Hello world, it is me: Barbara the Delinquent Blogger! Honestly, who knew that the last time I would have blogged would have been July 13th? Seriously, I did not see the blog hiatus coming. Didn't plan it. And yet, there it was. In all its quiet glory.
Truthfully, I was shocked by how long it had been since I last blogged. It didn't feel like it had been that long. And I didn't really think people would notice. But you did! And that is humbling and sweet. So, thank you for giving me the nudge needed to get back up on my writing horse, as it were.
Are there any good reasons for the blog silence? Well, not really. Life is busy, but that's nothing new. I've been working on other writing projects, but that also is nothing new.
I suppose I just fell out of the habit. And that is something I can fix.
In fact, I am very intentionally planning on re-forming the habit of blogging regularly, but at a new address! Woot! Who doesn't like moving? Okay. Actually, don't answer that. No one likes moving. But everyone likes the new digs when they are still new, right? A new coat of paint; pictures hung on different walls; more space to move around: that all adds up to a great deal of happysighingness. And so, the move will happen.
My incredible husband (who has his own stellar blog these days is working on reading my mind and interpreting my indecision in order to make my blog as pretty as I want it. The official launch of the new digs will be January 1st. Aren't you so excited?!
In the meantime, I want to give you a bit of a Merry Christmas countdown leading up to the big move (and all the new content) by reposting some of my most favourite blog posts that I've written since I started the blog in November 2006. Some are funny, some nostalgic, some inspirational (I hope?).
I hope you enjoy reading some of my favourites, and do feel free to suggest favourites of yours (if it isn't too pompous of me to think that you might have remembered a post or two!)
In the meantime, I'm going to post a new Christmas video (ooh. New content already!) that I think is pretty adorable. Enjoy! And see you back here tomorrow when the countdown begins!
Showing posts with label my incredible husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my incredible husband. Show all posts
Monday, December 12, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Foodie Fridays
What are you having for supper tonight? As for me and my husband, we are having delicious somethingorothers at Kelsey's with friends. Woot! But I can't not feed my kids before I go. What's a mom to do when she wants to convince her kids that they aren't being ripped off by not eating delicious restaurant fare?
Try this:
Cooked Bow Tie Noodles (because they are adorable and more toothsome than some other pasta shapes)
Sauteed onion and broccoli
Combine and toss with some Greek or Italian salad dressing
Sprinkle with grated mozzarella.
(add cooked chicken if you are feeling particularly fancy)
Ta da!
Kind of like one of these variations, but once you've seen that idea, you can tweak it however will best please your crew.
Enjoy!
Try this:
Cooked Bow Tie Noodles (because they are adorable and more toothsome than some other pasta shapes)
Sauteed onion and broccoli
Combine and toss with some Greek or Italian salad dressing
Sprinkle with grated mozzarella.
(add cooked chicken if you are feeling particularly fancy)
Ta da!
Kind of like one of these variations, but once you've seen that idea, you can tweak it however will best please your crew.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Wow-ful Women Wednesday
Sara Groves. I know, I know. I've highlighted her here before. Many times. But seriously, how can I not?
Today's post has a few back stories attached to it. Here are a couple:
This song has some of my favourite lyrics of all time. There are a few perfectly written lines, in my mind, that in such a small phrase (lyrically and melodically) can sum up a precise feeling. And I appreciate the beauty of that.
This song, as you will hear Sara talk about, was inspired by a line in a movie which I had seen before I knew of this song, and liked very much as well.
This song makes me miss my husband, and makes me grateful for the fact that I do indeed miss him. He goes out of town every so often for work, and I am grateful that we have the kind of marriage that makes me say, "Boy I miss that guy" instead of "Shucks, is he back already?" There is an "incompleteness" to me and to our family when he is physically absent. And what a great thing it is to see that, and acknowledge it, and to be grateful for his return.
And finally, this song proves my pastor right. Sara, when she introduces this song, talks about the different kinds of happy in her marriage. I haven't experienced exactly what she is speaking of, but I remember my pastor trying to convince my love sick fiance and me that the high flame of newlyweddedness would subside and would develop into the longer lasting, more desireable, greater heatedness of long burning embers. I couldn't imagine anything changing in how I felt about my incredible man, and likely thought my pastor was wrong about us. Maybe other people's love slows down to a simmer, but not ours. But that's not what he was saying. And he was right. *This* kind of "we've been married for almost 15 years" kind of love is better than the "wow, I'm 20!" kind of love. And I'm guessing the "We've been married almost 30 year" kind of love will be better yet! Why? because now we have history. Now we have proof that the promises we made that day, we've kept. And there is a trust. And I'm so grateful. (Mind you, that doesn't mean my heart doesn't still pick up the pace with excitement when I see Chris walk into a room.)
So without further ado, here is "Different Kinds of Happy" by Sara Groves. And don't mind all the mood wrecking chatter with the radio host before and after.
go on and ask me anything
what do you need to know
I'm not holding on to anything
I'm not willing to let go of
to be free, to be free
I've got to ask you something
but please don't be afraid
there's a promise here thats heavier
than your answer might weigh
baby it's me, it's me
it's a sweet, sweet thing
standing here with you and nothing to hide
light shining down to our very insides
sharing our secrets, bearing our souls,
helping each other come clean
secrets and cyphers
there's no good way to hide
there's redemption in confession
and freedom in the light
I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid
better than our promises
is the day we got to keep them
I wish those two could see us now
they never would believe how
there are different kinds of happy
different kinds of happy
there are different kinds of happy
different kinds of happy
Today's post has a few back stories attached to it. Here are a couple:
This song has some of my favourite lyrics of all time. There are a few perfectly written lines, in my mind, that in such a small phrase (lyrically and melodically) can sum up a precise feeling. And I appreciate the beauty of that.
This song, as you will hear Sara talk about, was inspired by a line in a movie which I had seen before I knew of this song, and liked very much as well.
This song makes me miss my husband, and makes me grateful for the fact that I do indeed miss him. He goes out of town every so often for work, and I am grateful that we have the kind of marriage that makes me say, "Boy I miss that guy" instead of "Shucks, is he back already?" There is an "incompleteness" to me and to our family when he is physically absent. And what a great thing it is to see that, and acknowledge it, and to be grateful for his return.
And finally, this song proves my pastor right. Sara, when she introduces this song, talks about the different kinds of happy in her marriage. I haven't experienced exactly what she is speaking of, but I remember my pastor trying to convince my love sick fiance and me that the high flame of newlyweddedness would subside and would develop into the longer lasting, more desireable, greater heatedness of long burning embers. I couldn't imagine anything changing in how I felt about my incredible man, and likely thought my pastor was wrong about us. Maybe other people's love slows down to a simmer, but not ours. But that's not what he was saying. And he was right. *This* kind of "we've been married for almost 15 years" kind of love is better than the "wow, I'm 20!" kind of love. And I'm guessing the "We've been married almost 30 year" kind of love will be better yet! Why? because now we have history. Now we have proof that the promises we made that day, we've kept. And there is a trust. And I'm so grateful. (Mind you, that doesn't mean my heart doesn't still pick up the pace with excitement when I see Chris walk into a room.)
So without further ado, here is "Different Kinds of Happy" by Sara Groves. And don't mind all the mood wrecking chatter with the radio host before and after.
go on and ask me anything
what do you need to know
I'm not holding on to anything
I'm not willing to let go of
to be free, to be free
I've got to ask you something
but please don't be afraid
there's a promise here thats heavier
than your answer might weigh
baby it's me, it's me
it's a sweet, sweet thing
standing here with you and nothing to hide
light shining down to our very insides
sharing our secrets, bearing our souls,
helping each other come clean
secrets and cyphers
there's no good way to hide
there's redemption in confession
and freedom in the light
I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid
better than our promises
is the day we got to keep them
I wish those two could see us now
they never would believe how
there are different kinds of happy
different kinds of happy
there are different kinds of happy
different kinds of happy
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Heart of the Matter Online
It is Heart of the Matter time again. Please follow this link to read my latest article, which is actually part one of a series of four.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Building Family Traditions
Sometime near or on December first, our family gets the house ready for Christmas. It has become known as “Tree Day” and it is one of the highlights of our year.
It isn’t anything fancy, really. We go out and buy a fresh tree. Sometimes, we don’t even all go and pick it out together. Most times, my husband goes out, by himself, and with very little pomp and circumstance, brings home a tree. Nothing remarkable about that.
Then we pull out our ornaments and put them on the tree. Now, some families have an ornament for every year that each child has lived, and special ones from special relatives, and memory ornaments of people who have passed on, and some have the crafty ones the kids made when they were little.
We don’t have those.
We have fairly normal, basic, gold and cream ornaments and some ribbon that we wind around the branches. Nothing remarkable about that.
While we are doing the tree, we are listening to Christmas music and eating ‘Christmas foods’. The foods are typically snacky appetizer types that we graze on while we decorate. Chips. Salsa. Cheese. Crackers. Nothing particularly remarkable about that either.
But you know what? This year, my 9 year old said, “I think I like this day almost better than Christmas morning.”
Now that’s remarkable. Why do you think that is?
Please read the rest of my latest Heart of the Matter article here.
It isn’t anything fancy, really. We go out and buy a fresh tree. Sometimes, we don’t even all go and pick it out together. Most times, my husband goes out, by himself, and with very little pomp and circumstance, brings home a tree. Nothing remarkable about that.
Then we pull out our ornaments and put them on the tree. Now, some families have an ornament for every year that each child has lived, and special ones from special relatives, and memory ornaments of people who have passed on, and some have the crafty ones the kids made when they were little.
We don’t have those.
We have fairly normal, basic, gold and cream ornaments and some ribbon that we wind around the branches. Nothing remarkable about that.
While we are doing the tree, we are listening to Christmas music and eating ‘Christmas foods’. The foods are typically snacky appetizer types that we graze on while we decorate. Chips. Salsa. Cheese. Crackers. Nothing particularly remarkable about that either.
But you know what? This year, my 9 year old said, “I think I like this day almost better than Christmas morning.”
Now that’s remarkable. Why do you think that is?
Please read the rest of my latest Heart of the Matter article here.
Monday, November 29, 2010
What's in a Name?
If you are anything like me, which I'm sure you are, there are times when you just haven't got a foggy clue what you are doing, and you are pretty sure that no one has ever felt as lost as you, and that no one could ever possibly get the disaster your brain is in. Can I get an "amen"? Anyone? Thank you.
I remember one such time. It was way back in the days of "the Townhouse" which is code for "the days when, yes we were living in the townhouse, but more than that it was in the time of life when we had 4 kids under the age of 4, and I was embroiled in my biggest life battle to date".
Someone had directed me to a blog and forum for moms where I went to find someone who understood me. Someone who'd been there. I tried to submit two questions about my state of confusion and exhaustion on the forum. The first they refused to post as it "encouraged something the moderators didn't endorse". So the second question, I made sure to be broad and unoffensive and something that would stir some helpful conversation.
What I said was something like this: "I'm a very young mom. I stay at home with my kids all the time. I love it and wouldn't have it any other way, but I'm really tired. And sometimes pretty sad. Can anyone relate?" What I received back was a bunch of platitudes and "right answers".
"No, I love it! I'm so blessed to be at home and I never feel tired or grumpy at all!"
"No, the joy of the Lord is *my* strength. I sure never feel sad at home at all!"
"Who could ever feel lonely when Jesus is your present help and comfort?"
And you know what? I knew all that. I knew that was supposed to be my reality, but the reality was that I was still tired: physically, emotionally, spiritually tired. My spiritual life was not stagnant. I was not being disobedient, or ungrateful, or rebellious. I had a wonderful husband with a fabulous marriage, and a supportive church. My little children were good sleepers and fairly obedient, all things considered. Life wasn't bad. I wasn't complaining. I was just a busy, tired woman. And no one understood. Or so I thought. They weren't hearing me. They weren't getting me. They couldn't help me.
One day in my quiet time I sat down hoping to hear a word of encouragement in my daily reading. I felt a strange prompting to read 1 Chronicles 3:8. Really? Really.
I kind of ignored it, but it wouldn't go away, so I finally turned to that spot thinking I was probably imagining things. Sure enough, the verse says this: "Elishama, Eliada, and Eliphelet". Nope. Not a word from the Lord. Just a list of names.
I tried to move on, back to my scheduled reading for the day, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was to read that passage again. So I did, and the whole chapter looking for something in the context. Nothing. It is just a list of the descendants of David. I was hoping that those 3 names were not the ordained names for my next 3 children!
Still, I felt like I was supposed to "get" something out of that verse. Finally, I thought to look up in a bible dictionary what those names meant.
Here's what those names mean, and what the Lord wanted me to know that day: "The Lord hears, The Lord knows, and The Lord will deliver."
He understood me. He heard my prayers. He knew my heart. And, as my present help in times of trouble, he would deliver me in his time and in his way.
How grateful I was that day for 3 funny sounding names. And how grateful I am still that we have a Lord who sympathizes with our weakness, and who understands our frailty, and who can speak to any specific circumstance in our day through the Word.
What does the Lord mean to speak to you today? What burden do you need Him to carry for you? He is more than able. And more than willing. And that is a very, very good thing.
I remember one such time. It was way back in the days of "the Townhouse" which is code for "the days when, yes we were living in the townhouse, but more than that it was in the time of life when we had 4 kids under the age of 4, and I was embroiled in my biggest life battle to date".
Someone had directed me to a blog and forum for moms where I went to find someone who understood me. Someone who'd been there. I tried to submit two questions about my state of confusion and exhaustion on the forum. The first they refused to post as it "encouraged something the moderators didn't endorse". So the second question, I made sure to be broad and unoffensive and something that would stir some helpful conversation.
What I said was something like this: "I'm a very young mom. I stay at home with my kids all the time. I love it and wouldn't have it any other way, but I'm really tired. And sometimes pretty sad. Can anyone relate?" What I received back was a bunch of platitudes and "right answers".
"No, I love it! I'm so blessed to be at home and I never feel tired or grumpy at all!"
"No, the joy of the Lord is *my* strength. I sure never feel sad at home at all!"
"Who could ever feel lonely when Jesus is your present help and comfort?"
And you know what? I knew all that. I knew that was supposed to be my reality, but the reality was that I was still tired: physically, emotionally, spiritually tired. My spiritual life was not stagnant. I was not being disobedient, or ungrateful, or rebellious. I had a wonderful husband with a fabulous marriage, and a supportive church. My little children were good sleepers and fairly obedient, all things considered. Life wasn't bad. I wasn't complaining. I was just a busy, tired woman. And no one understood. Or so I thought. They weren't hearing me. They weren't getting me. They couldn't help me.
One day in my quiet time I sat down hoping to hear a word of encouragement in my daily reading. I felt a strange prompting to read 1 Chronicles 3:8. Really? Really.
I kind of ignored it, but it wouldn't go away, so I finally turned to that spot thinking I was probably imagining things. Sure enough, the verse says this: "Elishama, Eliada, and Eliphelet". Nope. Not a word from the Lord. Just a list of names.
I tried to move on, back to my scheduled reading for the day, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was to read that passage again. So I did, and the whole chapter looking for something in the context. Nothing. It is just a list of the descendants of David. I was hoping that those 3 names were not the ordained names for my next 3 children!
Still, I felt like I was supposed to "get" something out of that verse. Finally, I thought to look up in a bible dictionary what those names meant.
Here's what those names mean, and what the Lord wanted me to know that day: "The Lord hears, The Lord knows, and The Lord will deliver."
He understood me. He heard my prayers. He knew my heart. And, as my present help in times of trouble, he would deliver me in his time and in his way.
How grateful I was that day for 3 funny sounding names. And how grateful I am still that we have a Lord who sympathizes with our weakness, and who understands our frailty, and who can speak to any specific circumstance in our day through the Word.
What does the Lord mean to speak to you today? What burden do you need Him to carry for you? He is more than able. And more than willing. And that is a very, very good thing.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
What Love Looks Like
You’ve seen the movie: the music swells in the background, the lights darken around the edges with one bright, piercing ray of sun shining in the center of the screen, while a perfectly manicured, make-upped and hair-dooed couple embrace, vowing that *this* is forever.
Or maybe you’ve seen this one: the house is burning to the ground and the stunningly gorgeous, yet humble girl-next-door-type is trapped in the upper floor, having swooned gracefully and fallen in a semi-conscious state to the smoldering ground. With her, seemingly, last breath she calls out the name of the man whom she has, up to this point in the film, scorned, and who, unbeknownst to the citizens of this quaint little town, was a firefighter before he hit the bottle following the death of his first wife, and who, just now, as he realized he was about to lose this woman forever, found the courage to suit up again in the uniform of his former life, swearing off of the Devil’s elixir forever, and climbed into the towering inferno and towards certain death just to see her one.more.time. And as he reaches her in that semi-conscious state, he calls out her name too and lovingly cradles her perfect head in his sculpted arms, and as she flutters her eyes open one last time, she says, “You came back for me” to which he responds “I’ll never leave you again”; then depending on what kind of ending you like in a movie they either die together there in the fire so that their love is never less perfect than it was in that moment, or they leap out of the window into the pillow-like field of forget-me-nots and live happily ever after.
*sigh*
I don't know about you, but this isn't what life in my house looked like this week. To read what love really looked like in my house, click here to read the rest of my latest Heart of the Matter Article.
Or maybe you’ve seen this one: the house is burning to the ground and the stunningly gorgeous, yet humble girl-next-door-type is trapped in the upper floor, having swooned gracefully and fallen in a semi-conscious state to the smoldering ground. With her, seemingly, last breath she calls out the name of the man whom she has, up to this point in the film, scorned, and who, unbeknownst to the citizens of this quaint little town, was a firefighter before he hit the bottle following the death of his first wife, and who, just now, as he realized he was about to lose this woman forever, found the courage to suit up again in the uniform of his former life, swearing off of the Devil’s elixir forever, and climbed into the towering inferno and towards certain death just to see her one.more.time. And as he reaches her in that semi-conscious state, he calls out her name too and lovingly cradles her perfect head in his sculpted arms, and as she flutters her eyes open one last time, she says, “You came back for me” to which he responds “I’ll never leave you again”; then depending on what kind of ending you like in a movie they either die together there in the fire so that their love is never less perfect than it was in that moment, or they leap out of the window into the pillow-like field of forget-me-nots and live happily ever after.
*sigh*
I don't know about you, but this isn't what life in my house looked like this week. To read what love really looked like in my house, click here to read the rest of my latest Heart of the Matter Article.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wow-ful Women Wednesdays
Somehow I failed to notice that yesterday was Wednesday. I mean, I know it was but the day evaporated like an apple juice spill on the table that leaves behind a sticky reminder that it had been here but wasn't taken care of very well.
Or something like that.
The point being, another Wednesday came and went with so many repetitive household chores being done. It came and went with the same routine that all Wednesdays hold. It came and went with me cleaning up one mess just so that we were able to make another.
And today will be much the same. We will clean up breakfast and the dining room table so that we can cover the table with school books and pencil shavings. Then we'll clean that up so that we can cover the table with soup spoons and bread crumbs. Then we'll clean that up so that "art" can be made and dinner served and Egyptian Temples built.
In the meantime, I will vacuum the floor so that the clean laundry I unceremoniously dump on the carpet for sorting won't pick up every stray piece of who-knows-what. But then once I clean up all the laundry there will be new lint and dryer sheets to pick up. The re-vacuuming may wait until tomorrow.
Such is life. And I wouldn't have it any other way. There is joy to be found. It sounds simple, but it is really profound. It takes a choice.
I'm choosing joy.
Or something like that.
The point being, another Wednesday came and went with so many repetitive household chores being done. It came and went with the same routine that all Wednesdays hold. It came and went with me cleaning up one mess just so that we were able to make another.
And today will be much the same. We will clean up breakfast and the dining room table so that we can cover the table with school books and pencil shavings. Then we'll clean that up so that we can cover the table with soup spoons and bread crumbs. Then we'll clean that up so that "art" can be made and dinner served and Egyptian Temples built.
In the meantime, I will vacuum the floor so that the clean laundry I unceremoniously dump on the carpet for sorting won't pick up every stray piece of who-knows-what. But then once I clean up all the laundry there will be new lint and dryer sheets to pick up. The re-vacuuming may wait until tomorrow.
Such is life. And I wouldn't have it any other way. There is joy to be found. It sounds simple, but it is really profound. It takes a choice.
I'm choosing joy.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Accounting, Of Sorts
My husband keeps our books and manages our finances. I love that guy. He has a great analytical, planning mind and it helps us to keep on track and stay on budget. I cannot tell you how helpful that is and how grateful I am to have that kind of structure in our home.
Now, to be sure, he keeps me “in the loop” and takes my input into account with the budgeting: how much do we need for groceries? How much for diapers? How much for curriculum and extra-curricular activities? We discuss our plans and goals for the year and make decisions accordingly. All in all, it is a great system.
And really, the hardest thing he asks me to do is to give him all of my receipts for anything I didn’t spend cash for. Easy breezy, right?
Ha.
See, sometimes I’m very good at putting them on his desk right away. Come home from store: take receipt out of purse: place on desk. Three simple steps. And really, most of my buying is done with cash anyway so the receipts shouldn’t add up in my wallet at all. However, being human, sometimes they do congregate in my purse, and seemingly multiply, until I have a several of them making a crinkly, noisy stash which adds up to a whole lot of anxiety on my part.
Now if you have spent any time reading my blog, you may have discovered that I have an over-active guilt gland. I can feel guilty about things I’ve done, things I might do, things you think I might have done, and really, on a good day, even about things *you’ve* done. I’m a guilt over-achiever. So as the receipts pile up in my wallet, I start to carry a heavy, self-imposed load of guilt. The longer I wait to finally get them out of my purse, the harder it is to do, and then the more receipts there are, and then the harder it is to do, so the longer I wait, and then the more receipts there are, and the harder it is… What a cycle!
Something else needs to be said here before I continue. The receipts in my wallet are not for crazy things. They are not representing some wild shopping spree at a shoe store, or book store, or fast food restaurant. They are not the proof of frivolous spending. They will show that I have purchased gas, groceries, shampoo, a gift for the birthday girl: all things that are budgeted and accounted for.
Also of note, is the fact that my husband has never made a big deal about this. He is not a grumpy guy who is waiting to make me feel bad for being slow in getting him the receipts. I’m not feeling guilty because I know he is going to be angry. He never is.
The guilt comes from .....
Please read the rest of my latest Heart of The Matter Article here.
Now, to be sure, he keeps me “in the loop” and takes my input into account with the budgeting: how much do we need for groceries? How much for diapers? How much for curriculum and extra-curricular activities? We discuss our plans and goals for the year and make decisions accordingly. All in all, it is a great system.
And really, the hardest thing he asks me to do is to give him all of my receipts for anything I didn’t spend cash for. Easy breezy, right?
Ha.
See, sometimes I’m very good at putting them on his desk right away. Come home from store: take receipt out of purse: place on desk. Three simple steps. And really, most of my buying is done with cash anyway so the receipts shouldn’t add up in my wallet at all. However, being human, sometimes they do congregate in my purse, and seemingly multiply, until I have a several of them making a crinkly, noisy stash which adds up to a whole lot of anxiety on my part.
Now if you have spent any time reading my blog, you may have discovered that I have an over-active guilt gland. I can feel guilty about things I’ve done, things I might do, things you think I might have done, and really, on a good day, even about things *you’ve* done. I’m a guilt over-achiever. So as the receipts pile up in my wallet, I start to carry a heavy, self-imposed load of guilt. The longer I wait to finally get them out of my purse, the harder it is to do, and then the more receipts there are, and then the harder it is to do, so the longer I wait, and then the more receipts there are, and the harder it is… What a cycle!
Something else needs to be said here before I continue. The receipts in my wallet are not for crazy things. They are not representing some wild shopping spree at a shoe store, or book store, or fast food restaurant. They are not the proof of frivolous spending. They will show that I have purchased gas, groceries, shampoo, a gift for the birthday girl: all things that are budgeted and accounted for.
Also of note, is the fact that my husband has never made a big deal about this. He is not a grumpy guy who is waiting to make me feel bad for being slow in getting him the receipts. I’m not feeling guilty because I know he is going to be angry. He never is.
The guilt comes from .....
Please read the rest of my latest Heart of The Matter Article here.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Foodie Fridays
I've been patiently, desperately, hungrily waiting for tomato season so that I could give you this most brilliantly simple and yet STUNNINGLY delicious salad. You could make it with hot-house tomatoes in the winter. And I would encourage you to try. But you'll quickly find that the picked-right-out-of-the-garden tomatoes are just so deadly good that you'll be willing to wait for August and September to eat this salad.
My first taste of this salad was on Chris and my 10th wedding anniversary at a lovely Inn not too far from here. Thankfully the restaurant gave a detailed description of the salad on the menu, and thankfully, I really enjoy trying to replicate restaurant food at home. Hence, I have come very close to getting the salad just right. Yay! This is, unfortunately, one of those recipes without specific amounts listed because you just need to know what's in it and then you can make as much or as little as you like. Trust me, it isn't rocket science! :-)
Without further ado: Tomato and Provolone Salad
What You Need:
Plump, perfect, ripe tomatoes, at least one per person (go for Beefstake or other large, full-flavoured tomatoes. Truthfully, anything fresh off the vine will be good)
Slices of provolone cheese (you can find it already sliced in the deli section, or order it at the counter)
Slices of Genoa Salami (or any other good, not sweet salami. And maybe not a spicy salami either. Something with a good amount of pepper, but not "heat". Does that make sense?)
Pesto (store-bought or homemade...doesn't matter)
Walnut Oil (okay, I know. Really? It is fabulous, but you can certainly use a good olive oil instead)
Black olives (optional)
Fresh basil or parsley (optional)
How to Do it!
Slice tomatoes, salami, and cheese into rounds, trying to make them as close to the same thickness as possible.
Alternate the slices, arranging them in a circle around your place (tomato, salami, cheese, tomato, salami cheese...). For a larger serving, or to make a larger serving platter worth, start near the outside edge of the plate and make overlapping circles/spirals towards the center of the plate.
Thin some pesto with the oil.
Drizzle over salad. Sprinkle with olives and fresh herbs, if using.
Sprinkle with coarse salt and freshly ground pepper if desired.
And then convince yourself that you want to share with the people you love, because truthfully, you may want to eat the whole thing by yourself. :-)
Serve with a good crusty bread to sop up all the dressing and tomato juices off the plate. You could arrange this salad on top of some greens to make it more filling. I'd recommend arugula or spinach as they are more flavourful and sturdy to stand up to the salad.
Enjoy!
My first taste of this salad was on Chris and my 10th wedding anniversary at a lovely Inn not too far from here. Thankfully the restaurant gave a detailed description of the salad on the menu, and thankfully, I really enjoy trying to replicate restaurant food at home. Hence, I have come very close to getting the salad just right. Yay! This is, unfortunately, one of those recipes without specific amounts listed because you just need to know what's in it and then you can make as much or as little as you like. Trust me, it isn't rocket science! :-)
Without further ado: Tomato and Provolone Salad
What You Need:
Plump, perfect, ripe tomatoes, at least one per person (go for Beefstake or other large, full-flavoured tomatoes. Truthfully, anything fresh off the vine will be good)
Slices of provolone cheese (you can find it already sliced in the deli section, or order it at the counter)
Slices of Genoa Salami (or any other good, not sweet salami. And maybe not a spicy salami either. Something with a good amount of pepper, but not "heat". Does that make sense?)
Pesto (store-bought or homemade...doesn't matter)
Walnut Oil (okay, I know. Really? It is fabulous, but you can certainly use a good olive oil instead)
Black olives (optional)
Fresh basil or parsley (optional)
How to Do it!
Slice tomatoes, salami, and cheese into rounds, trying to make them as close to the same thickness as possible.
Alternate the slices, arranging them in a circle around your place (tomato, salami, cheese, tomato, salami cheese...). For a larger serving, or to make a larger serving platter worth, start near the outside edge of the plate and make overlapping circles/spirals towards the center of the plate.
Thin some pesto with the oil.
Drizzle over salad. Sprinkle with olives and fresh herbs, if using.
Sprinkle with coarse salt and freshly ground pepper if desired.
And then convince yourself that you want to share with the people you love, because truthfully, you may want to eat the whole thing by yourself. :-)
Serve with a good crusty bread to sop up all the dressing and tomato juices off the plate. You could arrange this salad on top of some greens to make it more filling. I'd recommend arugula or spinach as they are more flavourful and sturdy to stand up to the salad.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wow-ful Women Wednesdays
The statistics are bad. They say that Christian marriages are as likely to end in divorce as non-Christian marriages. That's not okay. It's not okay that non-Christian families are falling apart. It's not okay that our friends and family are being divided and shattered in this way.
I know of too many couples today who are struggling in their marriages, who want it to work out but can't see the way to restoration, who are looking to the Lord for healing but can't tear down the walls between them and their spouses.
Will you join me today in praying for marriages. Pray that those who are hurting will be humble and gracious enough to love their spouse despite their weaknesses. That they will have the "others-centeredness" to care for each other's needs above their own. That they will look to the inventor of marriage, the Lord himself, to the be the healer and restorer and rebuilder of their family.
And not only for those among us who we know are struggling: pray also for those who are doing well, that they would be even stronger in their faith and their unity, and that there wouldn't be even a crack in the bond that unites them.
Sometimes the wounds are deep, and deliberate, and unfathomably hard to forgive. But sometimes it just starts from a tone, and an offense, and an attitude that is left to fester. Let's nip those kinds of offenses in the bud and let love cover a multitude of sins. And let's pray pray pray for the health of the marriages in our midst. No matter how hard it is to work it out, this is a battle worth fighting.
It's Me -- Sara Groves
Well it came and caught us off our guard
we were just laughin' and feelin' alright
had such a great time just last night
we walked into a minefield undetected
you took a tone and I took offense
anger replacing all common sense
oh run for your life
all tenderness is gone
in the blink of an eye
all good will has withdrawn
and we mark out our paces and
stare out from our faces
but baby you and I are gone gone gone
incomprehensible layers of isolation
now you're the man with a heart of stone
making me pay here by being alone
seemingly justified righteous indignation
now I'm the woman who holds all her pain
looking for somebody else to blame
we hold all the keys to our undoing
cutting me down in small degrees
you know my worst insecurities
I'm making no effort to understand
no one can hurt you like I can
deep down inside the girl's waking up
she's calling out to the boy she loves
it's me
oh baby it's me
how in the world can tenderness be gone
in the blink of an eye
the girl in me she's callin out
oh the girl in me she's callin out
to the boy in you
to the boy in you
baby come back
baby come back to me
I know of too many couples today who are struggling in their marriages, who want it to work out but can't see the way to restoration, who are looking to the Lord for healing but can't tear down the walls between them and their spouses.
Will you join me today in praying for marriages. Pray that those who are hurting will be humble and gracious enough to love their spouse despite their weaknesses. That they will have the "others-centeredness" to care for each other's needs above their own. That they will look to the inventor of marriage, the Lord himself, to the be the healer and restorer and rebuilder of their family.
And not only for those among us who we know are struggling: pray also for those who are doing well, that they would be even stronger in their faith and their unity, and that there wouldn't be even a crack in the bond that unites them.
Sometimes the wounds are deep, and deliberate, and unfathomably hard to forgive. But sometimes it just starts from a tone, and an offense, and an attitude that is left to fester. Let's nip those kinds of offenses in the bud and let love cover a multitude of sins. And let's pray pray pray for the health of the marriages in our midst. No matter how hard it is to work it out, this is a battle worth fighting.
It's Me -- Sara Groves
Well it came and caught us off our guard
we were just laughin' and feelin' alright
had such a great time just last night
we walked into a minefield undetected
you took a tone and I took offense
anger replacing all common sense
oh run for your life
all tenderness is gone
in the blink of an eye
all good will has withdrawn
and we mark out our paces and
stare out from our faces
but baby you and I are gone gone gone
incomprehensible layers of isolation
now you're the man with a heart of stone
making me pay here by being alone
seemingly justified righteous indignation
now I'm the woman who holds all her pain
looking for somebody else to blame
we hold all the keys to our undoing
cutting me down in small degrees
you know my worst insecurities
I'm making no effort to understand
no one can hurt you like I can
deep down inside the girl's waking up
she's calling out to the boy she loves
it's me
oh baby it's me
how in the world can tenderness be gone
in the blink of an eye
the girl in me she's callin out
oh the girl in me she's callin out
to the boy in you
to the boy in you
baby come back
baby come back to me
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
"What's a Motto for You?"
When my hubby and I were first dating,and then when I had brainwashed and hypnotized him into thinking he couldn't live without me (bwahahahaha), we sat down and spent a lot of time writing up a Family Mission and Vision Statment. What an exercise! If you ever think you know what you want your life or your family or your marriage to look like, and if you think your spouse wants the same, you should definitely be ready for your eyes to be opened by a truly fun, and exceptionally useful, exercise such as this.
I remember one of the things we had on our list "wants" for our marriage and our home was peace and a lack of anger. Great idea. What does that look like? Where does that come from? Well, we searched out the scriptures to find what the Word said about anger, and boy, did I ever learn I had a LOT to work through from my own angry, angst-ridden past before I could truly live in peace with anyone. Very eye-opening...and humbling.
Recently, I've been looking at Romans (you just gotta love Romans) and I have found several passages that would make for wonderful starting points for a family motto. Chris and I have been revisiting our goals and our vision for the family and these passages sure set a beautiful tone. Read these, and try and convince me this isn't what you want for your marriage, your family, your workplace, your ministry, your relationships, your church.
Romans 14:19 "So then, let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding."
(my new favourite) Romans 15:5-6 "May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Jesus Christ, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."
Now both of those have SO much to dig deeper in to, and more to define and grasp that you could really study that for a long, long time. But just imagine what your home, what my home, might look like if one of these was the new motto, or the new focus and mind set.
What scriptures do you look to for purpose and focus? Do you have a key verse, or a life verse, that drives you?
I remember one of the things we had on our list "wants" for our marriage and our home was peace and a lack of anger. Great idea. What does that look like? Where does that come from? Well, we searched out the scriptures to find what the Word said about anger, and boy, did I ever learn I had a LOT to work through from my own angry, angst-ridden past before I could truly live in peace with anyone. Very eye-opening...and humbling.
Recently, I've been looking at Romans (you just gotta love Romans) and I have found several passages that would make for wonderful starting points for a family motto. Chris and I have been revisiting our goals and our vision for the family and these passages sure set a beautiful tone. Read these, and try and convince me this isn't what you want for your marriage, your family, your workplace, your ministry, your relationships, your church.
Romans 14:19 "So then, let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding."
(my new favourite) Romans 15:5-6 "May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Jesus Christ, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."
Now both of those have SO much to dig deeper in to, and more to define and grasp that you could really study that for a long, long time. But just imagine what your home, what my home, might look like if one of these was the new motto, or the new focus and mind set.
What scriptures do you look to for purpose and focus? Do you have a key verse, or a life verse, that drives you?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Clean Floors
How often do you wash your kitchen floor? I mean, really clean them. Not just run-the-Swiffer-over-them clean, or kind-of-sweep-them clean, but on-your-hands-and-knees-hot-and-soapy-water clean?
Rarely, if I'm being honest. But I would like to tell you about how it came about that I washed my floors like that on Christmas Eve morning.
Faithful readers here may recall that months ago I promised a series of blog posts, one inspirational and one funny. The inspirational one has been posted: today's is the funny one. (That was your prompt and licence to laugh at me with great vigor!).
Imagine with me, if you will, what a typical Christmas Eve morning is like. As I see it, there are two options. It can be an idyllic, quiet, contemplative time around the tree, with hot apple cider in one hand, Bible in the other, and good snacks (post-delicious brunch, of course) always in easy reach. The children are contentedly playing, loving on one another with the compassion of Mother Theresa, the housework and gift-making are caught up, and the Roast Beast is simmering in a red wine flavoured broth preparing for a magical, culinary experience. We are patiently, yet breathlessly awaiting the candle-light service at the church. The children all say, "Santa who?" and instead prepare cards and gifts for the birth of Christ the King. All is right with the world.
That is option one. That was not our reality this year.
Christmas Eve was a Thursday in 2009, as you may recall. That is only significant in that my daughter's flyer route needs to be worked on Thursdays. Only. Period. Wednesday or Friday delivery of flyers constitutes grounds for immediate dismissal. Thursday morning it is.
Plus, this was the year that I jumped back into the world of "Church Drama" and was preparing for the second night of Christmas Plays. Let's just sum that up by saying my brain is not as sharp as it was 7 children and 11 years ago! Hello, Memory? Anyone home? Right. Didn't think so.
Plus, this was the year our church jumped back into the world of "Choir", which is such a highlight for me that I may need to do an entire post on choir someday. This required me to go through an intense period of humbling as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, hairbrush in hand (to my mouth, of course), repeatedly asking myself if I have any clue how to sing!
Plus, this was the year that I decided to be a mock-athelete and began running for the first time since the boys in the playground were throwing rocks at me.
Plus, this was the year that I thought I should really try to sew some lovely bags for some people I love as gifts. Like my Grandma. Who I would be seeing tomorrow. Whose bag I hadn't started yet. Oops.
And so it was, that I was in a very happy place that Christmas Eve morning doing a lot of things I loved and enjoyed, but found my mind a wee distracted...
The whole gang of us piled in to the van first thing in the morning, and delivered my eldest's 95 flyers, in record time, glad for the nice weather. Then we came home to realize the basement was about to be declared a national emergency site due to the unusually large amount of toys strewn around. So here I am in the kitchen, beginning lunch, barking orders for the basement to be cleaned, kissing my husband who just came home from his morning at the office, putting the baby down for his nap, and thinking the breakfast dishes should be washed, and then thinking I should go and check on the cleaning efforts in the basement.
As I go down to check on the basement overhaul, I realize that my physical presence there with them may be the thing to speed their endeavor, and so I sit and check email. It is in the email that my fate was sealed, I believe. My lovely friend, Kristina who I love, sent me a link to a stunning video of Celtic Woman singing "O Holy Night". Stunning. I sat spell-bound for the 5 minutes of vocal bliss. My bliss was radically, sharply, disasterously ended by my 8 year old's cherubic voice, innocently asking me, "Mommy, what is that water?"
Water? What water? And so I look in to the (praise the Lord) unfinished part of our basement to see water, no sheets of water, falling, pouring, gushing out of my duct work. Did I say gushing? I meant flooding. Rapidly. And spreading fast. Now there is a leak over our freezer. Now it is coming out over the laundry area.
My dear husband is wondering if a pipe froze and burst. "Where is this water coming from?" he cries? "Go make sure everything is off while I shut of the main!"
And my dear oldest daughter says, "Mom! I saw you turn on the kitchen sink!" She flies up the stairs to turn off the kitchen sink, but before she can reach the faucet she falls squarely on her heiny. The water has flooded the counter, and spilled, hot and soapy, all over the kitchen floor. Should I remind the gentle reader here that we have porcelain tiles in our kitchen? Mental note to self: porcelain tiles + hot, soapy water = ice rink.
So as 7 children are screaming "GET MORE TOWELS!!" and "EMPTY THE GARBAGE PAILS TO CATCH THE WATER!!!" I am trying to remember when exactly I turned the sink on. Clearly, somewhere in the "I thought I should wash the breakfast dishes" moment, I actually plugged the sink, squirted in the soap, and turned the tap on full hot.
And now I am sitting on the floor, sopping up water from the inside of my cabinets, and the drawers and the entire kitchen counter, trying really hard not to say out loud any of the names I'm calling myself in my head because there are 14 little eyes and ears watching and listeing to see how mom reacts in a crisis.
At one point, my 8 year old who is notorious for saying the funniest things without trying to be funny, is in a full out fit worrying about how this is going to play out, says with great fervor, "And Mom, this better not become a Facebook Status, because this is *NOT* funny!"
Soon, the basement is dried up, the kitchen is dried up, my husband is reassuring the 8 year old that the house is fine, and sound, and no damage done. I am hiding in the garage, giving full vent to all the pent up rage and self-disgust I previously held inside. I hear my husband's loving voice ask one of the girls, "Where's your mom?" and I get the courage to come in and dry my eyes on his shirt collar. He is half laughing at me, half consoling me. I need both to get through this.
I figured I had ruined Christmas Eve. What happened instead was my kids saw that even "the best mom in the world" makes stupid mistakes, which gives them the freedom to try and fail too. And my kitchen floor got "on-your-hands-and-knees-hot-and-soapy-water clean".
All in all, it was the perfect Christmas Eve morning.
Rarely, if I'm being honest. But I would like to tell you about how it came about that I washed my floors like that on Christmas Eve morning.
Faithful readers here may recall that months ago I promised a series of blog posts, one inspirational and one funny. The inspirational one has been posted: today's is the funny one. (That was your prompt and licence to laugh at me with great vigor!).
Imagine with me, if you will, what a typical Christmas Eve morning is like. As I see it, there are two options. It can be an idyllic, quiet, contemplative time around the tree, with hot apple cider in one hand, Bible in the other, and good snacks (post-delicious brunch, of course) always in easy reach. The children are contentedly playing, loving on one another with the compassion of Mother Theresa, the housework and gift-making are caught up, and the Roast Beast is simmering in a red wine flavoured broth preparing for a magical, culinary experience. We are patiently, yet breathlessly awaiting the candle-light service at the church. The children all say, "Santa who?" and instead prepare cards and gifts for the birth of Christ the King. All is right with the world.
That is option one. That was not our reality this year.
Christmas Eve was a Thursday in 2009, as you may recall. That is only significant in that my daughter's flyer route needs to be worked on Thursdays. Only. Period. Wednesday or Friday delivery of flyers constitutes grounds for immediate dismissal. Thursday morning it is.
Plus, this was the year that I jumped back into the world of "Church Drama" and was preparing for the second night of Christmas Plays. Let's just sum that up by saying my brain is not as sharp as it was 7 children and 11 years ago! Hello, Memory? Anyone home? Right. Didn't think so.
Plus, this was the year our church jumped back into the world of "Choir", which is such a highlight for me that I may need to do an entire post on choir someday. This required me to go through an intense period of humbling as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, hairbrush in hand (to my mouth, of course), repeatedly asking myself if I have any clue how to sing!
Plus, this was the year that I decided to be a mock-athelete and began running for the first time since the boys in the playground were throwing rocks at me.
Plus, this was the year that I thought I should really try to sew some lovely bags for some people I love as gifts. Like my Grandma. Who I would be seeing tomorrow. Whose bag I hadn't started yet. Oops.
And so it was, that I was in a very happy place that Christmas Eve morning doing a lot of things I loved and enjoyed, but found my mind a wee distracted...
The whole gang of us piled in to the van first thing in the morning, and delivered my eldest's 95 flyers, in record time, glad for the nice weather. Then we came home to realize the basement was about to be declared a national emergency site due to the unusually large amount of toys strewn around. So here I am in the kitchen, beginning lunch, barking orders for the basement to be cleaned, kissing my husband who just came home from his morning at the office, putting the baby down for his nap, and thinking the breakfast dishes should be washed, and then thinking I should go and check on the cleaning efforts in the basement.
As I go down to check on the basement overhaul, I realize that my physical presence there with them may be the thing to speed their endeavor, and so I sit and check email. It is in the email that my fate was sealed, I believe. My lovely friend, Kristina who I love, sent me a link to a stunning video of Celtic Woman singing "O Holy Night". Stunning. I sat spell-bound for the 5 minutes of vocal bliss. My bliss was radically, sharply, disasterously ended by my 8 year old's cherubic voice, innocently asking me, "Mommy, what is that water?"
Water? What water? And so I look in to the (praise the Lord) unfinished part of our basement to see water, no sheets of water, falling, pouring, gushing out of my duct work. Did I say gushing? I meant flooding. Rapidly. And spreading fast. Now there is a leak over our freezer. Now it is coming out over the laundry area.
My dear husband is wondering if a pipe froze and burst. "Where is this water coming from?" he cries? "Go make sure everything is off while I shut of the main!"
And my dear oldest daughter says, "Mom! I saw you turn on the kitchen sink!" She flies up the stairs to turn off the kitchen sink, but before she can reach the faucet she falls squarely on her heiny. The water has flooded the counter, and spilled, hot and soapy, all over the kitchen floor. Should I remind the gentle reader here that we have porcelain tiles in our kitchen? Mental note to self: porcelain tiles + hot, soapy water = ice rink.
So as 7 children are screaming "GET MORE TOWELS!!" and "EMPTY THE GARBAGE PAILS TO CATCH THE WATER!!!" I am trying to remember when exactly I turned the sink on. Clearly, somewhere in the "I thought I should wash the breakfast dishes" moment, I actually plugged the sink, squirted in the soap, and turned the tap on full hot.
And now I am sitting on the floor, sopping up water from the inside of my cabinets, and the drawers and the entire kitchen counter, trying really hard not to say out loud any of the names I'm calling myself in my head because there are 14 little eyes and ears watching and listeing to see how mom reacts in a crisis.
At one point, my 8 year old who is notorious for saying the funniest things without trying to be funny, is in a full out fit worrying about how this is going to play out, says with great fervor, "And Mom, this better not become a Facebook Status, because this is *NOT* funny!"
Soon, the basement is dried up, the kitchen is dried up, my husband is reassuring the 8 year old that the house is fine, and sound, and no damage done. I am hiding in the garage, giving full vent to all the pent up rage and self-disgust I previously held inside. I hear my husband's loving voice ask one of the girls, "Where's your mom?" and I get the courage to come in and dry my eyes on his shirt collar. He is half laughing at me, half consoling me. I need both to get through this.
I figured I had ruined Christmas Eve. What happened instead was my kids saw that even "the best mom in the world" makes stupid mistakes, which gives them the freedom to try and fail too. And my kitchen floor got "on-your-hands-and-knees-hot-and-soapy-water clean".
All in all, it was the perfect Christmas Eve morning.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
One Small Step for Man....
This morning I did something I've never done before. And I'm a little proud of it. But let me back up...
When my husband and I had been married for almost 4 years, he realized, with an uproarious amount of laughter, that he had never, until one fateful Cell Group social, seen me run. Not even a scamper as a jay-walker. Not even a trot to answer a ringing phone. So when he saw me, at that Cell Group Social while we were playing stupid soccer-baseball, run to first base, he laughed like a man who had never laughed in all his days. As if he had only just in that moment learned the art of the guffah. He may have even shed some tears in that moment.
It's a good thing he's cute :-)
And I recall on 9-11, and in the multitude of talk-show interviews afterward, hearing women who were out-of-shape and overweight confessing that the jumpstart for their new, healthy lifestyle was the realization that, had they been trapped on an upper level floor trying to race down a stairwell or had they been down on the street trying to outrun a cloud of rubble, they would not have been able to.
I get that.
And then I think about the what if of being chased by a villian. Could I get away? Could I actually run away from the armed maniac?
Plus, I'd like to get somewhere near the weight I was when I first started having kids back in the 2nd Millenium.
And so I was walking. I really love walking. And I'm a quick walker. I like to say I walk like I'm being chased. The trick comes when I read things about the best way to boost your metabolism and kick into "high fat-burning mode" is to work some interval bursts in to your walk. Sadly, I came to realize that the only way for me to walk faster was to *cough* jog.
Gross.
I do not like jogging. I have not liked jogging since the beginning of my wee existence. Any excuse available for avoiding gym class has been utilized by yours truly. Run around the block for gym? Sorry, not gonna happen. Forced to do track and field? Yup. I'll take the 100m dash because I'll be done in 14 seconds, and even *I* can run for 14 seconds without collapsing into a heap.
My childhood activity level consisted of jumping up to get a snack before starting my next chapter of my book.
And so, I stand on my street looking at my happy little 2.7Km walking route realizing that I should jog a couple stretches of it.
Next thing you know, I'm actually doing it. Left, right, left, right. Imagining people being awakened from their slumber by the sound of laboured breathing and heavy foot-falls outside their bedroom windows. I found 100m to still be doable. Walk 500m, jog 100m. Walk 500m, jog 100m. Piece of cake.
Mind you the walking bit became really ugly. My 'recovery time' after the jog part was not so good, and I quickly looked like a woman in end-stage disease mode rather than 'being chased' mode. But I digress.
Slowly but surely I jogged more and walked less. And my friends were cheering me on. And encouraging me to go farther. And even (*gasp*) to consider signing up for a 5km run on New Year's Eve.
Sorry. Not this cowboy.
But then my pastor had the nerve to be doing a really great sermon series on being as bold as a lion, and about not being a slave to the sins that so easily tangle us. Rats. That's yelling right at my weaknesses. I'm a chicken. Like, really really chicken. As in, chicken enough to be the mascot for KFC. (Or Chik-Fil-A because it's holier.) Particularly about what people think about me. Which leads me to run at 5:00am when no one can see me.
I'm also lazy. Like so lazy that I could just stop typing now instead of finishing this blog and leave you all in a cliff hanger!
Anyhow, this sermon series is really getting to me. I want to be free of my fleshly desires (read: sleep and potato chips) so I am learning that freedom means saying no to myself a whole lot more often than I like.
Does jogging make me holy? No, but it sure is teaching me discipline in one area that is spilling over into other areas.
And so this morning, for the first time, I ran my whole route, the whole 2.7km route without walking at all. And really without even hating it totally. And certainly without puking. Or dying. No death over here today.
Now here is the irony. I'm pretty sure that as I was running my 2.7Km (heavy on the "Point") that I have at least one friend who may very well have been running 27Km (notice the lack of a "Point"...pun not intended). And yet, even with my meager little beginnings, I know that same long distance bunch of people I adore are celebrating with me like I won a Gold medal.
I love them.
Also of note is that I'm not very fast. I mean, if the armed maniac really was behind me, he could totally catch me. Likely even if he was walking. Or on a pogo-stick.
But still I am doing it! One giant leap for Barbara! And I *have* signed up for the 5Km run on New Year's Eve. And I actually want to do it now for more than just the nifty jacket you get for registering. (Though, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a really great motivating factor...)
There is a part two to this story. However, because I respect you, my humble, loyal reader, I will cut my self off now in this marathon of a post and tell you the other side of this story another day.
(Aren't you completely intrigued by the suspense of it all?) :-)
When my husband and I had been married for almost 4 years, he realized, with an uproarious amount of laughter, that he had never, until one fateful Cell Group social, seen me run. Not even a scamper as a jay-walker. Not even a trot to answer a ringing phone. So when he saw me, at that Cell Group Social while we were playing stupid soccer-baseball, run to first base, he laughed like a man who had never laughed in all his days. As if he had only just in that moment learned the art of the guffah. He may have even shed some tears in that moment.
It's a good thing he's cute :-)
And I recall on 9-11, and in the multitude of talk-show interviews afterward, hearing women who were out-of-shape and overweight confessing that the jumpstart for their new, healthy lifestyle was the realization that, had they been trapped on an upper level floor trying to race down a stairwell or had they been down on the street trying to outrun a cloud of rubble, they would not have been able to.
I get that.
And then I think about the what if of being chased by a villian. Could I get away? Could I actually run away from the armed maniac?
Plus, I'd like to get somewhere near the weight I was when I first started having kids back in the 2nd Millenium.
And so I was walking. I really love walking. And I'm a quick walker. I like to say I walk like I'm being chased. The trick comes when I read things about the best way to boost your metabolism and kick into "high fat-burning mode" is to work some interval bursts in to your walk. Sadly, I came to realize that the only way for me to walk faster was to *cough* jog.
Gross.
I do not like jogging. I have not liked jogging since the beginning of my wee existence. Any excuse available for avoiding gym class has been utilized by yours truly. Run around the block for gym? Sorry, not gonna happen. Forced to do track and field? Yup. I'll take the 100m dash because I'll be done in 14 seconds, and even *I* can run for 14 seconds without collapsing into a heap.
My childhood activity level consisted of jumping up to get a snack before starting my next chapter of my book.
And so, I stand on my street looking at my happy little 2.7Km walking route realizing that I should jog a couple stretches of it.
Next thing you know, I'm actually doing it. Left, right, left, right. Imagining people being awakened from their slumber by the sound of laboured breathing and heavy foot-falls outside their bedroom windows. I found 100m to still be doable. Walk 500m, jog 100m. Walk 500m, jog 100m. Piece of cake.
Mind you the walking bit became really ugly. My 'recovery time' after the jog part was not so good, and I quickly looked like a woman in end-stage disease mode rather than 'being chased' mode. But I digress.
Slowly but surely I jogged more and walked less. And my friends were cheering me on. And encouraging me to go farther. And even (*gasp*) to consider signing up for a 5km run on New Year's Eve.
Sorry. Not this cowboy.
But then my pastor had the nerve to be doing a really great sermon series on being as bold as a lion, and about not being a slave to the sins that so easily tangle us. Rats. That's yelling right at my weaknesses. I'm a chicken. Like, really really chicken. As in, chicken enough to be the mascot for KFC. (Or Chik-Fil-A because it's holier.) Particularly about what people think about me. Which leads me to run at 5:00am when no one can see me.
I'm also lazy. Like so lazy that I could just stop typing now instead of finishing this blog and leave you all in a cliff hanger!
Anyhow, this sermon series is really getting to me. I want to be free of my fleshly desires (read: sleep and potato chips) so I am learning that freedom means saying no to myself a whole lot more often than I like.
Does jogging make me holy? No, but it sure is teaching me discipline in one area that is spilling over into other areas.
And so this morning, for the first time, I ran my whole route, the whole 2.7km route without walking at all. And really without even hating it totally. And certainly without puking. Or dying. No death over here today.
Now here is the irony. I'm pretty sure that as I was running my 2.7Km (heavy on the "Point") that I have at least one friend who may very well have been running 27Km (notice the lack of a "Point"...pun not intended). And yet, even with my meager little beginnings, I know that same long distance bunch of people I adore are celebrating with me like I won a Gold medal.
I love them.
Also of note is that I'm not very fast. I mean, if the armed maniac really was behind me, he could totally catch me. Likely even if he was walking. Or on a pogo-stick.
But still I am doing it! One giant leap for Barbara! And I *have* signed up for the 5Km run on New Year's Eve. And I actually want to do it now for more than just the nifty jacket you get for registering. (Though, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a really great motivating factor...)
There is a part two to this story. However, because I respect you, my humble, loyal reader, I will cut my self off now in this marathon of a post and tell you the other side of this story another day.
(Aren't you completely intrigued by the suspense of it all?) :-)
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Confirmation
For the last several years if you asked me what the Lord was teaching me right now, I would have said "Death to self". Man, that is some lengthy lesson! Except just lately, I'm finding that the key to the lesson (as to most, I would wager) is submission. Submission to the will of God and resting in His plan rather than fighting for "my way". Because, seriously, I've seen how my way works. Not so good.
If you asked me to clarify what I was learning in that massive topic of death to self, I would say that I am learning to do only what the Lord is calling me to, and nothing else. This looks like me with my nose in my journal making lists of the roles I know for certain that I am called to fill, and then making lists with question marks beside for the roles I could fill, but maybe am not really required to fill. For example: I'm married, so I'm clearly supposed to be a wife. I have kids, therefore, I'm called to be a mom. And so on. But then it gets hazy. I sing at church. Does that mean for certain that I'm to be a worship leader? Or I write. Does that mean for certain that I'm to be a writer?
And then the complicating factor to all this is that I want to really serve the Lord. You know, the missionary comes to church and your heart is quickened by the crazy-faith they are asked to live out. Or that guy at church starts some wild outreach that terrifies, yet excites, you and all you want to do is find something "Big For God" to do. And truthfully, being a "writer" seems bigger and more impressive somedays than being "chief dish and bottle washer".
Yes, well, having 7 children and homeschooling them is a big job to be sure. And I have been convinced for some time that the Lord builds his Kingdom through families as much as through overseas missions, for example. There are many ways to build the Kingdom and I am honoured to serve Him in this way.
But sometimes that little "Look at me! I want to be important too!" attitude rears its ugly head and I question the value of the mundane tasks of my role. And the questioning doesn't squelch my doing the mundane, but certainly the enthusiasm with which I do it.
I want to be Peter walking on water! I want to be Stephen stoned for his faith (well, a little less of that, actually). Then I read this:
"Discipleship is built entirely on the supernatural grace of God. Walking on water is easy to someone with impulsive boldness, but walking on dry land as a disciple of Jesus Christ is something altogether different. Peter walked on water to go to Jesus, but he "followed Him at a distance" on dry land (Mark 14:54). We do not need the grace of God to withstand crises -- human nature and pride are sufficient for us to face the stress and strain magnificently. But it does require the supernatural grace of God to live twenty-four hours of every day as a saint, going through the drudgery, and living an ordinary, unnoticed, and ignored existence as a disciple of Jesus. It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God -- but we do not. We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people -- and this is not learned in five minutes." (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, October 21)
This is confirmation to me that it is the slow-plodding and small beginnings of being faithful in little before you are trusted with much that builds the Kingdom. And what do I want? A big one time blast of "super-holy-change-the-world" faith? Or a life time of faithful, useful, life-changing (mine and others) faith? Clearly the latter.
And so I continue, changing diapers, making meals, inviting folks over, honouring my husband, loving my kids, serving in the church where needed, and watching to see the Lord make me, and those in my sphere of influence, more like Him. By His strength and for His glory. There is a way to serve at home with the same passion and commitment I would need if I were at the "end of the spear", so to speak. My prayer is that I would approach this Home Mission Field with just that zeal.
This is my marathon.
If you asked me to clarify what I was learning in that massive topic of death to self, I would say that I am learning to do only what the Lord is calling me to, and nothing else. This looks like me with my nose in my journal making lists of the roles I know for certain that I am called to fill, and then making lists with question marks beside for the roles I could fill, but maybe am not really required to fill. For example: I'm married, so I'm clearly supposed to be a wife. I have kids, therefore, I'm called to be a mom. And so on. But then it gets hazy. I sing at church. Does that mean for certain that I'm to be a worship leader? Or I write. Does that mean for certain that I'm to be a writer?
And then the complicating factor to all this is that I want to really serve the Lord. You know, the missionary comes to church and your heart is quickened by the crazy-faith they are asked to live out. Or that guy at church starts some wild outreach that terrifies, yet excites, you and all you want to do is find something "Big For God" to do. And truthfully, being a "writer" seems bigger and more impressive somedays than being "chief dish and bottle washer".
Yes, well, having 7 children and homeschooling them is a big job to be sure. And I have been convinced for some time that the Lord builds his Kingdom through families as much as through overseas missions, for example. There are many ways to build the Kingdom and I am honoured to serve Him in this way.
But sometimes that little "Look at me! I want to be important too!" attitude rears its ugly head and I question the value of the mundane tasks of my role. And the questioning doesn't squelch my doing the mundane, but certainly the enthusiasm with which I do it.
I want to be Peter walking on water! I want to be Stephen stoned for his faith (well, a little less of that, actually). Then I read this:
"Discipleship is built entirely on the supernatural grace of God. Walking on water is easy to someone with impulsive boldness, but walking on dry land as a disciple of Jesus Christ is something altogether different. Peter walked on water to go to Jesus, but he "followed Him at a distance" on dry land (Mark 14:54). We do not need the grace of God to withstand crises -- human nature and pride are sufficient for us to face the stress and strain magnificently. But it does require the supernatural grace of God to live twenty-four hours of every day as a saint, going through the drudgery, and living an ordinary, unnoticed, and ignored existence as a disciple of Jesus. It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God -- but we do not. We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people -- and this is not learned in five minutes." (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, October 21)
This is confirmation to me that it is the slow-plodding and small beginnings of being faithful in little before you are trusted with much that builds the Kingdom. And what do I want? A big one time blast of "super-holy-change-the-world" faith? Or a life time of faithful, useful, life-changing (mine and others) faith? Clearly the latter.
And so I continue, changing diapers, making meals, inviting folks over, honouring my husband, loving my kids, serving in the church where needed, and watching to see the Lord make me, and those in my sphere of influence, more like Him. By His strength and for His glory. There is a way to serve at home with the same passion and commitment I would need if I were at the "end of the spear", so to speak. My prayer is that I would approach this Home Mission Field with just that zeal.
This is my marathon.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wow-ful Women Wednesdays
Disclaimer: this song was not *my* pick for a Wow-ful Woman. I am picking this for my dear husband who was laughing with me about the *grand devastation* all my readers (snort) would feel if I didn't post a Wow-ful Woman tonight.
So, flash back to 1980 something. Get ready for some excellent examples of how a man should never do his hair. Chris says this is a great tune to really crank up. Sounds like good driving music to me. We have air-guitared the intro to this song many a time over the years.
This lady has some moxy to be sure. I certainly like her more when she is rockin' it out than when she is just chatting it up on Canadian Idol (not that I can remember the last time I've seen that show). I am slightly jealous that her male background vocals sing higher than I do. And that all of them have more volume in their flowing locks than I do.
So Hard -- (dare I do this?) Sass Jordan.
So, flash back to 1980 something. Get ready for some excellent examples of how a man should never do his hair. Chris says this is a great tune to really crank up. Sounds like good driving music to me. We have air-guitared the intro to this song many a time over the years.
This lady has some moxy to be sure. I certainly like her more when she is rockin' it out than when she is just chatting it up on Canadian Idol (not that I can remember the last time I've seen that show). I am slightly jealous that her male background vocals sing higher than I do. And that all of them have more volume in their flowing locks than I do.
So Hard -- (dare I do this?) Sass Jordan.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Hands and Feet
This has been a complicated week in our house. On top of the regular busy of our family, we've added another layer of busy in the health and wellness department. My husband has been laid out with excruciating back pain, resulting from some disc herniation. Suffice it to say, our home life has looked really different for the last week after a few months of building up to an acute climax.
I shared our struggles at our church music team practice on Saturday night. I told them the ins and outs of what was going on in our home. And they prayed for our family. For health, strength, patience, endurance; for the ability to hear the Lord speaking through this time of trial. It was very helpful. Very moving.
That same night, the members of the team gave some good advice from their experience with similar health concerns. They offered to help however they could. I assumed that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
Sunday morning, I was commiserating with the wife of one of the team members about needing to go home and make lunch. I wish I had a magic fairy to wave a wand and make it for me, I said. We laughed. Then I went to Remark to find a fantastic loaf of bread to stretch my salad that I was making. I comtemplated buying a rotisserie chicken there too, but didn't. Tempting; also expensive, long line up, kids waiting in the car. *sigh* maybe I can figure out the bbq when I get home and cook the kabobs in the freezer.
As I am approaching my house, I notice I am being followed by a familiar van. She pulls right into my drive way behind me. It is the lady I was speaking to about lunch. "We knew how difficult things must be in your house when there is a parent down and , and we both really wanted to do something to help out in a small way, so would you let us serve you today by giving you this." And she hands me a steaming hot bag from Swiss Chalet. Buns, baked potatoes, french fries, 6 pieces of chicken, and of course, my favourite, the dipping sauce. "It might not be enough to feed your whole crew but add it to your bread and see if the Lord will multiply your loaves and chicken", she smiles.
I weep.
Unable to even a little bit compose myself, we hug and I squeeze a thank you out between tears. She smiles and says your welcome.
As we are eating this feast, there is a knock on the door. A man from our team and his wife have come with another surprise: "When I was having back problems I used this inversion table to relieve some of the pressure. I thought I'd bring it by and if your husband can use it great. If not, give me a call and I'll pick it up again."
Really? Very kind. I'm having a hard time letting this all soak in.
At the end of the day, I check my email. Another team member volunteering to mow our lawn. He comes, on his day off, on a holiday, and mows the lawn, and uses the trimmer to do the edging and whack all those weeds. "Chris should not be doing this for several weeks, so I'll come back in two weeks or so and do it again. Okay?"
And the tears again.
Sheer gratitude for the love of Christ being displayed in the people we do church life with. Maybe to them these were small sacrifices. Maybe it "was nothing". To us, it was a world of help and a picture of how the Body of Christ can function.
It is also a lesson to me in how I am notoriously bad for admitting I need help and being willing to take it without guilt.
It is a further lesson on my inadequate service to others. How often do I go above and beyond to help someone in need? Do I watch for places I can serve? Am I willing to inconvenience myself for others?
And so I challenge myself, and you, if you've read this far, to be the servant this week. Be the hands that do and the feet that go to show the compassion of Jesus to someone this week. Who will it be? Who could you help this week? Who can you serve and bless with a meal, an errand, a note of encouragement, a gift, a task? Will it be your co-worker? Your neighbour? Your spouse? A stranger on the street? Your child?
Lord, open my eyes to the needs of those around me, and show me how I can serve them. And thank you for this church family who have loved us so well this week. Bless them for their generousity.
I shared our struggles at our church music team practice on Saturday night. I told them the ins and outs of what was going on in our home. And they prayed for our family. For health, strength, patience, endurance; for the ability to hear the Lord speaking through this time of trial. It was very helpful. Very moving.
That same night, the members of the team gave some good advice from their experience with similar health concerns. They offered to help however they could. I assumed that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
Sunday morning, I was commiserating with the wife of one of the team members about needing to go home and make lunch. I wish I had a magic fairy to wave a wand and make it for me, I said. We laughed. Then I went to Remark to find a fantastic loaf of bread to stretch my salad that I was making. I comtemplated buying a rotisserie chicken there too, but didn't. Tempting; also expensive, long line up, kids waiting in the car. *sigh* maybe I can figure out the bbq when I get home and cook the kabobs in the freezer.
As I am approaching my house, I notice I am being followed by a familiar van. She pulls right into my drive way behind me. It is the lady I was speaking to about lunch. "We knew how difficult things must be in your house when there is a parent down and , and we both really wanted to do something to help out in a small way, so would you let us serve you today by giving you this." And she hands me a steaming hot bag from Swiss Chalet. Buns, baked potatoes, french fries, 6 pieces of chicken, and of course, my favourite, the dipping sauce. "It might not be enough to feed your whole crew but add it to your bread and see if the Lord will multiply your loaves and chicken", she smiles.
I weep.
Unable to even a little bit compose myself, we hug and I squeeze a thank you out between tears. She smiles and says your welcome.
As we are eating this feast, there is a knock on the door. A man from our team and his wife have come with another surprise: "When I was having back problems I used this inversion table to relieve some of the pressure. I thought I'd bring it by and if your husband can use it great. If not, give me a call and I'll pick it up again."
Really? Very kind. I'm having a hard time letting this all soak in.
At the end of the day, I check my email. Another team member volunteering to mow our lawn. He comes, on his day off, on a holiday, and mows the lawn, and uses the trimmer to do the edging and whack all those weeds. "Chris should not be doing this for several weeks, so I'll come back in two weeks or so and do it again. Okay?"
And the tears again.
Sheer gratitude for the love of Christ being displayed in the people we do church life with. Maybe to them these were small sacrifices. Maybe it "was nothing". To us, it was a world of help and a picture of how the Body of Christ can function.
It is also a lesson to me in how I am notoriously bad for admitting I need help and being willing to take it without guilt.
It is a further lesson on my inadequate service to others. How often do I go above and beyond to help someone in need? Do I watch for places I can serve? Am I willing to inconvenience myself for others?
And so I challenge myself, and you, if you've read this far, to be the servant this week. Be the hands that do and the feet that go to show the compassion of Jesus to someone this week. Who will it be? Who could you help this week? Who can you serve and bless with a meal, an errand, a note of encouragement, a gift, a task? Will it be your co-worker? Your neighbour? Your spouse? A stranger on the street? Your child?
Lord, open my eyes to the needs of those around me, and show me how I can serve them. And thank you for this church family who have loved us so well this week. Bless them for their generousity.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wow-ful Women Wednesdays
Well lucky me. I had considered posting a Wow-ful Women video of both of these women individually and then yee ha, I find them together on one video. Now mind you I might just still have to post them individually at some point to really highlight them both but it is pretty excellent hearing these two together.
There are just some voices that blend so beautifully together. More than just being able to find the right notes together, there is the need for a seamlessness of tone and timbre (ooh. nice use of a 75 cent word). I think these two ladies nail both those aspects.
Plus it is one of my favourite sappy songs that you are sometimes embarrased to admit you like because of radio over play, but there you have it. I *heart* this song!
Allison Krauss with Shania Twain (WHAT! I know. Fantastic!) Forever and For Always.
There are just some voices that blend so beautifully together. More than just being able to find the right notes together, there is the need for a seamlessness of tone and timbre (ooh. nice use of a 75 cent word). I think these two ladies nail both those aspects.
Plus it is one of my favourite sappy songs that you are sometimes embarrased to admit you like because of radio over play, but there you have it. I *heart* this song!
Allison Krauss with Shania Twain (WHAT! I know. Fantastic!) Forever and For Always.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Waiting for the Bridegroom
Occasionally, my husband travels for work. Consistently, I am a procrastinator. These two truths work conspire against me.
Here is the scenario: Away goes my husband. Down I sit to write up the "to do list" to end all to do lists. My goal? To have so.much.done when he gets home that he will be over the moon impressed with me, and that he will be thrilled and honoured and absolutely able to just rest and relax upon returning home.
The last time he went for three days, my list was as follows:
Tuesday day: clean house, sand window frames
Tuesday night: prime and paint window frames
Wednesday day: paint all 10 interior doors
Wednesday night: paint all baseboard and casings
Thursday day: do all laundry and prep 'Welcome Home meal"
Friday: take kids to dentist, final "tidy up" and cook meal.
Not even kidding.
As the three day "Be the Super Hero" endeavor begins, I instantly realize my plan is flawed because 1) I still need to homeschool my children in there somewhere 2) my children are coming down with a nasty cold and 3) I have some water in my basement that monopolizes all my laundry time what with ringing out and drying towels.
Yet, I begin. The windows get sanded, they get primed. They even get a coat of paint. Then I realize that they look worse than when I started because I'm a lousy painter. School is getting done. We are keeping up with life. But the laundry is piling up, there are no gourmet ingredients in my home, and I'm not sure I've showered yet.
Suddenly it is Thursday night. I am overwhelmed with my longing for the return of my man. He should just be home. We have a super marriage, and when he is gone I just really really miss his companionship. So I lay in bed, exhausted from a long week, missing him and desperate for his return. Only a few more hours.
And yet, at the same time, I find I am sort of wishing he would stay away for one more day. If only I had more time to get ready for his coming. I have so much left to do. My list of things to do to impress him is looming before me. It will never get done in time. He will come home and find me unprepared. Part of me wishes he just would not come back for another day or two so I could try again to be the person I mean to be, with a house done the way I want it. I just need more time. The knot in my stomach grows with the guilt of wasted time over the last 3 days and with the burden of unrealistic expectations that I've set for myself. And then the lies come in that somehow this will be the time that Chris shakes his head at the state of the house and thinks I'm a waste of a mother and wife. Instead of impressing him, I'm sure to disappoint him.
Friday morning, we trundle off to the dentist leaving the house in as good a state as possible with an early morning start. My list is still sitting on the table uncomplete and I breathe a sigh hoping I get home before Chris does so I can maybe get a bit more done. As it is I know that when he comes in the door, instead of taking his coat, pouring him a tea and asking how his week was, I will be apologizing and making excuses for what is left undone.
And then the surprise: at the dentist the door opens and I see only a hand and a cuff on the door knob and I know it is my man. There he is! Surprising us with his return. Instantly the fear and hesitation in my belly goes away. Instantly my heart swells at the presence of my husband. I know that whatever was left undone at home will not matter to him. I know he wants to be with us first and foremost. We are together again and that is all that matters.
Now the tears come. Even as I sit in the waiting room, finishing the paperwork. Ready to leave. The tears come as I get a glimpse of my waiting for Christ. How I long for His return. How I long to be with Him. And yet, if He could just tarry a little longer. I'm not quite ready for Him yet. There is much I want to do before He comes. How I want to impress Him. How I want to "do" for Him. But I procrastinate. I waste my time. I'll start tomorrow. Don't come back yet, Lord. I'm not quite ready.
I know that when He does call me home that I will be so overwhelmed by the joy of being in His presence that all of this striving to please will melt away. However, I am sure that there will be a greater joy if I start today to "rest in Him" rather than to "do for Him". Yes, He calls me to serve and obey, but not according to my list of impressive tasks. I want to be ready for Christ's return, both in Spirit and in action.
Lord I pray that I would be diligent to do the work you are giving me, that I would not wait for tomorrow or be so distracted that I never finish what I start. But I also pray that you would help me to rest in the greatest 'job' you've given me: the dwelling and resting in the Vine so I am always ready and eager for your return. I want to stand before you without shame and regret and excuses. Thank you for your longsuffering mercy. Thank you for the chance to start again.
Here is the scenario: Away goes my husband. Down I sit to write up the "to do list" to end all to do lists. My goal? To have so.much.done when he gets home that he will be over the moon impressed with me, and that he will be thrilled and honoured and absolutely able to just rest and relax upon returning home.
The last time he went for three days, my list was as follows:
Tuesday day: clean house, sand window frames
Tuesday night: prime and paint window frames
Wednesday day: paint all 10 interior doors
Wednesday night: paint all baseboard and casings
Thursday day: do all laundry and prep 'Welcome Home meal"
Friday: take kids to dentist, final "tidy up" and cook meal.
Not even kidding.
As the three day "Be the Super Hero" endeavor begins, I instantly realize my plan is flawed because 1) I still need to homeschool my children in there somewhere 2) my children are coming down with a nasty cold and 3) I have some water in my basement that monopolizes all my laundry time what with ringing out and drying towels.
Yet, I begin. The windows get sanded, they get primed. They even get a coat of paint. Then I realize that they look worse than when I started because I'm a lousy painter. School is getting done. We are keeping up with life. But the laundry is piling up, there are no gourmet ingredients in my home, and I'm not sure I've showered yet.
Suddenly it is Thursday night. I am overwhelmed with my longing for the return of my man. He should just be home. We have a super marriage, and when he is gone I just really really miss his companionship. So I lay in bed, exhausted from a long week, missing him and desperate for his return. Only a few more hours.
And yet, at the same time, I find I am sort of wishing he would stay away for one more day. If only I had more time to get ready for his coming. I have so much left to do. My list of things to do to impress him is looming before me. It will never get done in time. He will come home and find me unprepared. Part of me wishes he just would not come back for another day or two so I could try again to be the person I mean to be, with a house done the way I want it. I just need more time. The knot in my stomach grows with the guilt of wasted time over the last 3 days and with the burden of unrealistic expectations that I've set for myself. And then the lies come in that somehow this will be the time that Chris shakes his head at the state of the house and thinks I'm a waste of a mother and wife. Instead of impressing him, I'm sure to disappoint him.
Friday morning, we trundle off to the dentist leaving the house in as good a state as possible with an early morning start. My list is still sitting on the table uncomplete and I breathe a sigh hoping I get home before Chris does so I can maybe get a bit more done. As it is I know that when he comes in the door, instead of taking his coat, pouring him a tea and asking how his week was, I will be apologizing and making excuses for what is left undone.
And then the surprise: at the dentist the door opens and I see only a hand and a cuff on the door knob and I know it is my man. There he is! Surprising us with his return. Instantly the fear and hesitation in my belly goes away. Instantly my heart swells at the presence of my husband. I know that whatever was left undone at home will not matter to him. I know he wants to be with us first and foremost. We are together again and that is all that matters.
Now the tears come. Even as I sit in the waiting room, finishing the paperwork. Ready to leave. The tears come as I get a glimpse of my waiting for Christ. How I long for His return. How I long to be with Him. And yet, if He could just tarry a little longer. I'm not quite ready for Him yet. There is much I want to do before He comes. How I want to impress Him. How I want to "do" for Him. But I procrastinate. I waste my time. I'll start tomorrow. Don't come back yet, Lord. I'm not quite ready.
I know that when He does call me home that I will be so overwhelmed by the joy of being in His presence that all of this striving to please will melt away. However, I am sure that there will be a greater joy if I start today to "rest in Him" rather than to "do for Him". Yes, He calls me to serve and obey, but not according to my list of impressive tasks. I want to be ready for Christ's return, both in Spirit and in action.
Lord I pray that I would be diligent to do the work you are giving me, that I would not wait for tomorrow or be so distracted that I never finish what I start. But I also pray that you would help me to rest in the greatest 'job' you've given me: the dwelling and resting in the Vine so I am always ready and eager for your return. I want to stand before you without shame and regret and excuses. Thank you for your longsuffering mercy. Thank you for the chance to start again.
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