Why is December 31 the last day of the year?
I figured that there was some sort of celestial occurrence which made the ancients deem it right and proper to divide the old year of today from the new year of tomorrow. Well, according to my brief research on Wikipedia, there isn't. We celebrate a new year on January 1 because that is when the Gregorian calendar chose to have us celebrate it.
Which leads into my next question: why is this a big deal?
I understand that it's an opportunity for new beginnings, a chance to leave last year's troubles and foibles behind, blah blah blah. But we all know that our resolutions aren't likely to last past March, and that the new year may have just as many troubles as the last one (and maybe more).
It is good for one thing though. No matter how randomly it may have been plopped into our calendar, the turning of the year inspires a reflective spirit, one that often gets trampled in the usual hustle of life.
For example, the calendar says that another year of my life has passed; have I grown spiritually as well as chronologically? Am I another year more mature, or have I squandered every opportunity for growth this past year? Did I do anything this year that will matter in the next year or the one after that or the one after that? Am I looking more like Christ than I did at this time last year? And more importantly, what am I currently doing that will create greater maturity and growth in me by this time next year?
May the coming year hold great things for you, pleasures as well as opportunities for growth. May you fully enjoy the sweet times and rise to meet the challenging ones. May you find yourself another year wiser as well as another year older.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Not a Good Christian Girl Anymore
When I first considered starting a blog (in the spring of 2012), that's what I thought I would name it. Not as a jab at my Christian heritage or a rebellion against the Christian faith but as a chronicle of my struggle to leave behind acting like a Christian and start being like Christ.
"Many of us don't want to be led by the Holy Spirit. . . . Many of us don't want to be led by anyone other than ourselves." "If you say you want the Holy Spirit, you must first honestly ask yourself if you want to do His will" (from Forgotten God, by Francis Chan, pp. 50, 51).
I ask God for His wisdom. I beg for it. I need it now and in the life to which He is calling me.
I ask Him to move in me, that His Holy Spirit would fill me and take hold of me.
Then I turn around and do it all myself.
After all, I know what the church expects. I know what modern, American Christianity expects. If I let Him do it, He might do it wrong! It might look weird when He gets finished with it, and that would be embarrassing.
I slap God's hands away from my life and my affairs, say, "I'll handle this," and bustle off with a nod of my head.
Then it falls apart and I run back, dump it in His lap, and ask Him through my groans and tears to make it all work.
But, oh, when will I learn? If I would leave it with Him from the first, it wouldn't be broken . . . and if it looked broken in His hands (and I left it there still), I could trust Him to make it all right.
Oh! the peace of mind I sell for my "right" to have things my way!
But why do I want the Holy Spirit? Am I asking like Simon the Magician, trying to buy Him for myself (p. 84)?
Is this an effort to be "Christian cool," one of those people to whom others look up? Is it some sort of Christian club membership to me? I've always wanted to be part of that elusive inner circle, whatever the context. Is that all this desire has been?
I know that at least part of the desire comes with my life calling. I'm totally unequipped. I feel like I'm play-acting and it's only a matter of time before I'm discovered, like the Holy Spirit is my only chance at "legitimacy."
But, if God has called, isn't that legitimate enough?
When do I stop seeking my nod of approval from the world - even the "Christian" world?
When will God be enough?
Maybe when I'm done following rules and am ready to pursue a whole different way of life.
Maybe when I'm done looking good and am ready to be made good.
Maybe when I'm done focusing on myself and am ready to follow Him.
Maybe when I'm done being a good Christian girl.
"Many of us don't want to be led by the Holy Spirit. . . . Many of us don't want to be led by anyone other than ourselves." "If you say you want the Holy Spirit, you must first honestly ask yourself if you want to do His will" (from Forgotten God, by Francis Chan, pp. 50, 51).
I ask God for His wisdom. I beg for it. I need it now and in the life to which He is calling me.
I ask Him to move in me, that His Holy Spirit would fill me and take hold of me.
Then I turn around and do it all myself.
After all, I know what the church expects. I know what modern, American Christianity expects. If I let Him do it, He might do it wrong! It might look weird when He gets finished with it, and that would be embarrassing.
I slap God's hands away from my life and my affairs, say, "I'll handle this," and bustle off with a nod of my head.
Then it falls apart and I run back, dump it in His lap, and ask Him through my groans and tears to make it all work.
But, oh, when will I learn? If I would leave it with Him from the first, it wouldn't be broken . . . and if it looked broken in His hands (and I left it there still), I could trust Him to make it all right.
Oh! the peace of mind I sell for my "right" to have things my way!
But why do I want the Holy Spirit? Am I asking like Simon the Magician, trying to buy Him for myself (p. 84)?
Is this an effort to be "Christian cool," one of those people to whom others look up? Is it some sort of Christian club membership to me? I've always wanted to be part of that elusive inner circle, whatever the context. Is that all this desire has been?
I know that at least part of the desire comes with my life calling. I'm totally unequipped. I feel like I'm play-acting and it's only a matter of time before I'm discovered, like the Holy Spirit is my only chance at "legitimacy."
But, if God has called, isn't that legitimate enough?
When do I stop seeking my nod of approval from the world - even the "Christian" world?
When will God be enough?
Maybe when I'm done following rules and am ready to pursue a whole different way of life.
Maybe when I'm done looking good and am ready to be made good.
Maybe when I'm done focusing on myself and am ready to follow Him.
Maybe when I'm done being a good Christian girl.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Self-Talk
This morning, I was leaning over, looking through my bottom cupboards for a tupperware, when the cereal box on the counter above me tipped over and rained its contents upon my head. I've sat in a waterfall, and now I've been under a cereal-fall, I guess.
But, as Honey Nut Cheerios poured forth upon my head, I realized in a single moment that I had a decision before me:
I could either be angry at the inanimate box for maliciously making a mess for me first thing in the morning,
OR
I could laugh at myself, standing there in my bathrobe with little cereal rounds plinking on the kitchen linoleum.
It reminded me of a time last week when my husband and I were in the midst of a misunderstanding and the options seemed laid before me in a similar manner - a moment when the question crystallized:
Am I going to make myself vulnerable and tell him what I'm thinking and feeling in a bid for reconciliation,
OR
Am I going to play the dramatic, wounded heroine who bears her injuries silently (albeit sullenly)?
It's hard, in a world so me-centered, to consciously push myself to the side. Yet, invariably, it's better, at least in the end.
When the idea for this blog post started to percolate in my mind, I thought it was going to be culture-directed . . . addressing the ills of the self-esteem movement, going after the poor psychology of pop-culture psychology.
But that's not the real issue.
The real issue is that I am desperately wicked.
Not flawed.
Flawed sounds nicer, but it points the finger in the wrong direction.
Think about it: if you buy a product that is flawed, whom do you blame? The manufacturer, of course. You're not going to blame the product for being made in error; you're going to take it back to the store or write the company and ask for a refund (or just complain and not do anything about it, but that's a topic for another time).
If I am flawed, then God gets the blame for making me this way. But I know that everything He makes is good, so His workmanship can't be the problem.
There's another word, not as nice as "flawed," that sheds some light on the issue.
"Sin."
Sin isn't a popular word today. In fact, I may have just gotten branded as part of the radical right for using it. But give me a second; acknowledging sin may be the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and each other.
Consider the current concept of self. We live in a day when teachers are not allowed to reprimand students or use red ink because of the harmful psychological effects it might pose. Spanking is going out of vogue as the idea of shaping and molding children gets pushed to the out-of-date column. We are told to accept people for who they are, to allow the free expression of individuality, and to affirm each person's unique bent rather than to suggest that they might be wrong or in need of change. God made us like this, we are told; appreciate it!
But, what if we are not flawed, and God didn't make us like this? What if we are sinful?
If we are sinful, we can be forgiven.
If we are sinful, we can learn to live differently.
If we are sinful, we can learn how to draw near to a holy God.
If we are sinful, we are not without hope.
I am sinful. I sin. But because I know I sin, I can ask forgiveness.
(Who asks forgiveness for sin they haven't committed?)
The most gracious (in the truest sense of the word, that is, filled with grace), hope-filled, loving thing we can do for ourselves and others is to admit that we sin, that we are in the wrong, but that God has made provision for us through Christ.
And because of all this,
we
can
change.
That's what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.
But, as Honey Nut Cheerios poured forth upon my head, I realized in a single moment that I had a decision before me:
I could either be angry at the inanimate box for maliciously making a mess for me first thing in the morning,
OR
I could laugh at myself, standing there in my bathrobe with little cereal rounds plinking on the kitchen linoleum.
It reminded me of a time last week when my husband and I were in the midst of a misunderstanding and the options seemed laid before me in a similar manner - a moment when the question crystallized:
Am I going to make myself vulnerable and tell him what I'm thinking and feeling in a bid for reconciliation,
OR
Am I going to play the dramatic, wounded heroine who bears her injuries silently (albeit sullenly)?
It's hard, in a world so me-centered, to consciously push myself to the side. Yet, invariably, it's better, at least in the end.
When the idea for this blog post started to percolate in my mind, I thought it was going to be culture-directed . . . addressing the ills of the self-esteem movement, going after the poor psychology of pop-culture psychology.
But that's not the real issue.
The real issue is that I am desperately wicked.
Not flawed.
Flawed sounds nicer, but it points the finger in the wrong direction.
Think about it: if you buy a product that is flawed, whom do you blame? The manufacturer, of course. You're not going to blame the product for being made in error; you're going to take it back to the store or write the company and ask for a refund (or just complain and not do anything about it, but that's a topic for another time).
If I am flawed, then God gets the blame for making me this way. But I know that everything He makes is good, so His workmanship can't be the problem.
There's another word, not as nice as "flawed," that sheds some light on the issue.
"Sin."
Sin isn't a popular word today. In fact, I may have just gotten branded as part of the radical right for using it. But give me a second; acknowledging sin may be the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and each other.
Consider the current concept of self. We live in a day when teachers are not allowed to reprimand students or use red ink because of the harmful psychological effects it might pose. Spanking is going out of vogue as the idea of shaping and molding children gets pushed to the out-of-date column. We are told to accept people for who they are, to allow the free expression of individuality, and to affirm each person's unique bent rather than to suggest that they might be wrong or in need of change. God made us like this, we are told; appreciate it!
But, what if we are not flawed, and God didn't make us like this? What if we are sinful?
If we are sinful, we can be forgiven.
If we are sinful, we can learn to live differently.
If we are sinful, we can learn how to draw near to a holy God.
If we are sinful, we are not without hope.
I am sinful. I sin. But because I know I sin, I can ask forgiveness.
(Who asks forgiveness for sin they haven't committed?)
The most gracious (in the truest sense of the word, that is, filled with grace), hope-filled, loving thing we can do for ourselves and others is to admit that we sin, that we are in the wrong, but that God has made provision for us through Christ.
And because of all this,
we
can
change.
That's what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 11, 2013
In-Laws
Gasp.
The phrase that gets joked about as soon as the topic of marriage and family arises.
The words that immediately bring to mind mother-in-law stories.
Seemingly the bane of many and the delight of few.
Why?
Building a new marriage challenges every fresh-faced couple . . . so why do we complicate it with built-in, ready-made expectations of enmity with our spouse's family of origin?
I have been blessed with wonderful in-laws who have welcomed me and allowed my husband and me to begin life as our own family. Yet, it can still be interesting establishing new relationships - ones that will be with me the rest of my life - in a manner I have never before experienced.
I chose my husband, and in that respect I chose my in-laws. I regret neither. Actually, I quite enjoy both, and in this I find great joy! But what a strange tension to know that these are people I shall do life with from now on - and likewise, I suppose, for my husband with my original family.
Normally, I find a friendship with those with a great deal in common with me. My in-laws and I share a certain young man in common and, beyond that, we might or might not share anything else in common.
So what?
In my mind, I draw this out with the marriage/church analogy: marriage is to reflect the relationship of Christ to His Church, and to the extent that a marriage is healthy and loving, it is successful.
So, what about the in-laws?
Adam and Eve didn't have to work things out between their families in the first marriage ever, but God knew that marriage would bring in-laws into existence. (And, I believe, that just because they weren't part of the original creation, they are not necessarily lesser, bad, or lacking in things to teach us.)
We land ourselves with a group of almost-strangers with whom we will grow and experience life at the moment we say "I do." Should this picture life within the body of Christ?
Please, understand me: my biblical research is limited here. In fact, I haven't ever heard this connection made or read about it from any well-respected theologian.
BUT.
If Christ and the church :: the husband and wife, then the couple and their in-laws :: brothers and sisters in Christ?
Am I way off track here?
We grow and learn to love those in the Church for no other reason than that we have covenanted with the same God and made Him Lord of our lives. Here we are, all denominational persuasions, all opinionated on the proper color of church carpeting, all striving to embody a new life under new rules empowered by new grace every day.
Yes, we clash sometimes. After all, not everyone's mother made potato salad the same way. But in the essentials, the big stuff, the things that we can look at and say, "This is fundamental and necessary to Christianity as we know it," I would think that, done well, the Church can cross boundaries that no one else would find a reason to cross.
So, I covenanted with a man for the rest of our lives, and we each got another family as a bonus. A family that we probably wouldn't have known otherwise. A family on the other side of our typical boundaries that we build a bridge to on the basis of a marriage across them.
Because of my in-laws, I have already learned to add pasta to creamy pea salad, discovered the wonders of the bean pot, experienced deer hunting, and reaped the joy of two nephews. They're mostly surface issues, but they're a start of something much bigger, something I am only getting ephemeral hints of at the moment.
Obviously, this is a topic, an idea, that is still growing, evolving, stretching, twisting, and marinating inside me. That means that this post is probably rougher, less polished, than I would normally desire. That also means that I will probably be posting about it again . . .
The phrase that gets joked about as soon as the topic of marriage and family arises.
The words that immediately bring to mind mother-in-law stories.
Seemingly the bane of many and the delight of few.
Why?
Building a new marriage challenges every fresh-faced couple . . . so why do we complicate it with built-in, ready-made expectations of enmity with our spouse's family of origin?
I have been blessed with wonderful in-laws who have welcomed me and allowed my husband and me to begin life as our own family. Yet, it can still be interesting establishing new relationships - ones that will be with me the rest of my life - in a manner I have never before experienced.
I chose my husband, and in that respect I chose my in-laws. I regret neither. Actually, I quite enjoy both, and in this I find great joy! But what a strange tension to know that these are people I shall do life with from now on - and likewise, I suppose, for my husband with my original family.
Normally, I find a friendship with those with a great deal in common with me. My in-laws and I share a certain young man in common and, beyond that, we might or might not share anything else in common.
So what?
In my mind, I draw this out with the marriage/church analogy: marriage is to reflect the relationship of Christ to His Church, and to the extent that a marriage is healthy and loving, it is successful.
So, what about the in-laws?
Adam and Eve didn't have to work things out between their families in the first marriage ever, but God knew that marriage would bring in-laws into existence. (And, I believe, that just because they weren't part of the original creation, they are not necessarily lesser, bad, or lacking in things to teach us.)
We land ourselves with a group of almost-strangers with whom we will grow and experience life at the moment we say "I do." Should this picture life within the body of Christ?
Please, understand me: my biblical research is limited here. In fact, I haven't ever heard this connection made or read about it from any well-respected theologian.
BUT.
If Christ and the church :: the husband and wife, then the couple and their in-laws :: brothers and sisters in Christ?
Am I way off track here?
We grow and learn to love those in the Church for no other reason than that we have covenanted with the same God and made Him Lord of our lives. Here we are, all denominational persuasions, all opinionated on the proper color of church carpeting, all striving to embody a new life under new rules empowered by new grace every day.
Yes, we clash sometimes. After all, not everyone's mother made potato salad the same way. But in the essentials, the big stuff, the things that we can look at and say, "This is fundamental and necessary to Christianity as we know it," I would think that, done well, the Church can cross boundaries that no one else would find a reason to cross.
So, I covenanted with a man for the rest of our lives, and we each got another family as a bonus. A family that we probably wouldn't have known otherwise. A family on the other side of our typical boundaries that we build a bridge to on the basis of a marriage across them.
Because of my in-laws, I have already learned to add pasta to creamy pea salad, discovered the wonders of the bean pot, experienced deer hunting, and reaped the joy of two nephews. They're mostly surface issues, but they're a start of something much bigger, something I am only getting ephemeral hints of at the moment.
Obviously, this is a topic, an idea, that is still growing, evolving, stretching, twisting, and marinating inside me. That means that this post is probably rougher, less polished, than I would normally desire. That also means that I will probably be posting about it again . . .
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
One Month
We just passed the one month mark in our marriage. How strange to think that we will only count up - never down - again in our relationship. But it is a good sort of strange!
A few firsts to have come about in our first month:
Something God has been impressing upon me lately is the blessing of my own insufficiency. During college, I could keep my chin above the water, and people generally believed that I was doing so with ease. I sometimes floundered and panicked, but overall I found the ability to pull myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and stay on the successful side of the grading process. I could make myself look good and get the credit for it, too. But this homemaker thing is different.
A couple weeks ago, I felt overwhelmed by all the new responsibilities. I would get up in the mornings and go at it and not feel like I had really gotten anywhere by the time I laid down at night. In homemaking, there is no deadline when you don't have to think about that project anymore. There is no final test when you can leave that topic behind forever. There is no last day in the semester and the promise of a final grade that pulls you through like a light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, dishes are constantly needing washing, the floor seems to grow dirt by itself, dirty laundry regenerates, and don't you know that nothing cleans itself! The clean socks have been in that basket in my living room for days and they still haven't figured out how to find their match!
Yet, this time of finding myself fundamentally lacking is also a blessing.
If I have everything in hand, where is room for God to work?
If I am successful at all I do, what has God done for me?
If I am wrapped up in my work and busy acing this wife/homemaker thing, how has God moved in my life?
When I can't do it and can't keep up and can't find the strength, I get to see God.
He works when I can't anymore.
He acts on my behalf when am unable to do it myself.
He moves and displays His strength when my strength is gone.
You know, I cannot figure out why I run myself ragged so often trying to prove myself. It is more fun to get to see God in all His grace and power, after all.
Is my stubbornness/determination coming between me and my experience of God's majesty?
Does God care about housework?
I think so.
And I am trying to learn to fall to my knees more quickly rather than flailing to keep my feet under me. After all, which is more important to me: the power of Christ or my stupid pride?
Is the key to success in the Christian life admitting to being an utter failure? (Hmm, that echoes the beatitudes.)
I'll gladly wave my white flag if it means that He gets the control and the glory in my life.
Although, I'm fresh out of white flags. Maybe one of these socks will do.
A few firsts to have come about in our first month:
- my first chance to completely organize a home (the kitchen was especially fun . . . the rest is still in progress). A bit overwhelming at times, but worth it in the end.
- my first prolonged experience at menu planning. My cooking has generally met with success, but it has also included . . .
- my first major misjudgment on cooking time. The chicken didn't thaw as quickly as I thought it would, which meant it didn't cook as quickly as I thought it would, which meant that our main course consisted of squash and bread and apple crisp, with baked chicken for dessert.
- my first school loan payments. Yippee.
- our first budget (which didn't crash and burn as badly as we thought it would, yet I learned how quickly unexpected expenses like to raise their ugly heads!).
- our first time inviting people to our home!
Something God has been impressing upon me lately is the blessing of my own insufficiency. During college, I could keep my chin above the water, and people generally believed that I was doing so with ease. I sometimes floundered and panicked, but overall I found the ability to pull myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and stay on the successful side of the grading process. I could make myself look good and get the credit for it, too. But this homemaker thing is different.
A couple weeks ago, I felt overwhelmed by all the new responsibilities. I would get up in the mornings and go at it and not feel like I had really gotten anywhere by the time I laid down at night. In homemaking, there is no deadline when you don't have to think about that project anymore. There is no final test when you can leave that topic behind forever. There is no last day in the semester and the promise of a final grade that pulls you through like a light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, dishes are constantly needing washing, the floor seems to grow dirt by itself, dirty laundry regenerates, and don't you know that nothing cleans itself! The clean socks have been in that basket in my living room for days and they still haven't figured out how to find their match!
Yet, this time of finding myself fundamentally lacking is also a blessing.
If I have everything in hand, where is room for God to work?
If I am successful at all I do, what has God done for me?
If I am wrapped up in my work and busy acing this wife/homemaker thing, how has God moved in my life?
When I can't do it and can't keep up and can't find the strength, I get to see God.
He works when I can't anymore.
He acts on my behalf when am unable to do it myself.
He moves and displays His strength when my strength is gone.
You know, I cannot figure out why I run myself ragged so often trying to prove myself. It is more fun to get to see God in all His grace and power, after all.
Is my stubbornness/determination coming between me and my experience of God's majesty?
Does God care about housework?
I think so.
And I am trying to learn to fall to my knees more quickly rather than flailing to keep my feet under me. After all, which is more important to me: the power of Christ or my stupid pride?
Is the key to success in the Christian life admitting to being an utter failure? (Hmm, that echoes the beatitudes.)
I'll gladly wave my white flag if it means that He gets the control and the glory in my life.
Although, I'm fresh out of white flags. Maybe one of these socks will do.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
A Day in the Life of a New Wife
As a couple approaches matrimony, people delight in telling them how humbling marriage is. I heard it often enough that I could nod sagely every time I heard it, with a conspiratorial smile because I was "in the know" about how my selfishness and sinfulness was about to be revealed in a whole new way after I said "I do."
But marriage is humbling in other ways. No one bothered to mention them.
Take last Thursday for instance.
I needed inspiration for supper preparation and so had asked my darling hubby what would tickle his palate. His response was "Meatloaf!"
Excellent, I mused. I can use Mom's recipe - I know that one is tasty - and it will feel homey for me.
"What would you like on the side?" his excellent wife pressed further.
"Something cold," he replied with a smile.
Something cold? I thought. What is a "cold" side? I am used to hot potato dishes, baked beans, steamed vegetables, etc., etc., adorning the sides of our dinner plates. I am prepared for the struggle to time them all exactly so they are finished at the same time and able to be served up hot together. WHY would someone want a nice hot dish served cold???
So, I asked him what he meant.
"How about creamy pea salad?"
First of all, I don't eat pea salad.
Second of all, my mother doesn't make pea salad.
Third of all, I don't know how to make pea salad.
So I smile and send him off to work and set about finding a recipe from the all-wise Bing for creamy pea salad.
I found a recipe - one with ingredients that I mostly already had and that sounded agreeable - and set out to make it.
First, I hopped in his truck to do a little grocery shopping in order to fill in the gaps in my pantry. I couldn't find the lever to make the seat slide forward, so I just sat forward in the seat, leaned against the seat belt, pointed my toe, and managed to work the gas and break pedals somewhat comfortably . . . at least without being a menace to traffic.
I rolled into the little local grocery and set about making my purchases for my home-cooked meal for my hubby. As I strolled leisurely down the aisles, I saw the bread rack.
I make my own bread, was the snobbish thought which likes to echo through my head.
You are almost out of bread, was the impish thought in return.
Look, there's even some bakery bread. That can't be as bad as the factory stuff. You don't have the time or fresh flour for your own right now, and making bread with regular flour is a sad concession in itself.
Yes, I could rationalize it, so I sheepishly tucked some store-bought, bakery-made bread into my cart and tried to look nonchalant.
I got back home and put away my groceries feeling very much like a real homemaker. The bread went into the freezer and the rest of the groceries found homes in my cupboards.
Next task: creamy pea salad.
Required: a hard-boiled egg.
Hard-boiled egg? A hard-boiled egg? I don't eat hard-boiled eggs. I don't make hard-boiled eggs. How am I supposed to hard-boil an egg?
Back to Bing I went, feeling less and less competent as a cook than I had in years.
Eureka! Bing pulled through, and I made a few extra eggs to keep in the fridge, just in case the hubby likes to eat them. Good, back on track to being competent in the kitchen.
The salad slid together, and I even had to admit it was good. The meatloaf roasted, and it tasted like home.
I admitted to the new husband that his new wife had bought bread, which he happily forgave, and I glowingly enjoyed his praises over my culinary efforts.
So, it turned out well (better than well, actually!); but the next time you start waxing eloquent about marriage's humbling qualities, stop and make sure the couple you're talking to knows that it isn't just humbling as it pertains to sin and redemption.
Oh, no.
Once you start realizing that there are real, reasonable people out there that eat the food you always snub in the potluck line, you just might be serving up a cold side of humble pie.
But marriage is humbling in other ways. No one bothered to mention them.
Take last Thursday for instance.
I needed inspiration for supper preparation and so had asked my darling hubby what would tickle his palate. His response was "Meatloaf!"
Excellent, I mused. I can use Mom's recipe - I know that one is tasty - and it will feel homey for me.
"What would you like on the side?" his excellent wife pressed further.
"Something cold," he replied with a smile.
Something cold? I thought. What is a "cold" side? I am used to hot potato dishes, baked beans, steamed vegetables, etc., etc., adorning the sides of our dinner plates. I am prepared for the struggle to time them all exactly so they are finished at the same time and able to be served up hot together. WHY would someone want a nice hot dish served cold???
So, I asked him what he meant.
"How about creamy pea salad?"
First of all, I don't eat pea salad.
Second of all, my mother doesn't make pea salad.
Third of all, I don't know how to make pea salad.
So I smile and send him off to work and set about finding a recipe from the all-wise Bing for creamy pea salad.
I found a recipe - one with ingredients that I mostly already had and that sounded agreeable - and set out to make it.
First, I hopped in his truck to do a little grocery shopping in order to fill in the gaps in my pantry. I couldn't find the lever to make the seat slide forward, so I just sat forward in the seat, leaned against the seat belt, pointed my toe, and managed to work the gas and break pedals somewhat comfortably . . . at least without being a menace to traffic.
I rolled into the little local grocery and set about making my purchases for my home-cooked meal for my hubby. As I strolled leisurely down the aisles, I saw the bread rack.
I make my own bread, was the snobbish thought which likes to echo through my head.
You are almost out of bread, was the impish thought in return.
Look, there's even some bakery bread. That can't be as bad as the factory stuff. You don't have the time or fresh flour for your own right now, and making bread with regular flour is a sad concession in itself.
Yes, I could rationalize it, so I sheepishly tucked some store-bought, bakery-made bread into my cart and tried to look nonchalant.
I got back home and put away my groceries feeling very much like a real homemaker. The bread went into the freezer and the rest of the groceries found homes in my cupboards.
Next task: creamy pea salad.
Required: a hard-boiled egg.
Hard-boiled egg? A hard-boiled egg? I don't eat hard-boiled eggs. I don't make hard-boiled eggs. How am I supposed to hard-boil an egg?
Back to Bing I went, feeling less and less competent as a cook than I had in years.
Eureka! Bing pulled through, and I made a few extra eggs to keep in the fridge, just in case the hubby likes to eat them. Good, back on track to being competent in the kitchen.
The salad slid together, and I even had to admit it was good. The meatloaf roasted, and it tasted like home.
I admitted to the new husband that his new wife had bought bread, which he happily forgave, and I glowingly enjoyed his praises over my culinary efforts.
So, it turned out well (better than well, actually!); but the next time you start waxing eloquent about marriage's humbling qualities, stop and make sure the couple you're talking to knows that it isn't just humbling as it pertains to sin and redemption.
Oh, no.
Once you start realizing that there are real, reasonable people out there that eat the food you always snub in the potluck line, you just might be serving up a cold side of humble pie.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
New Wife, New Life
Maybe I should have a warning label: "Caution. New Wife."
My brain is going crazy with everything it needs to do: finish clean-up, finish moving in, finish laundry from the wedding trip, go through pictures, write thank-you's, stay up to date on outside life as it moves past, decide which church commitments to enter and which to wait til later . . . dishes, laundry, cleaning, friends, cooking, groceries . . .
Oh, and care for the husband. That one I like. A lot.
The funniest things make me feel like a "real" wife. Yesterday, it was filling the ice cube tray. Stupid, I know. But for some reason, that simple act said, "You are no longer defined as daughter, relative, sister, friend. Your new identity - and your main one - is wife."
And I've only had one laundry snafu so far!
The really strange part is the feeling of vulnerability. My heart is walking around outside my body in the form of a 6'5", twenty-five-year-old man.
When people slight him, it hurts.
Physically.
I can feel it.
When he is attacked, I would rather they come after me, because it hurts less.
This is the infant stage of marriage. I am that wide-eyed baby, awash in wonder at the simplest aspects of married life. Every sensation - every sight, sound, and color of marriage - compounds its intensity for my unaccustomed mind.
I know some of this (or a lot of it) will fade into a hum-drum background as this new reality becomes my new normal. But I don't want all of it to become flat and tedious. I want to retain the wonder of some of it.
It makes me think of Tae Kwon Do. Our instructor always warned us, "Getting your black belt is not the finish line; that is when the real work begins."
I guess I've begun the real work of my life, perhaps the realest work in life.
Right now, it's still fun and interesting. I know that will change.
But right now, watch out world. There's a new wife down the road!
My brain is going crazy with everything it needs to do: finish clean-up, finish moving in, finish laundry from the wedding trip, go through pictures, write thank-you's, stay up to date on outside life as it moves past, decide which church commitments to enter and which to wait til later . . . dishes, laundry, cleaning, friends, cooking, groceries . . .
Oh, and care for the husband. That one I like. A lot.
The funniest things make me feel like a "real" wife. Yesterday, it was filling the ice cube tray. Stupid, I know. But for some reason, that simple act said, "You are no longer defined as daughter, relative, sister, friend. Your new identity - and your main one - is wife."
And I've only had one laundry snafu so far!
The really strange part is the feeling of vulnerability. My heart is walking around outside my body in the form of a 6'5", twenty-five-year-old man.
When people slight him, it hurts.
Physically.
I can feel it.
When he is attacked, I would rather they come after me, because it hurts less.
This is the infant stage of marriage. I am that wide-eyed baby, awash in wonder at the simplest aspects of married life. Every sensation - every sight, sound, and color of marriage - compounds its intensity for my unaccustomed mind.
I know some of this (or a lot of it) will fade into a hum-drum background as this new reality becomes my new normal. But I don't want all of it to become flat and tedious. I want to retain the wonder of some of it.
It makes me think of Tae Kwon Do. Our instructor always warned us, "Getting your black belt is not the finish line; that is when the real work begins."
I guess I've begun the real work of my life, perhaps the realest work in life.
Right now, it's still fun and interesting. I know that will change.
But right now, watch out world. There's a new wife down the road!
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