Love Is Faithful

God teaches us things in amazing ways, doesn't He? Today, He taught me two lessons, one at sunrise and one in darkness.

This morning, my little son got up. He was not ready to be up, his body exhausted from too little rest, but he was awake nonetheless. I picked him up, admonished him to be quiet since the girls were still sleeping, and my boy slung his delicate 2 year old arm around my neck, clutching his stuffed dog tightly in the other arm. I brought him downstairs and we settled into the sofa to snuggle.

And what did my monster do? He fell asleep. I didn't realize it right away, but I heard him snore softly, and felt him turn his torso so he was snuggled in the warm space between my waist and my arm. I kept thinking about all the work I needed to be doing, but my son quieted all of that in me with his sweet little boyness and his sweeter smell. Ten minutes passed, and I just couldn't sit there unmoving any longer. He was somewhat incensed (still asleep) that I needed to move, but he decided to roll over onto his tummy and lay across my legs, using hos doggy as a pillow. And so for half an hour, until I absolutely HAD to get the girls up, my boy and I rested.

I delighted in him, in his sweetness, in his insistence that he needed me, and that no one else would do. I love that my son showed me exactly what my Father God wants ME to do more; come to Him first, and simply rest. Just rest. Take a siesta in His lap, let Him scratch my back and stroke my hair while I cling tightly to my mangy old dog (baggage? Who said I have mangy, flea-ridden baggage?).


Tonight I needed to run over to a friend's house to drop off a stroller for their trip to Disney World tomorrow, and while I was out, I realized that it's starting to get dark so much sooner (I left the house at 8:45). I drove by a h.u.g.e Baptist church, one that I've only been to once for an Easter egg hunt, whose steeple was brightly lit from the road.

I was so grateful to see that huge cross. It was half-hidden by trees for a time, but I caught a glimpse of it full on, in all its (earthly, broken) glory. I came to realize that in a world as scary as this, with every abomination and fear and injustice, that there is still the Cross, and that's where I find my home, my true North.

Jesus, You are my true North.

Rude Awakening

This morning I had the worst dream I've ever had. Ever. I lost my entire family (MM and the three kids) in a car accident when I wasn't with them, and had to be told, then tell my mother-in-law. It was horrifying, I just wept when I woke up. Then kept weeping while MM tried to hold on to me. I know, without a doubt, that this dream was God speaking to my current spiritual state.

Without going into all the gory details, I've been one of those dreaded lukewarm Christians for a long time. Mind you, I've only BEEN a Christian for three years. I can sometimes "catch the wave", so to speak, but mostly I'm in the ebb rather than the flow of joy, of love, of devotion, of all that stuff.

Again, without uncovering the situation, something happened when I was newly pregnant with the CCM that robbed me of trust and security in my home life. I've forgiven, tried to get over it, etc, but I've never gotten back to the place of rejoicing in the Lord. I thought that after lots of pastoral counseling I was mostly over it and indeed still think that I am, though that may just be wishful thinking.

Yesterday my pastor preached a sermon about how even those people who have experienced past victory in Christ could now be lukewarm. It was one of those messages where everyone squirms. He challenged us to think about what our "cardboard testimony" would be if we were to hold a sign up in the "from" and "to" sides. For example, mind might say something like, "Aborted my first baby" to "Mother of three hoping for more". Many people carried their signs in such VICTORY, and it was amazing to see what things people have triumphed over.

At the alter call, did I go? Did I make my own confession of what He has done in my life, and where I still struggle? I'm sure you know that I didn't. So I guess my wake-up call came in the form of the most terrible dream of my life, the most horrifying thing I could ever imagine happening.

All I know right now is that I'll hold my babies close upon rising, but that I need to learn to hold my Jesus closest of all, and I just don't know how to do that.

Prayer

If there's one thing I find complex about the Christian life, it is prayer. I think it's because I can't figure out this relationship between predestination and free will, and it leaves me in knots. John says that some guy (knowing him, it's probably AW Tozer or Chuck Swindoll) says not to try to "unscrew the inscrutable". OK, so I kind of get that, but it's hard to reconcile the two, that's all.

Anyhow, so this battle rages on in me, and makes me wonder about the purpose of prayer. I mean, if God already has decided the outcome, why pray? But if He knows we will or won't pray, why pray? The Bible shows that He was moved by the prayers of the righteous, so I don't know where that leaves me. At the end of the day, I pray because Jesus told me to.

Prayer for me is more than the ACTS formula we learned at church camp or a litany of requests. It's a time when I try to press in and have a conversation with the Living God, whose promises are always yes and amen.

But you know who I ifnd it hardest to pray for? My husband. I read about women who pray for their husbands tirelessly, praying without ceasing. This is an admitted area of weakness for me, and I need (of all things) a blog challenge to kick me in the pants and get me where I need to be.

If you want to join me, head on over to Blessed to Be Home and sign up for a 30 day challenge to pray for your husband!

Be still and know that I AM

They say to write what you know. Today what I know is painful, and I don't so much want to talk about it. When I don't want to talk, those of you who know me know that I probably NEED to talk. Sigh.

The Music Man and I have one real fight, and we've had it for several years. I tend to think that I'm right, (and Biblically I am, make no mistake) and he may or may not care, I'm not really sure. He says he cares, but when the situation is painful to me and he never makes any attempt to change it, well, I'm not buying what he's selling. Even though I'm right, I know that doesn't really touch the heart of the matter. If the heart of it is loving and honoring, I'm w-a-y outside of that dynamic.

But this is pernicious pain, insidious, leaking out of me. It's pain that makes me want to rely on things that are outside of God and "lean into my own understanding". Proverbs says that fools despise wisdom, that is, the right and wrong God explicitly gives us through the logos word, but what I'm dealing with right now is the rhema word, the whisper of the Holy Spirit to my ragged and wounded heart.

I just want to run it out, to hit the pavement so hard that I exhaust it out of my bones. I think it's now inscribed on my marrow, replicating into every cell of my body. It's one of those hurts that even the extensive work of forgiveness and reconciliation hasn't yet stamped out. I don't know if that's because I haven't worked hard enough, or if I haven't released it fully, or if it just hasn't been enough time. I always want something done with NOW, so two and a half years seems like an insufferable amount of time. I'm so restless, can't just sit still and be with the feelings, with the Lord.

I'm not sure to it'll get fixed right now, so I'm just trusting Romans 8:28.

Part II

You know, God's faithfulness never ceases to amaze me. I spent the entire day yesterday thinking about, complaining about, obsessing about my weight. And then last night, in the few hours of sleep that I'm getting these days (courtesy of the Look Alike's schedule and my inability to sleep if there are birds chirping outside, even at 5 freaking 30), I had a dream. No idea what the rest of the dream was about, but I remember putting my hand on my hip and feeling the curve of my waist. It was littler. Not little, but smaller. I had this breezy feeling that I'd lost another 20 lbs of so (which would get me down to my pre-pregnancy weight with the Firecracker Princess), and I know it was a promise from Him that even when I am faithless, He is faithful.

About a year ago I took an inner healing class that taught writing what we hear God say to us, and one of the things I wrote down was "I chose the slope of your nose, the curve of your hip, the arch of your foot". And yes, the hairs on my head.

I'm sure I'll continue to worry about this weight issue, but maybe not in such a hopeless sense any longer. Two pounds in two weeks is still a loss, and aren't we warned "not to despise the day of small things"?

Ethan Powell

Many of you know that I've been praying for Ethan Powell for about a year now. It was the Firecracker Princess' most fervent prayer, truth be told. Every nap and night for prayers she'd say, "Dear Lord, please heal baby Ethan's little body, take the leukemia away from his little body".

Yesterday morning he passed away, and I am heartbroken. Heartbroken. When she got up from nap, I decided I needed to tell her. I said that baby Ethan went to live with Jesus, and her reaction made me weep. She was so excited, and said, "He's home now!".

Yes baby, yes.

Loaves and fishes

I've decided to try some new recipes this week. I bit the bullet and included some tilapia in our monthly shopping because, even though I don't LIKE fish, I know we should be eating it. Sigh.

The adventure began with a crispy fish taco recipe that sounded at least edible. I figured I'd give it a try and pray it wouldn't kill me. Since I'm here telling the tale, obviously it didn't! Actually, it wasn't half bad. Music Man thought it was quite tasty and asked me to make them again.

Crispy Fish Tacos
Ingredients

- Peanut oil (or whatever oil you use), enough for frying
- 2 cups Panko bread crumbs (in the Asian section of your supermarket)
- 2 eggs, beaten with 2 T water
- Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 2 pounds of your favorite white fish (cut into strips if they're thick)
- 8 corn tortillas
- 1/2 head cabbage, sliced thinly
- Lime wedges for garnish
- Fresh cilantro leaves, snipped off the stems
- Chili Mayo (recipe to follow)

Directions

1. Heat oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat.
2. Put eggs in one shallow dish and bread crumbs in another. Season egg with salt and pepper. Dip fish fillets in egg, then coat them well with bread crumbs.
3. Working in batches, cook fish in oil until browned on one side, then flip and cook until completely brown. Remove to a towel-lined plate and lightly sprinkle tops with Kosher salt.
4. To serve, warm tortillas. Place one fish fillet on tortilla and add some of the cabbage and a few dollops of chili mayo. Sprinkle top with cilantro and then squeeze lime juice over the whole lot.

Chili Mayo

Mix together 1/2 cup mayo, 1/2 cup sour cream, 2 tablespoons lime juice and 1/2 teaspoon chili powder. Mix well, then sample. Add more chili powder and or lime juice to suit your tastes.

I also made Ezekiel bread. Monday I escaped the confines of my messy house to get to the Breadbeckers for the spelt and millet I needed to make it. I keep wheat and rye, but apparently one needs ancient grains to make this stuff. Thankfully I already had the kidney beans, lentils, and great northern beans to round it out. I'm telling you, this recipe is serious!

After being properly warned that it is somewhat more like a quick bread dough, even though it has a full tablespoon of yeast, I set out. My grain mill responded beautifully to the interlopers, so I was pleased with the flour. Mixed it up, tossed it in the pans, let it rise. Hmm, didn't rise so much. Oh well, figured I'd bake it up anyhow.

After a late-night sampling with apricot preserves, the verdicts: I say it's just OK. Music Man says it's like a symphony in his mouth, and that the texture is outstanding. Um, ok. Heck, at least he's happy.

I also made blueberry millet muffins. I don't know if it's because I got an aluminum-free baking powder (Rumford, you should try it) or because I'd just never made this recipe before, but they seemed salty to me. Oh, and a word to the wise. Do not, I repeat do NOT give your toddler these muffins before they get diarrhea, because the resulting diaper changes are so not fun. So not fun.


And since we already talked about Ezekiel, the name of God that I read about today was Jehovah Shammah, "the Lord is there" (Ez 48:35).

Simple GIfts

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,

To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come round right.

I wonder if Mrs. Rojano, my elementary school music teacher, would be proud that I still remember this. How many of us sang that song as kids? Maybe not a lot, but in the midwest, we know those Shaker songs a little better because, well, we had Shakers in our part of the country.

I read a couple of email devotionals, and yesterday I got one about how "every knee shall bow". Now, I'll admit that I haven't taken much *cough* time for my spiritual life in the last few months. I seem to always be too focused on pregnancy to work on my own spiritual growth, and I like to think that He works on me in different ways when I'm nourishing and growing a babe in there. Now that Look Alike is here, I need to get back to it. However, I still read the devotionals as a tiny way to learn God's heart.

As someone who has been called a Berean, I struggle with the difference between KNOWING and KNOWING ABOUT. I can read God's word until the proverbial cows come home, but unless I spend time with Him, I'm no better than Satan, who knows all about Him too. Time away with the Lord, that's what changes hearts. I've seen it, I've done it, it has changed me. And yet now I hide.

But it's funny how God pursues us, so deliriously in love with His creation, even the cracked, earth worn and weary creatures like me. He shows me over and over and over again that I am His and He desires me and our time together. And I miss the invitation more often than I accept it. Those are sweet moments, those stolen times with Him. It's like a first kiss all over again.

Yesterday's Upwords by Max Lucado had to do with how the lost in hell blashpheme all the more because there's no longing for God in a place He does not reside. Interesting, eh? I'd never thought about it. But this is what struck me: "Even the longing for God is a gift from God...".

He wants to be with me so much that he makes my heart ache for Him. It never ceases to amaze me how this amazing God who formed the Earth with only His words is so utterly vulnerable when it comes to togetherness. It's like He's saying, "I want to be with you, here, now. Do you want to be with me?" It strikes me as a "check yes or no" note, sent by a blushing boy to his crush. And now that I think about it, what could be better than to be crushed on by the great I Am?

The secret

Did you ever feel like there was some great secret that everyone around you knew, but that you just missed? People WANT you to know it, some ASSUME you know it, but at the end of the day, you know that you don't know.

That's how I feel about the whole Jesus thing. It took me a long time (and an amazingly intellectual pastor, and lots of hours of conversation) to believe that Jesus is the Son of God. If I'm honest with myself, I still have doubts at times, and doubt is painful. The crossroads of my personality, at the intersection of Must Always Be Right and There May Be Something Better make for quite a few icky accidents. One day I fear this will take me away from God entirely.

I get the Father God thing. I know it's tough for lots of people, but since I never really had a father in my life, it's something I longed for. Curling up in Abba's lap? Not so hard for me. I confess that when I hear His voice, it's through my own filter, which is more harsh and demanding than grace-full at times. A friend of mine once said I'd know God's voice because it would be too gentle to believe. That makes me cry in its stark and utter truth.

Jesus I struggle with. Why? Is it because I can be so demanding and austere? Is it because I have a hard time accepting something free? I must be suspicious. Grace equals "unmerited favor", which I've never experienced from another person. It's totally foreign to me, I always had to "do" to be accepted, and it was usually for a short period of time. Then I'd have to "do" again. I don't know that I actually trust anyone. Sigh.

Yesterday my husband and I had a small argument. I thought about the argument we had before that one, and I realized, I'm VERY invested in not needing him. Not needing anyone, for that matter. And there's the rub. I grew up having to protect myself everywhere. There was no one to protect the little girl that I was, so I adapted. Now that I have a husband who loves me and who desires to protect me, I can't let him.

So what I call independence really isn't. It's self-protection. At the end of the day, it's fear. If I believe God's Word, "perfect love casts out fear", so I'm just not letting Him do his work.

Happy Easter!

He is risen! (He is risen, indeed!)

We heard that refrain many times today at our church, and it makes me think. I mean, I'm a believer. So what does Easter mean to me?

It really kinda makes me crazy, this Easter thing. First, the name itself. What's a pagan fertility goddess, Eastre, got to do with our risen Lord? The bunnies? The eggs? Hers. And I know how Christians have turned them into "resurrection eggs", but to me that just feels like putting lipstick on a pig.

At the end of the day though, I don't know WHAT Easter means to me. My believing friends, they get all weepy about Easter. And I think I should, don't get me wrong. But I'm not really sure what the dramas we see and the pretty dresses have to do with the grit I imagine Christ endured. If we want to identify with Jesus, shouldn't we be wearing grave clothes, then casting them off? Shouldn't we be filthy and stinky from days in a tomb, shielding our eyes from the brightness of the sun? Shouldn't we cough rock dust and musty air from our aching lungs, nearly choking in the freshness outside the tomb?

There's got to be something I'm missing. I can't quite grasp it, I'm sure that it's there, but so elusive to me. Maybe someday...