ourselves a solution.

Ladies and gentlemen, our cat-proof Christmas tree!

You may notice in the foreground a small, carpeted structure meant for cats' enjoyment and relaxation. Louis had never paid it a whole lot of attention, but it is now his favorite place to sit, eye-level with the lace tree skirt, looking wistfully at what he cannot have.

Of course, I supervise his visit with the tree (he's already stolen one of the pine cones from off the skirt), but - all things considered - I do believe we have found the best of both worlds: that of owning a cat and an intact Christmas tree!

Feeling Kist

Life circumstances are such lately that I have been able to witness anew what it means to see God's provision. I believe the math goes something like this:
Need + Prayer = Opportunity

I am so used to finagling things to work out - I need something, so I find it on sale, on line, whatever. Well, with adjusting to a home mortgage, I'm learning that I can't always just go out and buy something. (Wouldn't my husband be glad to read those words!)

I mean, God doesn't want to bother with the little affairs of running a household, right? Sure, He cares how I spend my time, that I have a Bible time, that I pray, that I treat my husband well, etc., etc. But how much does He really get down into the inanities of the workings of my life?

Well, I'm learning in a whole new way that He delights to give us good things. Think of that! God isn't all about taking things away from us; He gets excited when He gets to bless us! I've probably taken away a lot of His opportunities to bless me by my ability to go get what I want/need. (Now there's a sobering thought.)

One way I saw this was in my desire for a simple little kitchen tool. Being a newly-wed, there are still a few gaps in my household equipment, and one that was noticeable was an old-fashioned Kitchmajig. My mom had one, and I had used it often for cooking, and I was missing it.

So, I found it on Amazon! Hooray! But, for some reason, I could never justify adding it to my order.

So I went without.

I had thought about it on and off for awhile when, one weekend, I was perusing the city garage sales. Wouldn't you know it, in a box of free kitchen items lay a humble kitchmajig.

I praised God for that funny little blessing.

I don't know that I even thought to ask Him for one.

Another time, I was wishing for a good Dutch broom. We were cleaning out our shed on the back of our property with a simple lonely broom, and I couldn't help think how much easier it would be with a push broom.

Later, I was downtown in the hardware store. The clearance tables beckoned, and I happened to notice a small version of a push broom leaning against it. I shrugged and figured it wouldn't hurt to check the price tag . . . and I think God must have laughed at my expression when I read the word "FREE"!

It turned out that the broom head had been laying around the store for a while, and they had a regular broom that had broken, so they took the stick from the latter and stuck it with the former, and - bada bing, bada boom - God had a broom for me.

Okay, so they're stupid little things. But every time I use my kitchamajig, and especially every time I see that little Dutch broom, I thank God for caring about my petty little needs and wants and for stooping down from His throne to surprise me with His generous abundance.

Turkey Wrastlin'

We are hosting Thanksgiving at our very own home this year. My parents and some friends and relatives will be present, and I am having a blast planning and prepping! I keep feeling like I am four years old again, playing house with my sister, pulling Mom in to sample our “supper” on plastic dishes with plastic spoons and – if we were really getting into it – real, actual water poured from a plastic tea pot into plastic cups.

Now, I’ve never cooked a turkey, and everyone knows that Thanksgiving needs a turkey.

My experience in that arena of cookery includes watching my dad prepare a turkey and reading the how-to page from a Google search on the topic. But when I hauled the fifteen-pound, semi-frozen bird from my fridge into the kitchen sink to begin ministrations upon it, I was only partially daunted.

I originally planned to just bake the fowl – the KISS principle for my original foray into this art. But then I found a page online about dry-brining a turkey. That sounds easy enough, I thought, and the plan got just a little more elaborate.

Back in my kitchen, having freed it from its plastic jacket, I stared down the naked bird. Pull out the neck and giblets, the website had said.

Ok.

The first hiccup came in the form of a metal band holding the ankles (do turkeys have ankle? It was the part of the legs where the ankles would be) together. I pushed and pulled and pried and prodded.

No dice.

I thought about calling my husband for help. But he had a cold, so I didn’t want him to have to get too close to the cooking. But it would be thoroughly baked after all, and it’s not like I need to worry about the turkey catching it! I smiled at the thought.

But I decided that I could – I would – conquer this beast.

Finally, as the bird slipped and slid around the sink, as the band weakened or as I got the right leverage, I bent it enough to force one leg out and then the other.

Victory!

I reached into the carcass, giving a tug to what looked like a neck. It didn’t move. Gingerly moving further in, trying to keep my shirt sleeve raw-bird-free, I pried around it with my fingers, loosening what was still frozen until the bird stood before me empty.

I rinsed him (her?) until he was nearly guaranteed to be the best-rinsed bird served up this Thursday and laid him in his final resting place foil pan.

Loosening the skin was surprisingly easy, and I felt masterfully culinary-ish as I administered the salt and spices per the recipe’s recommendations.

Having been thoroughly conquered, he now awaits baking in my fridge, getting (the recipe claims) marinated in the spices and tenderized by the salt.

We’ll see come Thursday.

Anyway, when I was standing by my sink, yanking and tugging and prying and becoming altogether too familiar with a partially frozen fowl, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for turkeys, what with getting bumped off and their neck shoved in strange places.

I guess the moral is that if you absolutely have nothing else to be grateful for this Thanksgiving, I have one for you: be thankful you’re not a turkey!

The Joys of Homemaking

Well, we have been settling into our new house!

Unpacking didn't take long, but every now and then I find a box of items in a closet that need an official home. My husband and I are settling into a routine of sorts, filled with work, dishes, cooking, cleaning, making little changes and fixes, etc., etc.

Dave Ramsey would be proud of our budget meetings. Money issues scare the starch out of me, so my favorite plan of attack is avoidance; but the ominous "M" on the calendar's last Tuesday of each month keeps us accountable, and I am finding out that things are much less stressful when we know how much is coming in and when/where it's going out. Still, I have had to adjust to a new way of thinking of money - I used to deal with it in terms of tens of dollars. Seventy dollars for groceries, twelve dollars for my monthly share of our family phone plan, forty dollars for a school text book . . . now, however, money tends to leave in hundreds, whether it is for groceries, insurance, mortgage payments, house bills, and on and on.

Living in town hasn't had a steep adjustment curve, and the folks here have been so kind. We have felt so welcomed by our neighbors - I especially enjoy chatting across the lawn when a neighbor and I are both outside at the same time.

Having our own home makes us feel so rich - and aren't we? Sure, things might be tight and we save for what we want, but to have four walls around us that have our name on them . . . it's just cozy. I marvel at all God provides. As Thanksgiving draws near, I become more and more grateful for the refuge we have found in this place - a place of healing from yesterday, of hope for tomorrow, and always, always of gratitude for today.

The Perils of Homemaking

I nearly killed Louis last week.

We've had our handsome, black and white, six-month-old kitten about a month now. I've delighted in (most of) his antics, welcoming the company of another living creature while my husband is at work all day. I've reveled in him as only a cat-lover, long denied the presence of a feline, can.

He's soft-spoken for a cat, barely letting a person know if they're standing on his tail. As cats go, he's very much a people-lover. He keeps us laughing with his unique set of curiosities and fears. (The day I brought a slinky home, he was scared like you wouldn't believe as it clattered its way down our flight of wooden steps!) But the other day, curiosity very nearly killed the cat.

It was laundry day and I was bustling about trying to get through it all. I had had some interruptions and was trying to get the laundry all dried before evening church programs.

Louis had exhibited interest in the dryer before, and one time I even had to remove him from its interior before starting the next load on its way to drying. This time, I noticed him put his paws up on the front and sniff inside, but I thought nothing of it and soon forgot in the midst of rotating laundry.

I had the load of whites drying and was loading darks into the washer when I thought I heard a child's cry. I stopped the washer so I could hear better, and I listened but didn't hear anything, so I went back to my laundry. I grabbed my swimming suit and wanted a laundry bag for it and remembered that they were both in the dryer with the load of delicates.

Yanking open the dryer door, horror landed hard on my chest when I realized Louis's hind end was sticking out from under the damp clothes.

If you're a lover of cats, or if you dislike witnessing the suffering of another creature, or if you have a modicum of compassion about you, you may begin to imagine the panic that rose within me as I frantically pulled the clothes away from him and as he gave a pitiful meow. I spied blood spots on the clothes and could only hope I hadn't inadvertantly used up all nine of his kitty lives!

He was dizzy and warm, so he stretched out a while with his belly on the cool concrete floor. A bit of a bloody lip seemed to explain the spotted laundry, and in a matter of minutes, he seemed to collect himself.

My trauma, however, lasted much longer.

With every blood spot I found, I shuddered and scrubbed it clean with renewed penance. That night, I couldn't close my eyes without seeing him lying all thrown about in the dryer, and I didn't get any sleep until I went and got him and had him sleep on my lap.

Maybe someday, I'll be able to look back on this and laugh, but please, please, please don't tease me about it yet.

Ever.

Who knew homemaking could be so perilous?

One

On Sunday, we mark one whole year of being married!

One year - already?
One year - only one?

"One" is such a measly number for everything the past year has held. While it has been a good year over all, I am glad I did not know what the year would hold going into it; my faint heart would certainly have quivered!

One year.
Oh, the joys that were hidden within its calendar.

One year.
Oh, the heartache we have walked through together.

We've grown, and I am glad, but I am ready for Year Two!

Faithful Seasons and Seasons of Faith

Seasons are fascinating phenomena. Around and around they go, dependable as clockwork, yet with their own volatility. Will it be a wet spring? dry summer? long fall? hard winter?

Each has its own beauty, from the luster of summer to the darkness of winter, from the ebb of fall to the vibrancy of spring. There's a promise of the one to come, the natural sequence from the one before; timeless, yet marking time; mundane, yet marvelous.

Look at life around you - at your life. Do you see them?

Not simply the seasons of trees and grass and leaves - the seasons of your soul: they are there.

I'm in a bit of a dry patch. My husband and I are waiting for God to usher us into the next step of our life. We have planted and watered, but nothing's growing yet.

You see, we're in the process of buying our first home, and things should have been tied up long ago, but they aren't, so we wait.

None of which would be a huge issue, except that, for sundry and divers reasons, we are moving this Saturday.

I joke that we are moving out; we just aren't sure where we're moving to. (Yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition. It's my blog, so I get to.) And I can be fairly light-hearted about it, because we will at any rate have a roof over our heads - it just may not be the one we're working on buying.

But the fact is that I've checked my email for that specific note of confirmation at least twenty times today, and every time, my expectation mounts because this time, this time, surely God will have pulled things along for us.

And it's still not there.
(I just checked, even though every business office within five time zones is closed.)

And I think, "Why isn't it? Why aren't my prayers going anywhere?"

And then I think, "Maybe God's teaching me patience. Or to trust Him more. Or to lean on His timing."

And then I think, "What if He wants to teach me to trust Him by getting denied for the house?"

Oh, worries.

I never have these sorts of worries in seasons of peace and surety. I bask in the light of God's smile, enjoy my rest after the most recent patch of rough waters (or explosive volcanoes), and wonder how I could have doubted Him. Next time (I think), surely, I will handle things better because now I know He is able, so much more able!

But then, I start to get a little restless, because I see myself growing complacent, and I remember the verse about the disciplining of those whom God loves and wonder if I'm out of touch with my Lord because I haven't grown lately.

And then the Master of the Universe, the One who instructs the seasons in their timely dance, tilts His head and chuckles, because He knows what will happen as soon as He causes the seasons of my life to turn once again:
panic,
prayer,
pleading,
and basically looking to remove the inconvenience as quickly as possible to restore my sense of control.

Yet, He is willing to teach me until I learn; so He sends me the storms, the rains, the blizzards, and holds my hand as I struggle through the winds and waves and drifts. He patiently waits for me to realize that my strength is insufficient, to reach out to Him, and to rest in His arms as He once again carries me.

And from my place of safety, I seem to hear things calming down around me.
I peek out into the genial warmth of His pleasure.
His Word, like a rainbow, reaches from horizon to horizon and shouts His promises to me.
And I know that His love has once again brought me through that season -
just as it shall bring me through this one.

Tough Stuff

I know I haven't blogged in ages and I have been wanting to before the summer really picks up speed again. I would like to write something perky, but that hasn't been what has been going on lately, so it's hard for me to write with any heart when my mind is elsewhere. So, I've been putting it off (which isn't hard, considering everything I could be doing rather than sitting here typing). But, I guess it's time; I know I probably won't get another chance to blog for a while.

We've been walking through some tough things lately.

It's one thing to be hurt by someone who doesn't profess faith or hold to anything I hold dear, but it's a whole different sort of sucker punch when the offender is among the ranks of my Christian family.

It's one thing when it's just a single incident and I can forgive them and let it blow past, but it's a different sort of betrayal when it is ongoing, without remorse, and repetitive.

It's one thing to gather the courage to approach someone and experience reconciliation, but it's draining to have to decide again if I'm going to tackle a new offense again when I know that they won't listen, won't admit fault, and won't change again.

And it's one thing to be upset with someone far away whom I never see, but it's a different sort of beast when I see them frequently, for extended periods of time, and am under their authority.

One transgression on top of another as they proclaim Christ and his ways, and preach humility and submission to authority, and I know what's going on behind the scenes. And I watch them hurt others. And I see God's work compromised. And I can't do anything.

What is the Christ-like thing to do?

He prayed for forgiveness for His enemies from the cross.
But what does forgiveness look like in a case of unacknowledged sin? Is it acceptance? But then they are surprised when I say that something is amiss. I cannot pretend that everything is fine; it's not. But I am so tired of pushing back. I don't want to be the trouble-maker! I want things to go well; I want to be friends; I don't want to fight. I have turned the other cheek - over and over and over.

Besides, Jesus also turned the moneychangers out of the temple.
A head-on confrontation? Been there, done that. It meets with finger pointing, reversing the blame, claiming authority, and a willingness to only address the most superficial of issues. And afterwards, nothing changes.

I have wondered if maybe I was at fault.
If there were something that I could mend to make things better, I would. If I could apologize in order to fix the situation, I would. (I have.) But I can't believe with any sort of intellectual integrity that this is my fault. I've examined myself; my motives aren't always pure and I have at times responded out of anger, but this isn't to be laid at my feet.

And I watch it continue, and I see others being hurt by the same situation, and I ask God to intervene in a God-sized way.

Because I can't.

Because I have bled, labored, and wept.
But it isn't enough.
And it won't be until God shows up.

Meanwhile, I read Psalms 61, 62, and 63 and am reminded that He is the rock that is higher than I, that He will be my help, that I shall not be shaken, and that I will sing for joy in the shadow of His wings.

Real and Determined Reviz

I said I was going to lose twenty-six lbs by April.

Well, April is almost over, so I figure I owe you all an update.

I didn't lose twenty-six lbs by April.

I switched goals midway - since we don't own a scale it was hard to keep track of my progress - I decided to lose four inches around my waist.

I didn't lose four inches around my waist.

It was weird. The first few pounds came off easily. Then they stopped. I oscillate between one and almost-two inches lost.

The good news is that the weight gain at least stopped.

The bad news is that I can't seem to kick this plateau.

And I was sort of stressing a little bit about it, until I heard a speaker this weekend. She was talking about her tussle with an eating disorder and the search for control in her life, and she read Matthew 6:25: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?"

Lightbulb!

Stop being so anxious, I seemed to hear the Holy Spirit whisper to my heart. I gave you food. I meant for it to be yummy. I meant for you to enjoy eating.

Wait, if food is supposed to be enjoyable, then maybe it isn't the enemy I thought it was. If I am supposed to relish a good meal or an afternoon treat, maybe I should just do so and stop feeling guilty.

Life is more than food.

My dear husband has a gentle way of reminding me of this. When I reach for seconds or pull out a snack or a dessert, he just asks me, "Are you hungry?" It gives me a moment to pause and actually think about my hand-to-mouth motions. If I am hungry, I eat more. If I'm not, I stop.

You see, this isn't just a battle to control what I eat for a while, just so I can get back to eating whatever I want later. This is a lifestyle of eating and moving and living and praising God for all He is and does and says. This is a giving over of myself to God, not to a diet plan or an exercise regime.

It is so much easier to swing to an extreme of super-healthy eating or of convenient junk foods. But the fact is, God made carrots and He made sugar. (And He made all those plants that are naturally poisonous. And He gave us the sense to know the difference.)

So I enjoy my carrots fully, and I eat my sugar without guilt (most of the time!).

Getting Crafty

One of the perks of being at home right now in my life is that I am having the opportunity to explore my crafty side (as in arts and crafts, not duplicity). I thought it would be fun to record one of my attempts and post it here. What follows is taken from a variety of sources as far as ideas and methods, so if you want to copy them, have at it!

I made a board for hanging jackets and such by my mom's back door. I knew she liked this saying, so I found a way to incorporate it, too!

I started with a piece of reclaimed wood, just a pretty board I found. It had kind of a pink hue and a nice grain, so I decided to make that the color of the text, rather than using another color. (If I had wanted, say, white words, I would have painted the board white before proceeding with the next steps.)

Similarly, four old-fashioned glass door knobs volunteered to be part of the project (actually, it was stumbling across them that made me want to do the project in the first place). I marked out spacing for the knobs while making sure to leave room for the text above.

 

I then set to work picking a font. I usually like to mix complementary fonts to emphasize important words. Seeing the whole sentence in each font, the plainer and the more decorative, gives me a good indication of how the different fonts present themselves (i.e., how many curlicues, if the font is narrow or wide on different letters, etc.). For a project like this, it's important to pick a font that isn't too narrow. Sometimes making it bold will help, sometimes not.

Once I have the font picked, it's time to size the phrase. Again, I use size for emphasis. Usually, I end up printing off a test run, going back to the computer to make it a lot bigger, printing it again, and then using some words from each printing.

 

 Eventually, though, you'll figure out what you like.

 Once you've come up with a satisfactory arrangement, glue the text to the clear side of self-adhesive plastic book covering. You know the stuff; the library always covers their soft-cover books with it.

Give the glue lots of time to dry. The more it adheres, the easier your next step will be.

Cut out the words or letters along the black and white. I use a combination of scissors and scalpel to accomplish this. The paper may want to pull away from the plastic. Just hold it together long enough to get the words cut out. After that, it doesn't really matter anymore.

Peel the backing from the sticky plastic and carefully arrange your words. If you're the type of person who likes to make guiding lines to get everything straight and centered, now would be the time to do so. I have found it to be helpful (when dealing with whole words strung together with a cursive font) to just peel and stick part of the word at first and then peel the rest, smoothing it as I go.

Once I got the words stuck satisfactorily, I coated them with a layer of paint that blended in with the hue of the board. You see, some of the paint will seep around the edges of the letters, so I wanted that seepage to be as unnoticeable as possible. (Again, if I were doing white lettering, I would have coated them with another layer of white paint to minimize seepage of a contrasting color.)

Of course, once that's dry, slather on whatever top coat color you like!

 Next comes the really hard part. Wait. For several days. Seriously, you want this to be good and dry.

The next thing is to discover your lovely sign! Armed with a scalpel or other sharp object, gently outline the lettering and peel back the plastic.

I finished it off with a textured daubing of the same color I used for the letters around the edge of the board and with a top coat of matte finish (or use glossy, your preference).

 A bow, and it was ready to go!

A Butter-Lover's Dream

Do you know what this is?

This, my friends, is a fresh muffin with baby butter.

What is baby butter, you ask?

It is butter that hasn't quite gotten past the cream stage yet.

We recently found a source for raw milk. 4% milk fat. Mmmm.

So today, I ventured into the realm of home-made butter. I used a recipe I found online and gave it a go! From two gallons of raw milk, I skimmed off enough cream to make about 1/2 cup of butter (one stick). But it was easy! I think I skimmed too much milk or thin cream in with my thick cream, so it took a long time to beat into submission, but I just let it do its thing while I worked on the muffins.

Let me tell you, it is going to be hard to go back after this!

While There is Breath

A family friend passed away today. As I watch the out-pouring of loving comments on her Facebook wall, I am glad that people remember the good about others.

I am also pensive.

Find the good in others while they're still living; don't wait for them to be beyond this world before you stop criticizing and start complimenting.

Tell people that you're grateful for them while they're living. Appreciate them and thank them for their contribution to your life while they are around to be encouraged by your words.

Be kind in your speech to and about others while they're living. If something isn't good enough to say about them once they're dead, it's not good enough to say about them before they're dead.

It is the living who need your encouragement: it is for the benefit of the surviving that we pour out love for those who have gone before us.

Yes, remember the deceased fondly; but remember that nothing you say or do can help or hurt them.

Do you want to make a difference? Don't forget the living to your left and to your right.

Things I'm Old Enough to Remember

Okay, I'm not that old. But lately, working with our youth group or volunteering for summer camp, I've noticed that I'll reference something that I at least thought was well known and receive blank stares in place of recognition. Do you know why? There's a generation gap. I am not old, but I have finally crossed that invisible bridge from the youngest generation. So, in honor of that achievement, this post is all about

Things I'm Old Enough to Remember.

1. When gas was 98 cents per gallon
2. When Saturday morning cartoons included Winnie the Pooh
3. When there was nothing after the credits - or even, when the credits were in the beginning and there weren't even credits after the story
4. The sticker, "Be Kind, Rewind!"
5. Steve Green
6. Stirrup pants
7. When blue M&M's began to be produced
8. The Pipestone library with Mrs. Griebel in the children's room and Mrs. Wahl behind the front desk
9. The gel pen craze
10. Beanie babies
11. Going places without a cell phone in case of emergencies
12. Pen pals
13. Tightening cassette tapes with a pencil
14. Pong
15. Pushing a lawn mower
16. When owning a refrigerator box made you richer than ever before as a child
17. When a sheet + chairs = a tent
18. Oregon Trail II
19. The Saturday morning tv jingle, "After these messages we'll be right back!"
20. Sandi Patty
21. Purple sweat pants and white Reeboks
22. Coloring with crayons
23. Homemade play dough
24. Paper doll cutting parties
25. Radio dramas
26. Airports pre-NSA
27. Strawberry kiwi Lip Smackers

Don't Go Away

Note: This is not going to be a post about my views of homosexuality or of the American homosexual movement (which are not one and the same, by the way). This is neither an appropriate or wise platform for such a discussion. If you want to know my views, let's discuss it in person, preferably over coffee. :)

Why is it that it seems like people come out and then leave?

I've been noticing a trend: a friend comes out, and then I never/rarely hear from them again.

Not that we were necessarily close in the first place, but if this is supposed to be so natural a lifestyle, why does it interfere with something so natural as friendship?

Maybe they think I hate them now. I wouldn't want to chat with someone who hates me. But I've only ever been called hateful once (and the really awkward part is that she doesn't know me). No one whom I consider among my circle of friends - or even acquaintances - has ever called me hateful. So I don't think that's it.

Is this just the way things are? Am I going to have to watch friends come out one by one and wave goodbye?

Sure, they have a different lifestyle now, a different ideology. But friends don't have to agree on everything. I can understand that this would create some distance, or at least a different dynamic than before. But is it really necessary to disappear?

Sure, they probably have some new friends from the homosexual community. But I got new friends went I went to college and I still managed to keep my friends back home.

You know, there is so much pain surrounding the choice to come out: life before the decision, factors that prompt the decision, the fall-out after following through on the decision, or all three. My heart hurts with them.

So why add the pain of leaving?

A Man Called Daniel

A few weeks back, I happened upon the book of Daniel and started reading through Daniel 6, the story of Daniel in the lions' den. Now, I doubt that anyone who spent any time in Sunday school could have escaped the experience without becoming terribly familiar with the story. Yet, (surprise, surprise) the child's version of the story leaves out a lot, a lot of good stuff, a lot of stuff that I was reminded of as I read through it.

So, in case you haven't revisited the story in a while, I thought I would share the experience with you. Below, you will find Daniel 6 from the ESV, with my thoughts thrown in in blue. Enjoy!


------------------------------------------------------------------------

It pleased Darius to set over the kingdom 120 satraps, to be throughout the whole kingdom; Darius had just taken over the kingdom at the end of the last chapter. Being a decently smart chap, he seems to keep some of the same officials, the guys who know what's going on and how things work. If you read the story in chapter 5, you'll see how Daniel had been newly promoted to third in command and so was perfectly poised to be in leadership under Darius. What a coincidence! Almost like someone planned it!

 ² and over them three high officials, of whom Daniel was one, to whom these satraps should give account, so that the king might suffer no loss. The whole point of these three was to make sure the king got his due. 120 satraps are a lot to keep track of, but 3 presidents are more manageable.  

³ Then this Daniel became distinguished above all the other high officials and satraps, because an excellent spirit was in him. I would like an excellent spirit. Wouldn't you? 

And the king planned to set him over the whole kingdom. ⁴ Then the high officials and the satraps sought to find a ground for complaint against Daniel with regard to the kingdom, but they could find no ground for complaint or any fault, because he was faithful, and no error or fault was found in him. Wow! No complaint, no fault, no error. He was faithful. That should be every Christian in the workforce. 

⁵ Then these men said, “We shall not find any ground for complaint against this Daniel unless we find it in connection with the law of his God.” I find this so neat, that these guys had seen enough of Daniel and that Daniel was transparent enough that they knew that they weren't going to get this guy unless they could make up something that would go against his faith. His faith wasn't inherently bad for them, they just knew that he would choose his God over any other rule. But he wasn't belligerent or antagonistic about it; no one could complain about anything about him. Now that's a testimony.

⁶ Then these high officials and satraps came by agreement - the footnote here says they "came thronging." Talk about the pressure of the group on the individual.

to the king and said to him, “O King Darius, live forever! ⁷ All "all?" 

the high officials of the kingdom, the prefects and the satraps, the counselors and the governors are agreed that the king should establish an ordinance and enforce an injunction, that whoever makes petition to any god or man for thirty days, except to you, O king, shall be cast into the den of lions. ⁸ Now, O king, establish the injunction and sign the document, so that it cannot be changed, according to the law of the Medes and the Persians, which cannot be revoked.” ⁹ Therefore King Darius signed the document and injunction. Ok, I thought Darius was a decently smart chap. Did he not see Daniel was missing? Or did he assume these guys spoke for Daniel too? Or did he just completely forget about his favorite amid the overwhelming flattery of all these people standing before him?

¹⁰ When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, I am so excited the Bible includes that phrase! Daniel knew the document had been signed. He was a politician. He understand exactly what was on the line. I can imagine that if that phrase wasn't included, we would be able to excuse the heroism that comes next. After all, if he wasn't informed, maybe he responded differently than he would have if he knew the danger. Don't we love to diminish others' faithful actions? 

he went to his house where he had windows in his upper chamber open toward Jerusalem. He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously. No change. Just as he had done previously. He didn't even keep the windows shut for his own safety. Wow. 

¹¹ Then these men came by agreement and found Daniel making petition and plea before his God. ¹² Then they came near and said before the king, concerning the injunction, “O king! Did you not sign an injunction, that anyone who makes petition to any god or man within thirty days except to you, O king, shall be cast into the den of lions?” The king answered and said, “The thing stands fast, according to the law of the Medes and Persians, which cannot be revoked.” ¹³ Then they answered and said before the king, “Daniel, who is one of the exiles from Judah, Notice they don't bother to say "who is one of the three presidents, your favorite one, in fact." Oh, no. He's just one of those pesky exiles from Judah. 

pays no attention to you, O king, or the injunction you have signed, but makes his petition three times a day.”

¹⁴ Then the king, when he heard these words, was much distressed and set his mind to deliver Daniel. And he labored till the sun went down to rescue him. ¹⁵ Then these men came by agreement to the king and said to the king, “Know, O king, that it is a law of the Medes and Persians that no injunction or ordinance that the king establishes can be changed.”

¹⁶ Then the king commanded, and Daniel was brought and cast into the den of lions. The king declared to Daniel, “May your God, whom you serve continually, deliver you!” Even the king knew enough about Daniel's relationship with his God that he could have some sort of hopeful glimmer before sending him to his certain death. Certain, that is, by human reckoning. 

¹⁷ And a stone was brought and laid on the mouth of the den, and the king sealed it with his own signet and with the signet of his lords, that nothing might be changed concerning Daniel. ¹⁸ Then the king went to his palace and spent the night fasting; no diversions were brought to him, and sleep fled from him.

¹⁹ Then, at break of day, the king arose and went in haste to the den of lions. ²⁰ As he came near to the den where Daniel was, he cried out in a tone of anguish. The king declared to Daniel, “O Daniel, servant of the living God, has your God, whom you serve continually, been able to deliver you from the lions?” "Is He able?" Don't we all ask that question when things get rough? "Oh, God, I know you're big, but maybe you're not this big! Are you big enough to handle this problem of mine?" Silly child. How God must smile and shake His head at us. "Don't you remember what I did for David and for Daniel and for Ruth and for Moses and . . ."  

²¹ Then Daniel said to the king, “O king, live forever! He's not bitter. He's still not belligerent. He's still faithful to the king.  

²² My God sent his angel and shut the lions' mouths, and they have not harmed me, because I was found blameless before him; and also before you, O king, I have done no harm.” Is Daniel reminding the king that he has only ever done good for the king and the kingdom? Is he simply stating why he was saved? Either way, he was right.  

²³ Then the king was exceedingly glad, I bet. 

and commanded that Daniel be taken up out of the den. So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no kind of harm was found on him, Whoa, "no kind of harm"? Do you know how many years of therapy would be expected to be needed in our day and age? "No kind of harm." Not only did he not have a scratch on him, he was mentally whole, not a nervous wreck from a night with the nasty, hungry lions. How is that even possible? Read on: 

because he had trusted in his God. Can you please take a minute to let that sink in? He didn't have so much as a nervous twitch from the whole experience. Why? "Because he had trusted in His God." May your God be the God of Daniel, the one who protects body and mind from lions. May you see your personal lions through the eyes of trust. 

²⁴ And the king commanded, and those men who had maliciously accused Daniel were brought and cast into the den of lions—they, their children, and their wives. And before they reached the bottom of the den, the lions overpowered them and broke all their bones in pieces.

²⁵ Then King Darius wrote to all the peoples, nations, and languages that dwell in all the earth: “Peace be multiplied to you. ²⁶ I make a decree, that in all my royal dominion people are to tremble and fear before the God of Daniel,

for he is the living God,
    enduring forever;
his kingdom shall never be destroyed,
    and his dominion shall be to the end.
²⁷ He delivers and rescues;
    he works signs and wonders
    in heaven and on earth,
he who has saved Daniel
    from the power of the lions.” How beautiful is that? What a fitting ending. Even better than "happily ever after." But we have that too if you really need it:

²⁸ So this Daniel prospered during the reign of Darius and the reign of Cyrus the Persian.

The Full Life

I've started re-reading Angela Thomas's book, Do You Think I'm Beautiful?.

A strange confession to begin a post with, I know. But, reading through it this time, I have a different perspective now - now as a married woman.

When I was single, even when there was no significant other in the picture, I imagined the adventures and cuddles of marriage and seemed to consider it some sort of higher state of existence.

Then I tried it and found out that it starts to feel a lot like real life very quickly.

Go figure!

Please do not (purposefully or otherwise) misunderstand. I love married life. I love my husband. I would never want to go back to the single years, not even for a trip to Italy (and that's saying something).

But God seems to smile and chuckle when he sees me running around, getting things perfect, with the expectation that everything will then feel perfect.

Because, you know what? On that evening when I most emotionally need my husband to gush over my cooking, that will be the evening that he really isn't hungry.

And, you know what else? On these days when I'm looking forward to having a mini paradise of a Saturday, I'll wake up and find out that something is smack dab in the way of my little (or gigantic) hopes for the day.

And sometimes, I'm ready for my romantic husband to come rushing through the door and sweep me off my feet and out of my doldrums, and instead he comes home more discouraged than I am.

Why?

Not because he's a bad husband.

Not because he's slacking.

Not because he doesn't care anymore.

But because he wasn't made to fill my every need.

He wasn't. That's the bald truth. Oh, I know he would love to! But when I ask him to fill the voids of my heart, I am not just being needy; I am sinning against my husband. I am attempting to body-slam my husband into that space that God specifically put into me with the purpose of creating a yearning that He could then fill! And my husband doesn't fit. Go figure.

BUT -

When God is in His rightful place, then I am not dependent on my husband coming home and haling me a culinary hero.

When God gives me value, I am not reading into everything my husband says and does as an estimation of my worth as a human being.

When God is my Savior, my husband gets to just be my husband.

Now, when I am a whole person without my husband, it's not that all of a sudden I don't like to spend time with him.

Quite the opposite!

We find our sustenance in our Creator and get to enjoy each other as complete individuals, complete with quirks and hobbies and pranks and shared secrets.

When he and I are whole without the other, we save our relationship from the realm of the parasitic. We are no longer loaning crutches to our spouse as we attempt to limp along on one leg ourself; we get to experience healing and then share that healing with each other. Because we no longer NEED each other, we get to enjoy just being ourselves, together.

And that means that on those days when my husband gets a case of the blues, I can be there for him. I get my strength from beyond our marriage, which lets me pour into it and into my husband when there is a deficit.

I don't have to panic because he isn't my emotional life support.

And, you know what? This is still real life. But I am not crabbing for fulfillment from someone who is, in return, looking to me to fill them. That sort of contractual agreement ("I'll make you feel good if you make me feel good") gets empty real quick. But, as a whole human being in a marriage to another whole human being, I get to live real life more fully and with more gusto!

Or, as Mrs. Thomas puts it, "So what about the other [ones we love]? They can be fabulous when your soul is full of the love of God. But they can be devastating when you have expected they could fill up the dry and empty places" (47).

I Love/Want You

Happy Valentine's Day!

Today never held much significance for me as a single (other than the yummy chocolates from Mom and Dad!), but it is becoming dearer. Today was my first Valentine's waking up in my husband's arms, and I'll tell you, it starts to take on a new significance. I start to get more mushy about the concept. I also start to get more defensive about it, too.

You see, our good old US of A has a way of slanting things, and it hasn't left this holiday alone any more than it's kept its fingers out of Christmas.

It's taken an economic concept and applied it to love.

I'm not going to start going on about how it's all for the greeting cards companies and so on and so forth. That's on the right track, but it doesn't go far enough and so ends up at a conclusive facade.

American love is consumeristic.

We use the word "love" in a manner that more honest people have the dignity to admit is only "want."

Sadly, this version of love does not stop at consuming bouquets and teddy bears and chocolates and cards: it consumes people.

Think about it.

"I love rice."

What I really mean is that I just had rice for lunch and was reminded how much I want to eat rice.

I love inexpensive household goods. Never mind the sweatshop laborers.

I love getting to plan my life. Never mind my children (born or otherwise).

I (conversely) love my children. Never mind my friends, marriages, or monetary limitations.

I love you. . . .

Eep.

Creepy.

Do we really mean love? Or are we thinking more along the lines of the t-shirt for sale in the mall, which reads, "Looking for a meaningful overnight relationship"?

Because we all know what that means. They're looking for a "meaningful overnight relationship."

We use another person's body and think we're doing them a favor because we're not asking them to share their soul. We avoid the messiness of getting personal and think we can get away with it.

News flash: the body and the soul (consciousness) are so intertwined that no theologian or psychologist can tell you where one ends and the other begins. Why? Because God didn't make you half body and half soul - He made you all body and all soul! He never meant for the two to be separate! (Death wasn't part of the original design. But that's a topic for another time.)

And we scoff at the ones who hold out for more than a one-night stand.

Or we don the other t-shirt, the one that blurts, "Cool story, babe. Now go make me a sandwich." Because love is about what you get, right?

Don't tell me that the attitude of the second t-shirt must be love just because it sticks around. While the first consumes, so does the second. One is more like a hit and run. The second is just a slower, more drawn out version, sort of like bleeding to death on the sidewalk. Girls (or guys), if you are treated like a commodity, don't think it's because he loves you. He isn't showing you love; he's showing you bondage.

He can say, "I love you," but does he mean it?

How can you tell? Look at what he does with/to you.

1 Corinthians 13 puts love on a level with faith and hope.

Faith: shown by deeds. Considered illegitimate without the proof of action. Worth nothing unless it makes a substantive difference.

Hope: a powerful force that has no chemical explanation. Kept people alive in concentration camps. Its lack can itself cause disease or even death.

What is love? It definitely can't be summed up by a hormonal rush or a physiological arousal response. It isn't a direction or a place (so you can't fall into or out of it). 

When I was learning to love, I was concerned because I didn't know exactly what love was, so I didn't know how to tell if I was actually in love. Silly girl! I was thinking that it was a state rather than an action, a reflexive response rather than a choice.

Mental clarity descended in that loftiest of places - the grocery store aisle - in that loftiest of positions - a grocery store clerk.

As I straightened the candy in Aisle 1, I contemplated the day's joys that I couldn't wait to share over the phone that night. I thought about the disappointments that I always rushed to him before any other human comfort. And I realized that we had love.

We weren't starting with a flimsy platform of feel-good sentiment. We were building something from the ground up while deep in the mire of the every day tumult.

We were creating a relationship that could survive real life because it wasn't based on a fairy tale of feelings.

We were choosing to share ourselves and care for the other. Why? Not because we could get something out of it, but because we wanted to give to the other person.

Love gives; it doesn't take.

That's the difference.

It's a heart issue.

And it makes all the difference.

Finding Freedom While Working Out

The trainer on today's exercise video said something profound. "It isn't just about the outside."

Now, I don't know her views on faith or the soul, but, hearing these words at the close of an intense workout, I took note.

Have you ever noticed that when you lose control in a particular area of your life, if you stop and look, you will notice little bits of compromises in a host of other areas?

Let's just say, as a hypothetical example, that a person loses control in the area of weight, food, and body image. Look around. I bet you can find similar compromises elsewhere: shortcuts at work, skimping on personal devotions, rote prayers, perfunctory interactions with others, procrastination in chores . . . the list could (hypothetically) go on for a long time.

What's wrong? Is the issue really weight gain?

I'm betting not.

I once read a book which talked about addiction as a "disordered worship." Anything which consumes our thoughts, our emotions, our waking hours, our energies, our resources, may easily morph into an addiction.

Addictions are serious business for anyone. We have a lot of centers in this country where a person can spend a lot of money to get rid of one. How do they do this?

Well, really, they don't. They just redirect that addiction toward a more culturally-acceptable end. You see, they've found that a void will never cure an addict. You can't just take away the substance; you have to replace it.

I believe strongly that Christians are poised to understand addictions more clearly than any secularist ever will. What is it about a person that allows them to "go off the deep end" about anything and prohibits them from ever finding a conservative center?

Worship.

Addiction is a disorder of worship.

God made us to worship Him, to revel in a relationship with Him that fills and satisfies as nothing else ever could. Do you get pleasure in food? Good. Thank Him for it, and realize it is only an hors d'oeuvre of the pleasure found in God. Do you find joy in exercise? Good. Revel in it and allow it to remind you of the abilities He has given you to mirror Him.

This is, I believe, why a loss of self-control in one area ricochets around a person's whole life. When we lose sight of the "why" and the "for" (both of which are found in our Lord), everything gets out of balance.

Which brings me back to the words of the trainer: "It isn't just about the outside."

Yes, I want to feel better by being in shape. But it isn't just the crunch or the sore muscles or the ability to reduce my waistline by a notch in my belt. It's about taking myself and my desires back in hand and offering them once again to the One who gave them.

I could swing from worshiping food to worshiping exercise. I could switch allegiances from eating what sounds good to eating only what will make me slim. But if I do, I'm not actually gaining anything. I'm just moving from one idol to another, and it would only be a matter of time before the second rings as false as the first.

Galatians reminds us, "It is for freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery."

Slavery can take many forms, folks.

It can be a slavery to the appetite (whether that appetite is of the gut, of the eyes, of the flesh, etc.); it can also be a slavery to control.

I've had to learn that I don't have to live under a yoke of slavery to the appetite. Really. I don't have to. (Have you ever thought of a fast as an exercise of freedom?)

But, on the other hand, I have to remember that I haven't been set free from my appetites in order to be bound to a life of self-flagellation. God made food, and He made it good! If I forget that and get so caught up in my weight-loss goal that it gets in the way of the joy of God and of life and of others, I haven't actually gained anything but another false master.

Of course, there's the danger that I take my freedom flippantly and distort it into permission to do whatever I want. Galatians talks about that too. The thing is, that isn't really freedom. That's running back into the arms of my appetites and calling them freedom. It doesn't matter what I call them; they will still be my master. Where there is a master, there must be a slave.

So, what to do?

Realize that the only master who will not enslave us is the One who calls us his sons and daughters.

Then, I can fast or feast, and it will all be for the purpose of His joy living in me.

Now that's freedom, folks.