I can't stop thinking about Mary today and how she might've been in labor by now. Having birthed two children of my own, I know the great anticipation, discomfort, excitement, and little bit of anxiety that come with it.
But wow, I can't imagine being around 14 or 15 and being in that situation. And wow, I can't imagine most of the world looking at me with scorn because I got pregnant out of wedlock. I know there are other girls, though, who can relate with one or both of those.
But wow, I can't imagine holding the secret that Mary held in her heart. She and a few others knew the truth, that she was pregnant by the Holy Spirit, that she was pregnant with the son of Yahweh, with the Messiah.
Wow. She's my hero. She heard a strange word from Yahweh and said, "Let it be as You have said." As much as it would be uncomfortable, as much as it would ostracize her, as weird as it might have been, she said, "Yes:" the choice of a young girl that changed the world.
That is the act of a little girl who KNEW God. That is the act of a little girl who had faith enough to move mountains. Don't you just know that she, like the rest of us, just heard the first word with no idea of exactly how it would play out? She must've had some ideas of how it might've played out, and probably, like with the rest of us, they didn't quite happen the way she imagined. If I were carrying the son of God, I wouldn't in a million years have thought that I'd be giving birth in a barn! Nor that I'd watch Him be murdered before my eyes so that He could redeem me and all mankind back to the Father.
One choice of a young girl that changed the world.
Makes me want to take very seriously every request He makes of me, regardless of how strange it sounds, or how many people I love shake their heads and don't understand. Makes me realize that the Kingdom really is this great thing that is larger than my life, that is worth my life and my reputation.
As much as Mary might have been scared, and as much as she might've been misunderstood, she had a secret...a BIG secret! When there were naysayers, I know that it hurt her. I know the changes her decision brought also brought great alienation and sadness in some ways. I also know that her heart was full of a good thing! I know that she found comfort in the presence of God and in the honor and joy of carrying out the mission He'd given her.
In the midst of it all, she prophesied with excitement and praised faithfully:
"My soul magnifies Yahweh, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior!
For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; for behold...
From now on, all generations will call me blessed, for He who is mighty has done great things in me!
And HOLY is His name!
And His mercy is on those who fear Him from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with His arm.
He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He has put down the mighty from their thrones,
And exalted the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
And the rich He has sent away empty.
He has helped His servant Israel in remembrance of His mercy,
As He spoke to our fathers,
To Abraham and to his seed forever!"
She honored the faithfulness of the Father Yahweh that she knew and heard! I love her! And while I do not worship Mary, I am grateful for her faith in God and her choice that changed the world...and the example she set for us all to follow when our times come and come again to walk in obedience to what He speaks to us.
For you see, He's not finished. The birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus wasn't the end...it was the beginning...
Friday, December 24, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
A November Drive in Vermont
It had been gray all day. That's the color of November in Vermont, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. The whole expanse of the sky serenely covered us below with a thick cloud cover. I must've been driving home from an afternoon class, because I was the only one in the car, pressing my K-Mart knock-off-UGG boot (classy, I know) to the brake pedal every so often to keep my distance from the red taillights ahead of me on the highway. It was November, 2005, the hazy in-between month that eases us out of fall and into winter. The only way I knew the sun was setting, other than consulting the digital clock in my car, was from the grayness deepening to darker and darker shades among the hills around me. It had a lulling effect. A song began to form in my head as I was telling Yahweh how moving His creation was right at that very moment. "Everywhere I look, I see You there..."
There had been a mix of drizzly rain and big slushy snowflakes coming down periodically throughout the day, but now the road and the chilly air were still and dry. Maybe they hadn't gotten any precipitation yet further north, the direction I was headed. The song kept tumbling around my thoughts and my spirit. Low, thick clouds clung to the evergreens on the hillside to my right, thin clouds just above them rising slowly up the hill. To my left, clouds hovered right above the black waters of Lake Champlain in the distance, just beyond the small-town silhouette of St. Albans, the town where I exited off the highway. I still had a good 40 minutes of driving left. I was reflective and inspired, lost in one of those moments of heightened expression and appreciation that make a person feel sure they're about to solve the world's problems. I was enjoying Yahweh's presence. "The mist on the water rises up and over the green hilltop's trees, and I see. You. There."
The two-lane, country highway I now drove cut a curved line that respected the landscape. It's all corn fields and dairy farms. In summer, you can never pass anyone, because you can't see past the next curve. A thick growth of corn stalks over 7 feet tall lines the highway and blocks your view, so when you get stuck in an impatient line of cars behind a tractor doing its best at 15 miles an hour, you just have to wait it out. It's refreshing to have the stark reality of a farmer's pace force you to reconsider your own. But this day, this gloriously still, gray day, fell in what we call down-leaf time. All the fields are empty and resting. Unless you spot a patch of aromatic evergreens, the trees are inky black veins, barren and bold, stretching crookedly upward and outward. The leaves are gone. Everything is now uncovered and slightly more vulnerable, yet still strong. Without the soft green layer of leaves taking the edge off, the land shows its hardy fortitude. Once hidden streams and land features become apparent, revealing themselves fully for what they are, in addition to any changes that might have occurred in the last year, good or bad. No facade, no front. Seasons of down-leaf time, as in nature, come in life too. "Sure strength, open elegance in Your creation when all is exposed, and I know. You're. There."
Then something interrupted my thoughtful reverie. One field I was approaching on my left was a smaller patch that lay, like everything else, empty. It was familiar; we passed it every day. All that it retained from its fruitful summer growth season and subsequent fall harvest were its interchanging rows of raised and sunken black dirt and leftover stumps from former corn stalks, now dry and sticking a few inches out of the earth. Vast and flat and lifeless. But a sudden movement caught my eye, so I leaned forward to peer slightly to the left out through the windshield, hoping for maybe a deer. Nothing. Another movement at the far corner of the field caught my attention. I glanced forward at the road, adjusted my steering wheel, then glanced back at the field I was about to pass. The whole field began to quiver and shake in a million flutterings like the disturbed surface of water when a school of frenzied fish fight for food there. I blinked. Larger, more purposeful movements erupted just before the whole field seemed to separate from itself and levitate. As I passed by, I stared out my driver's side window, watching the levitating field break apart and take flight. The largest flock of geese I've ever seen had been resting there, perfectly blending in. They had, just as I was passing, somehow communicated to one another that now was the time and then moved in consort, flapping persistent wings, stretching graceful necks, taking formation in so many Vs that all pointed south, all vocalizing the distinct honk that will only ever bring me back to these years in Vermont should we ever move away. I forgot rhyme and verse. Utterly speechless, I just laughed. The presence of God overwhelmed me with nothing short of sheer delight. I felt like a kid, completely content and, like the world around me, at rest.
Some of my relatives in Texas, where I grew up, like to tease me by asking when I'm coming back to "God's Country." I love the back-and-forth bantering and being able to laugh with the ones I love. I also love that Texas is God's country. And so are Vermont and Guam and North Korea and Russia and every other spot on the planet and off. The truth is, some days all we really see are so many gas stations and office chairs, but He's still there. And some days the glory of His creation, whatever and wherever it is, shouts His praise and testifies of a mighty creator. Either way, He is there, and there is rest. And I'm blown away.
There had been a mix of drizzly rain and big slushy snowflakes coming down periodically throughout the day, but now the road and the chilly air were still and dry. Maybe they hadn't gotten any precipitation yet further north, the direction I was headed. The song kept tumbling around my thoughts and my spirit. Low, thick clouds clung to the evergreens on the hillside to my right, thin clouds just above them rising slowly up the hill. To my left, clouds hovered right above the black waters of Lake Champlain in the distance, just beyond the small-town silhouette of St. Albans, the town where I exited off the highway. I still had a good 40 minutes of driving left. I was reflective and inspired, lost in one of those moments of heightened expression and appreciation that make a person feel sure they're about to solve the world's problems. I was enjoying Yahweh's presence. "The mist on the water rises up and over the green hilltop's trees, and I see. You. There."
The two-lane, country highway I now drove cut a curved line that respected the landscape. It's all corn fields and dairy farms. In summer, you can never pass anyone, because you can't see past the next curve. A thick growth of corn stalks over 7 feet tall lines the highway and blocks your view, so when you get stuck in an impatient line of cars behind a tractor doing its best at 15 miles an hour, you just have to wait it out. It's refreshing to have the stark reality of a farmer's pace force you to reconsider your own. But this day, this gloriously still, gray day, fell in what we call down-leaf time. All the fields are empty and resting. Unless you spot a patch of aromatic evergreens, the trees are inky black veins, barren and bold, stretching crookedly upward and outward. The leaves are gone. Everything is now uncovered and slightly more vulnerable, yet still strong. Without the soft green layer of leaves taking the edge off, the land shows its hardy fortitude. Once hidden streams and land features become apparent, revealing themselves fully for what they are, in addition to any changes that might have occurred in the last year, good or bad. No facade, no front. Seasons of down-leaf time, as in nature, come in life too. "Sure strength, open elegance in Your creation when all is exposed, and I know. You're. There."
Then something interrupted my thoughtful reverie. One field I was approaching on my left was a smaller patch that lay, like everything else, empty. It was familiar; we passed it every day. All that it retained from its fruitful summer growth season and subsequent fall harvest were its interchanging rows of raised and sunken black dirt and leftover stumps from former corn stalks, now dry and sticking a few inches out of the earth. Vast and flat and lifeless. But a sudden movement caught my eye, so I leaned forward to peer slightly to the left out through the windshield, hoping for maybe a deer. Nothing. Another movement at the far corner of the field caught my attention. I glanced forward at the road, adjusted my steering wheel, then glanced back at the field I was about to pass. The whole field began to quiver and shake in a million flutterings like the disturbed surface of water when a school of frenzied fish fight for food there. I blinked. Larger, more purposeful movements erupted just before the whole field seemed to separate from itself and levitate. As I passed by, I stared out my driver's side window, watching the levitating field break apart and take flight. The largest flock of geese I've ever seen had been resting there, perfectly blending in. They had, just as I was passing, somehow communicated to one another that now was the time and then moved in consort, flapping persistent wings, stretching graceful necks, taking formation in so many Vs that all pointed south, all vocalizing the distinct honk that will only ever bring me back to these years in Vermont should we ever move away. I forgot rhyme and verse. Utterly speechless, I just laughed. The presence of God overwhelmed me with nothing short of sheer delight. I felt like a kid, completely content and, like the world around me, at rest.
Some of my relatives in Texas, where I grew up, like to tease me by asking when I'm coming back to "God's Country." I love the back-and-forth bantering and being able to laugh with the ones I love. I also love that Texas is God's country. And so are Vermont and Guam and North Korea and Russia and every other spot on the planet and off. The truth is, some days all we really see are so many gas stations and office chairs, but He's still there. And some days the glory of His creation, whatever and wherever it is, shouts His praise and testifies of a mighty creator. Either way, He is there, and there is rest. And I'm blown away.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Service Recap: Elections Are Reflections
Politics are the mirror, not the means, of change in society. They're not where our hope lies. So what does bring true change?
About a year ago, I (all personal stories are me, Jennifer) swallowed a huge pill, ate some serious humble pie, and learned one of the most valuable lessons I'll ever learn in life. You can be right and wrong at the same time. You can be factually correct but wrong in your attitude or approach. And if you're partially wrong, that makes you just wrong: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. If you want to hold on tightly to your (perceived) rightness, as so many of us are wont to do, you'll end up as the man standing in the middle of a field, all alone, shouting, "I'm RIGHT!!" Good for you, dude.
Back to politics. In high school, politics was it for me. I have always been philosophical and have always enjoyed a living, current relationship with God. I thought that the political arena was the best platform for bringing change to people, for helping them know real freedom, truth, hope, and responsibility. I was fascinated with how societies govern themselves and how they decide on laws, what's truth, what's moral. I went to Boston University pursuing a degree in political science and a husband who would one day be president. Seriously.
But I found a lot of striving and not much progress, a lot of facts but not much truth, a lot of activity but not much life (both in the church and politics). I was annoyed, still hungry, still thirsty, dissatisfied, jaded. Then I learned better. I encountered the Kingdom of God, and it knocked me flat. I encountered an apostle (which is the ministry gift of spiritual father, not some spooky weirdo in a robe, though there are surely weirdos in robes who call themselves apostles and confuse people, but I digress), and I realized that the Kingdom of God, of Yahweh (and not just heaven some day in the future), is the best government and means of change. Everything else is the activities of man, a reflection of who we really are. Suddenly, I knew where all the interests of my eager youth pointed and heard the call. I would pour my life into the Kingdom of God. Boy oh boy, does that ever bring perspective!
Politics can be a useful tool, but as Christians, Christ ones, believers, Kingdom people, we must know that our success lies first in the spirit realm and in hearing and obeying the voice of God. Our hope will never lie in election results, and I cannot be moved by that system. "The answer to grouchy people doing wrong things is not a bunch of grouchy people trying to do the right things in the wrong way" (Apostle Ainsworth). Vicious cycle! We do have some serious work to do and are certainly not just waiting to "fly away, oh glory." Nor should we hole up and hide away somewhere by ourselves. But there is a right way to fight. The political systems of man are what we would call a "kingdom of this world," and we are forging ahead until "the kingdoms of this world have become the Kingdom of our God and of His Christ" (Rev. 11:15). So what now, then?
"The answer to grouchy people doing wrong things is not a bunch
of grouchy people trying to do the right things in the wrong way."
of grouchy people trying to do the right things in the wrong way."
We fight our battles, but we do not fight our battles on their battleground. We fight on ours. Then we see the results reflected in theirs. We're fighting to establish the Kingdom of God, to redeem the earth and the people in it, to bring the truth and hope and righteousness and living relationship with Yahweh, through Yahshua (or Jesus), and purpose to the hearts and lives of all. What was a natural battle in the Old Testament is a spiritual battle in the New Testament and into today. That will never happen through politics. Now if you hear Him tell you to go into politics, do it! And do it well. Stay in His presence and remember what Kingdom you're of.
You see, political systems will try to get us fired up, forgetting who we are. Do not be lured and lulled out of your place of safety and productivity into the place where you become embroiled in complaining, confusion, fear, despondence, anger, and dishonoring authority when the tides of fickle society ebb and flow, as reflected in elections. Your place of safety and refuge and power is in the presence of God, in the spirit, where He will speak to you and lead you through strategic decisions in life that will shake and change the earth if you'll let Him. Do not be lured out of your place of safety to where you're fighting them ineffectively on their battleground. You will lose your focus. You will lose your peace. You will lose your hope. You will lose. Be careful what voices you permit to sway you. I might agree with some of the basic political ideas of entertainers like Rush Limbaugh or Glenn Beck (some, I said, not all!), but they are just that: entertainers. They make money off of stirring us up and maximizing on the fears of people who don't know where their hope is, or good people who aren't sure how to make a difference. They are fighting on the world's battleground and have become so much noise in an already noisy climate. Shut out the noise if you must. Hear God. And move with power.
 |
| From Nuremberg Bible, 1483 |
So I say again!...Do not be lured by the world out of your place of safety to where you're fighting that fight on their battleground. Do not fall, unchained, unbound, but foolish. Guard your emotions so that they are ruled by Holy Spirit and the word of God. Our political system is vicious, and it does not change the hearts and character of people. It only reflects them.
Your place of safety and refuge and power is
in the presence of God, in the spirit.
in the presence of God, in the spirit.
Therefore, whatever happens politically, at least in our country, gives a good indication of the state of the people. Some people might say, "Where was God when this guy I don't like got elected!!" I'll tell you this much, Yahweh wasn't sitting around wringing his hands, wondering what to do, nor was He sitting back laughing at your woes. He is in charge of all things, working all together for our good, even when the "all" we give Him to work with is sometimes less than pretty. He also works with the wills that He gave mankind in His wisdom, and "as He foreknew, He predestined" (Romans 8:29). He often lets His judgment come by way of letting us have what we want (Adam and Eve anybody?). You want righteousness? He freely gives you His presence and the peaceable fruits of righteousness. You want wickedness? Have at it, and see what follows. If the majority of a country wants to legalize wickedness, righteous people do not need to mourn and wail. We need to focus on the Father and stay the course and be ready for the inevitable fallout. God moves through His people. Believe me, He is moving, but He wants a mature body to move with Him and do business on His authority. Come on, somebody!!
We don't ignore what's going on around us. We do take seriously our call to establish the Kingdom and not be ignorant of where our power lies. When the fruits of bad behavior start to ripen, when people become more and more jaded with their government, their lifestyles, their they-don't-know-what, Kingdom people ought to then be established, strong, READY with the truth, and ready to collect by the word of God. That is God's way: He always works through the body of Christ, through His sons and daughters who've set themselves, like Yahshua did, to say what the Father is saying and to do what the Father is doing. Collect the wealth of the wicked, collect the people whose very purpose for existence is a relationship with Yahweh though they may have never understood it, collect positions of authority being abdicated, and collect some more. Let His word and presence qualify you and establish His character in you so that you are mature and ready! In times of depression, in hard times, not everyone loses. People who are prepared absolutely bank on it.
He wants a mature body to move with Him
and do business on His authority.
Every system of man is Babylon, spiritually speaking, and Babylon always trades with the lives of men and breeds confusion.
"However, we are not part of Babylon! We're sons of God! We never relied upon them anyway. We never put our hope in that system anyway. We have not been living our lives hoping that they would bail us out anyway. We're trusting in the confidence of Yahweh. We're trusting Yahweh to be faithful! So now we can find out who we really are. We can find out if we're really sons of God. If Yahweh, in His wisdom, allowed this state, [this nation], to get what it wants, which brings more confusion, heartache, and trouble, we should be busy positioning ourselves to collect!" (Apostle Ainsworth)
Live by the Holy Spirit inside you, live shrewdly according to His word, live a life that extravagantly worships and glorifies God by seeing circumspectly and moving precisely according to His word to you. You are not without recourse. And thereby don't fall prey to the siren song of man's systems that are "full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing" (Shakespeare's MacBeth). Don't allow the loudness to draw you into the argument. Don't mess up the truth you hold by being wrong in your approach. Transcend it all by the spirit and build the only true kingdom to which people can run and be free and strengthened and made aware of their purpose by the very Creator of the universe and His abounding love.
Rise up, sons of God! Rise up, church! Rise up to your purpose! Rise up, rise up, rise up!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Aunt Nimi's Apple Cinnamon Puffs, by Request
1 1/2 lb. tart apples (I always use Granny Smith) (about 4-5 medium-sized apples), peeled and sliced or cubed, whatever you prefer (She does sliced, but I cubed them the other day and loved the texture.)
Syrup:
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
Biscuits:
1 1/2 cups sifted enriched flour (I use white whole wheat; loved that texture, too.)
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 cup shortening
3/4 cup milk
2 tblsp. melted butter
2 tblsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Place apples in a greased, shallow 9x13 baking dish. Boil the sugar and water about 5-7 minutes until it's more of a syrup. Pour the syrup over the apples.
2. Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt into a big mixing bowl. Cut the shortening into the dry mixture with a pastry blender* or a fork until mixture looks like meal. Stir in the milk to make a soft dough.
*(I cannot recommend highly enough a pastry blender. You might not need it often, but it's perfect when you do and takes up little space.)
3. Drop 12 spoonfuls of dough (all of it) on top of apples, making a dent in the top of each. Mix the melted butter, sugar, and cinnamon, then drop spoonfuls of this mixture into dough indentations.
 |
| Ah, the waiting... |
There's just something about the texture of this recipe. If you like biscuits, you'll love this. Delectable.
Now, since I'm clearly in the cooking/baking mode, and since I have your attention along the food vein, and since I don't want to keep making food posts without saying something else of intelligence in between, I'm going for one more. This is another dessert that will knock your socks off. Gooey, chocolatey, caramel-y goodness awaits.
Caramel Brownies (Don't let the simple name deceive you. They will blow your mind.)
1 box German chocolate cake mix
1 16-oz. bag caramels, each piece peeled and ready to go
6 oz. of chocolate chips
1 cup pecans, broken into the size of bits that you prefer (I use a nut grinder, courtesy of Mama Joanie [that is, my mom JoAnne], and get them pretty small)
2/3 cup evaporated milk (6 oz. can) or half and half
 |
| My fantastic little helper! |
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. Mix cake mix, softened butter, and 1/3 cup evaporated milk in a bowl. When mixed, stir in pecans.
3. Cook 1/2 of the batter in a greased 13x9-inch pan for 6 minutes.
4. While 1/2 the batter cooks, take another medium-size bowl and melt the caramels with 1/3 cup evaporated milk in the microwave for 2-4 minutes, stirring every minute.
5. When 1/2 batter is done cooking, sprinkle the chocolate chips evenly on top, then pour the caramel mixture evenly on top of the chocolate chips. With spoon or hands, add remaining batter on top--distributing globs evenly. You can sprinkle chocolate toffee pieces on top, if you want, and it's awesome, FYI.
6. Bake for about 20 minutes and check with a toothpick till done.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Put Pumpkin in Your Chili (and Make this Cake)!
We're well into fall, and I know I'm not the only one spending more time in the kitchen, baking and making pots of stew. Complex aromas floating through the house, radiant heat from a hot oven, and the first bite of spicy chili topped with stringy cheese and cool sour cream, or, the first bite of a rich apple cake that is so moist it hardly holds its shape...all fine reasons to relish the traditional pairing of fall and food. If you're looking for some new foods to try this fall, might I offer a few tasty suggestions.
I went to my favorite recipe website, allrecipes.com, and did a search for gingerbread waffles. I often get an idea in my head of something that would be awesome to eat, then I search for it on allrecipes.com. I can't remember one time that I didn't find a recipe for exactly the idea I dreamt up. The gingerbread waffles had that perfect mix of bite and sweetness that comes from sugar, molasses, and ginger. They were dense to chew and a deep brown color. Topped with melty butter and warm maple syrup, the stack on the center of the table shrunk and shrunk until our bellies had sufficiently filled to the brim. The batch was so big, we took some over to our neighbors, one of our favorite things to do with the leftovers of a particularly delectable dish. Don't keep all that good stuff to yourself! Here's the link to the recipe I used (I doubled it and used white whole wheat flour): http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Gingerbread-Waffles-2/Detail.aspx. I didn't have allspice, so I just looked it up online and made it from spices I had, and I didn't have cream of tartar, so I just used some baking powder in its place. There are a few other similar recipes with slight variations, so if you decide to go for it, check all the options for what suits your family's tastes or ingredients you have on hand.
While searching for the waffle recipe, I saw another one highlighted on the home page. The title caught my attention: Pumpkin Turkey Chili. Hmmm... I love pumpkin. I love chili. The combo enticed me. This sounded right down my alley. I looked over the ingredients, read the reviews, found that others had posted several recipes which I examined, then I gave it a go.
In the spirit of fall food talk, I have to share one more recipe. We went apple picking in October, a great northeastern tradition and big fun for kids and grown-ups alike. We brought home a bag full of Macintosh apples, and I was sufficiently equipped to try many favorite dishes. One was my Aunt Nimi's absolutely delectable Apple Cinnamon Puffs: apple slices in a sugary syrup topped with homemade biscuit-type breading with butter, cinammon, and more sugar. I cannot fully express how scrumptious this is. Actually, that was a digression and was not the recipe I was going to mention. Sorry! If you do want this recipe, let me know.
The other apple recipe I made is awesome. If you are looking for that great dessert to take to a pot luck, try this Glazed Fresh Apple Cake. It is so easy. It's almost wrong how easy it is. It uses cake mix, and it's sure to be a crowd pleaser. With about 5 apples, pudding, and cinnamon in the cake itself, it stands on its own pretty well. But then you top it with a glaze of butter, brown sugar, and a touch of apple juice that all run down and into the warm cake, and it just melts in your mouth. I used some of the Macintosh apples from apple picking, but I prefer it with Granny Smiths. I get so many requests for this cake, usually from men. It's from a Pillsbury cookbook, and as I cannot find it online, here's the recipe:
CAKE
3 cups finely chopped peeled apples (about 4-5 medium apples)
1 (1 lb. 2.25-oz.) pkg. moist yellow cake mix
1 (3.4-oz.) pkg. instant vanilla pudding and pie filling mix
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup water
4 eggs
GLAZE
1 1/4 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter, cut up (yes, everyone, that is one whole stick!)
1/4 cup apple juice
1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Generously grease and flour 12-cup Bundt pan (if you don't have one of these, just use what you have!). In large bowl, combine all cake ingredients; beat at low speed until moistened. Beat 2 minutes at high speed. (I think the two minutes at high speed really matter. They cause the pudding to thicken up a bit.) Pour batter into greased and floured pan.
2. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 40 - 55 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan 15 minutes.
3. In medium saucepan, while cake is cooling, combine all glaze ingredients. Cook over medium-high heat until mixture comes to a boil, stirring occasionally. Boil 1 minute. Reserve 1/4 cup glaze; keep warm.
4. With cake still in pan, pour remaining glaze over warm cake between cake and edges of pan so glaze runs down sides of cake. Let stand 15 minutes.
5. Invert cake onto serving plate; remove pan. Slowly pour reserved 1/4 cup glaze over top of cake. If desired, sprinkle cake with powdered sugar (I've never done this; seems like you can have too much of a good thing!). Serve warm or cool.
If you eat the whole thing, you will gain 500 pounds and get fat. If you eat just a slice or two, I believe you'll actually lose weight due to the energy you spend thinking about how amazingly delicious it is.
Have fun and let me know how they turn out!
I went to my favorite recipe website, allrecipes.com, and did a search for gingerbread waffles. I often get an idea in my head of something that would be awesome to eat, then I search for it on allrecipes.com. I can't remember one time that I didn't find a recipe for exactly the idea I dreamt up. The gingerbread waffles had that perfect mix of bite and sweetness that comes from sugar, molasses, and ginger. They were dense to chew and a deep brown color. Topped with melty butter and warm maple syrup, the stack on the center of the table shrunk and shrunk until our bellies had sufficiently filled to the brim. The batch was so big, we took some over to our neighbors, one of our favorite things to do with the leftovers of a particularly delectable dish. Don't keep all that good stuff to yourself! Here's the link to the recipe I used (I doubled it and used white whole wheat flour): http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Gingerbread-Waffles-2/Detail.aspx. I didn't have allspice, so I just looked it up online and made it from spices I had, and I didn't have cream of tartar, so I just used some baking powder in its place. There are a few other similar recipes with slight variations, so if you decide to go for it, check all the options for what suits your family's tastes or ingredients you have on hand.
While searching for the waffle recipe, I saw another one highlighted on the home page. The title caught my attention: Pumpkin Turkey Chili. Hmmm... I love pumpkin. I love chili. The combo enticed me. This sounded right down my alley. I looked over the ingredients, read the reviews, found that others had posted several recipes which I examined, then I gave it a go.
I decided it was one of those dishes that had enough novelty that it ought to be shared. It was delicious, it was healthy, it was easy, and it was satisfying. Using typical chili ingredients and spices, it tasted like chili, but using turkey made it leaner than using beef. Adding pumpkin thickened and darkened it up, and the taste was so subtle that no one would guess it was there without being told. The texture was thick, the veggies added color and crunch, and the corn gave each bite a little pop. I have enough ingredients to make another batch, and this time I'll leave out the corn, only because I'm not used to corn in my chili. Some reviews said it was sort of bland, so I added one jalapeno, hoping it wouldn't be too hot for Levi, who does like spicy food, and I added some Lawry's seasoned salt. Next time, I'll definitely use two jalapenoes, but I wouldn't change much else. Give it a try! It's fun to use seasonal ingredients in new and healthy ways.
In the spirit of fall food talk, I have to share one more recipe. We went apple picking in October, a great northeastern tradition and big fun for kids and grown-ups alike. We brought home a bag full of Macintosh apples, and I was sufficiently equipped to try many favorite dishes. One was my Aunt Nimi's absolutely delectable Apple Cinnamon Puffs: apple slices in a sugary syrup topped with homemade biscuit-type breading with butter, cinammon, and more sugar. I cannot fully express how scrumptious this is. Actually, that was a digression and was not the recipe I was going to mention. Sorry! If you do want this recipe, let me know.
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| From Pillsbury's "Easy Weeknight Meals" |
CAKE
3 cups finely chopped peeled apples (about 4-5 medium apples)
1 (1 lb. 2.25-oz.) pkg. moist yellow cake mix
1 (3.4-oz.) pkg. instant vanilla pudding and pie filling mix
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup water
4 eggs
GLAZE
1 1/4 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter, cut up (yes, everyone, that is one whole stick!)
1/4 cup apple juice
1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Generously grease and flour 12-cup Bundt pan (if you don't have one of these, just use what you have!). In large bowl, combine all cake ingredients; beat at low speed until moistened. Beat 2 minutes at high speed. (I think the two minutes at high speed really matter. They cause the pudding to thicken up a bit.) Pour batter into greased and floured pan.
2. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 40 - 55 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan 15 minutes.
3. In medium saucepan, while cake is cooling, combine all glaze ingredients. Cook over medium-high heat until mixture comes to a boil, stirring occasionally. Boil 1 minute. Reserve 1/4 cup glaze; keep warm.
4. With cake still in pan, pour remaining glaze over warm cake between cake and edges of pan so glaze runs down sides of cake. Let stand 15 minutes.
5. Invert cake onto serving plate; remove pan. Slowly pour reserved 1/4 cup glaze over top of cake. If desired, sprinkle cake with powdered sugar (I've never done this; seems like you can have too much of a good thing!). Serve warm or cool.
If you eat the whole thing, you will gain 500 pounds and get fat. If you eat just a slice or two, I believe you'll actually lose weight due to the energy you spend thinking about how amazingly delicious it is.
Have fun and let me know how they turn out!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Are You the Turtle or the Hare?
Oftentimes, I'm the hare. I hate to say it, so I just had to come out with it fast. :) You know the story. The turtle and the hare race. The hare is fast, speeding ahead, then taking a break, speeding ahead, then getting distracted, speeding ahead, then napping. Meanwhile, the turtle is slow, steady, plodding along at a set pace, always moving forward, gaining ground. He finally crosses the finish line and wins. While the hare is napping, the turtle, by way of persistent, constant forward motion, beats him. The moral of the story? Slow and steady wins the race.
The turtle is synonymous with consistency, doing a little at a time, all the time, and staying on top of things. He's not flashy. He's not extreme. He's steady. Of the two, compared in this light, he's the mascot of the Kingdom. The hare is synonymous with irresponsibility, petulance, and flights of fancy. That might not be a perfect description of my own character, but here's the issue. In certain aspects of life, I find myself putting a responsibility on the back burner, often unwittingly, until it screams loudly enough that I must attend to it in a frenzied all-out sprint, forcing everything else to the wayside.
I don't ignore the laundry on purpose. It's not that I hate doing it, either; I actually kind of like it. But in my busy life, I feel certain that I just did it. While I'm tending to everything else, the laundry piles grow at an incredibly rapid rate until one day, they're looming over me and nobody has anything to wear. But I just did it, I promise! This problem compounds as a family grows, mind you. Confounding is the growth rate of an infant's pile of laundry. Multiply this times all the responsibilities in a household, and you can see how the issue compounds.
What you do not govern will govern you. This principle is true across the board and likes to situate its La-Z-Boy most permanently in your thoughts and emotions. Don't govern them and see if they won't control you. But if we do govern those, our actions tend to follow suit. Did you know you can, and should, control your thoughts and feelings? So in my effort to become more like the turtle, I had to train my mind. I had to become proactive like the turtle, purposefully moving forward, rather than reactive like the hare, flippantly tending to what immediately caught my attention.
Yahweh's voice is not always a great thunderclap and a boom that miraculously rearranges things. More often, in this living relationship, His voice is a normal one or even a whisper, giving appropriately practical direction. His direction to me? Make a housework schedule and stick to it. Slow and steady. Every day perform a task or two that may or may not be shouting at you and thereby...own it. Govern it. Handle it. Could it be any more obvious?! I know most of the world operates this way, but in this area, it wasn't obvious to me until it was. I needed revelation.
"The laundry pile can't be allowed
to speak more loudly than my God."
Now sometimes it's good to be a good sprinter. The hare has plenty of redeeming qualities, and we don't want the pendulum to swing too far in either direction. But when you're a good sprinter, train for a marathon, as I've been doing, or reverse that for marathon runners. Poor hare. His real problem wasn't that he could sprint well. His real problem came back to what I already addressed: his thoughts, feelings, and character. He didn't have his eye on the finish line, on the goal. He had no vision, no purpose. He had nothing worth pursuing other than his own whims, nothing that transcended his own little bubble of feelings.
Isn't it relieving to know that if there's an overwhelming area in your life, you can address it, own it, govern it, handle it? How grateful I am for the Holy Spirit who patiently helps us do just that if we're willing to apply the truth He speaks. And the point is not some self-help program. (Yahweh's whole point is not to make you the very best you just so you can say, "Yea, I'm great!") The point is to make us powerful sons of God who are not moved by anything other than His voice.
So the laundry pile can't be allowed to speak more loudly than my God. That's just crazy! If I must attempt to emulate a turtle for a bit to ensure it, hand me my shell and let's get to it.
Are there any distracting voices in your life that are shouting too loudly for you to hear your own thoughts, let alone God's? You can shut them up! (Maybe in your case, he'll tell you to be the hare [minus the attitude]! Isn't relationship better than arbitrary rules?) Then all you have to do is get to it, which is when you'll really need His help!
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| One of my favorite decorations for several reasons, one being that he prophesies this lesson to me! Isn't he fancy? He's from Africa. His name is Shaka Danso (reliable king). |
I don't ignore the laundry on purpose. It's not that I hate doing it, either; I actually kind of like it. But in my busy life, I feel certain that I just did it. While I'm tending to everything else, the laundry piles grow at an incredibly rapid rate until one day, they're looming over me and nobody has anything to wear. But I just did it, I promise! This problem compounds as a family grows, mind you. Confounding is the growth rate of an infant's pile of laundry. Multiply this times all the responsibilities in a household, and you can see how the issue compounds.
What you do not govern will govern you. This principle is true across the board and likes to situate its La-Z-Boy most permanently in your thoughts and emotions. Don't govern them and see if they won't control you. But if we do govern those, our actions tend to follow suit. Did you know you can, and should, control your thoughts and feelings? So in my effort to become more like the turtle, I had to train my mind. I had to become proactive like the turtle, purposefully moving forward, rather than reactive like the hare, flippantly tending to what immediately caught my attention.
Yahweh's voice is not always a great thunderclap and a boom that miraculously rearranges things. More often, in this living relationship, His voice is a normal one or even a whisper, giving appropriately practical direction. His direction to me? Make a housework schedule and stick to it. Slow and steady. Every day perform a task or two that may or may not be shouting at you and thereby...own it. Govern it. Handle it. Could it be any more obvious?! I know most of the world operates this way, but in this area, it wasn't obvious to me until it was. I needed revelation.
"The laundry pile can't be allowed
to speak more loudly than my God."
Now sometimes it's good to be a good sprinter. The hare has plenty of redeeming qualities, and we don't want the pendulum to swing too far in either direction. But when you're a good sprinter, train for a marathon, as I've been doing, or reverse that for marathon runners. Poor hare. His real problem wasn't that he could sprint well. His real problem came back to what I already addressed: his thoughts, feelings, and character. He didn't have his eye on the finish line, on the goal. He had no vision, no purpose. He had nothing worth pursuing other than his own whims, nothing that transcended his own little bubble of feelings.
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| Alfred prophesies, too. Is it a piano or a typewriter? I say both. |
So the laundry pile can't be allowed to speak more loudly than my God. That's just crazy! If I must attempt to emulate a turtle for a bit to ensure it, hand me my shell and let's get to it.
Are there any distracting voices in your life that are shouting too loudly for you to hear your own thoughts, let alone God's? You can shut them up! (Maybe in your case, he'll tell you to be the hare [minus the attitude]! Isn't relationship better than arbitrary rules?) Then all you have to do is get to it, which is when you'll really need His help!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
To Halloween, or Not to Halloween...
I love dramatic make-up and elaborate costumes and candlelit parties. Small children dressed as bugs and cowboys and various animals make my heart puff up and my mouth grin. There's just something about the silliness of it and the chance to pretend, to be an actor, to put on somebody (or something) else's shoes (or paws/antennae/whatever) that appeals to us.
But we don't do Halloween at our house. Crazy, but true. It's the second most celebrated holiday, after Numero Uno Christmas, and I'm not sure what determines its #2 standing other than cold hard cash. I find that it's peddled hard, and the only holiday peddled harder is, you guessed it, Christmas. Because they're the two where the cash is. Christmas is a no-brainer, but when you think of costumes and makeup and candy and decorations, oh my!...you begin to see the dollar signs in H$LL$W$$N pretty quickly. So, what are we thinking, skipping out on #2? I mean, really. I re-read this and think, "What a couple of joy-killing curmudgeons" (one of Jed's favorite words, by the way...use it in a FB post on his wall).
First, let me say that I do get it. It's super fun for kids, to be sure. Candy is scrumptious. Dressing up is delightful. Tradition is important and gratifying and memory-making. When I was growing up, we didn't celebrate Halloween in my parents' house either. I was always kind of bummed that I couldn't get the greatest costume out there and go out with all my friends, be part of the corporate festivities, and just have fun, for goodness' sake. My parents would turn out all the lights and hide in the back of the house so no one would think we were home and knock on our door. No joke, people. They aren't puritanical weirdos, either. They just felt strongly about Halloween.
We don't go quite that far around here, mind you. And we did do Harvest festivals when I was a kid, which I'm still contemplating. Can I ask an honest question here? I think I shall. Is it old and tired to anyone else when the church copies exactly what the world's doing but calls it something else to make themselves feel better about it? Oh goodness, I know I just stepped on a lot of toes! I just stepped on my own toes. I'm just thinking out loud and think it's a fair question. Let's gingerly back away from this one for now, shall we? Steady now...steady now...there. Safe. *dusting myself off* Everybody OK?
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| Tiny tree's fall foliage. |
Now I have kids of my own, and one is age three, just the age where he could really start to get into it. So I've been asking myself, "OK, what do I really think about all this? What will we do? And WHY?" I don't do things just because that's the way it's been done. I want a reason. I want to dig deep. What's in my spirit? And I don't want to get all "weirdo-religious-girl" and legalistic about something, especially if it doesn't matter. Enjoying Halloween festivities is not a sin, and I've already been through the phase where I did it just because I realized I could. But that's not a good reason to do anything, so ponder I did.
I first considered that Halloween customs stem from pagan beginnings. That's not necessarily enough to make it taboo, though, because Christmas and Easter are riddled with pagan custom. I can trim a tree and hide Easter eggs with the best of them. A friend of mine told me that, growing up in the Catholic Church (she's no longer Catholic), Halloween for her was understood as a time to show reverence for those who have gone before us and paid a price for where we are today in Christendom. That's a great idea, and I'd never understood that component for Catholics. But it isn't really Halloween, but the day after, All Saints' Day, in which they pay their respects. And obviously, dressing up like a witch and going trick or treating isn't accomplishing that laudable goal. The best way to honor those who've gone before us and paid a price is to live our own lives with the same fervor, successfully carrying the torch along our portion of the race.
So our decision ultimately boiled down to one simple thing: fear. Halloween compounds and celebrates and plays with fear. Now, I would love to see my three-year-old son dressed up like a cowboy or a ninja or, don't judge, but he could pull it off, Angelina Jolie (Just trust me on this one!), because it would be silly and fun. But if that's really all that important to me, I have 364 other days in which I can dress him up for silly good times. But Halloween draws from its ancient Druid beginnings, oozing with superstition, fear, and witchcraft. These things are all antithetical to my incredible God, the power of His presence, and the perfect love we have through Him, which casts out all fear.
Now I'm certainly not trying to preach a sermon. But I have to say that even when I was bummed about not celebrating Halloween growing up, I always thought it was kind of cool that my parents had this standard and that they held the line and wouldn't cave and let us do it just because that's what many others do. It gave me that feeling of being set apart. A holiday consumed with vampires, ghouls, goblins, angry wandering souls, witches, eyeball stews, hexes, and curses is not my kind of holiday. And I don't want to be violent about the Kingdom of God, as I am, and then have to reconcile what I teach my kids along those lines every day of the year with what we would seem to be celebrating on that one day, if we celebrated it. My God does not give us a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind. Fear is our enemy. I will only ever introduce to them the reality that it's under our feet, not something upon which to cast our flirtations.
Have a great fall season, however you choose to enjoy it.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Lillian Fluff-n-Stuff Finley: 3/2002-10/2010
Lillian Fluff-n-Stuff Finley was born in Burlington, Vermont, to a psychotic, ill-adjusted stray named Ruby under the bed of Jennifer Davis. Ruby ran off, but Jennifer Davis soon married Jed Finley, and the Finleys became Lily's lifelong family. Despite her Vermont roots, her attitudes seemed to hail from just a touch further north. For this reason, Jed and Jennifer always told her she was French Canadian.
Known to everyone as Lily, her most immediately defining characteristic was her striking beauty. She was an explosion of fluff, and her feathery tail, when lifted upwards, was glorious plumage on full display. Black and white with spots of brown, the black created the image of a mask over her striking green eyes and a cape going down her back. Perfectly symmetrical, she was approached often in life by scouts to, please, please, do modeling. Disgusted at the thought, she chose to pursue her passions in music and performance, and to become fat.
Her first forays into the performance world were with the traveling circus. She longed to be a trapeze performer, and while her skills there were nothing to scoff at, she excelled at the high dive, jumping from a small platform hundreds of feet above a tiny pool below. Though she abhorred being wet, she loved the thrill of each jump, and her graceful movements whilst seemingly, momentarily, in flight left spectators star-struck and begging for more. Crowds came in droves, but Lily realized that she could either make this her career or take the riskier leap of leaving behind this success and moving on to her greatest call of composing music. She took the metaphorical leap.
Music flowed through Lily's veins. This is one reason, perhaps the only reason, that she loved the Finleys who are themselves musical. She was finicky, being a cat and all. Her soft, muted meows proved that she would not be a vocalist, but that did not matter to her as her forte was the keys, which she played through dance. She loved a piano or harpsichord, but her preference, by far, was an 80's-vibe synthesizer. She worked with some top musicians, composers, and producers in her life and found tremendous success. She was a key collaborator with Toto on their hit song "Africa," and she also composed the chimey, synth-y music every traveler hears who uses the terminal trams at the Denver airport. She collaborated on hundreds of other projects. A generous soul, she had a hard time refusing people's requests for her artistic direction, refusing only Prince with a flat "no." He was devastated.
Lily had been retired for some time, but she did amass great wealth. While the Finleys have no idea where it is, the circulating legend is that she sent it all to her favorite charity, "Kittens Born to Psychotic Strays." Lily also left behind a library full of poetry and inspired musical compositions. The Finleys don't know where that is, either.
According to the Finleys, Lily was a sweet cat with a precious nature and great patience. She loved chocolate ice cream and batting at the TV when she thought she saw suspicious movement on the screen. She was trusting of those she knew understood her, and she hid from those she did not trust, which was most men. Lily was, like many artists, a tad fragile, skittish, and misunderstood. She never married and devoted her affections to her favorite people, her parents, especially Jennifer. She loved to be pet when it was her idea and loved to end a good petting session with no notice whatsoever, but always with a flourish. She especially loved to lie on freshly dried laundry, particularly if it was black, which always was most messed up by her shedding. Lily also enjoyed sitting at the back patio door, staring through the glass at the busy chipmunks. The chipmunks, who quickly realized she could do nothing, would run right up to the glass and chatter away, mocking her. Lily would spend this time batting at the glass and making her whiskers twitch. If she ever had come face to face with a chipmunk, sans any barrier, she probably would have run away.
Lily would want you to know that she loved Yahweh, her creator. She always said that, to animals, this was a no-brainer. We figure this makes sense since Lily's brain was actually very, very small.
Thanks for all the wonderful memories, good laughs, inspired imaginations, affectionate purrs, and sweet leg nudges. You were enough personality to fill a hundred more such eulogies, sweet girl.
We love you, Lou Lou.
(More pictures to be posted.)
Her first forays into the performance world were with the traveling circus. She longed to be a trapeze performer, and while her skills there were nothing to scoff at, she excelled at the high dive, jumping from a small platform hundreds of feet above a tiny pool below. Though she abhorred being wet, she loved the thrill of each jump, and her graceful movements whilst seemingly, momentarily, in flight left spectators star-struck and begging for more. Crowds came in droves, but Lily realized that she could either make this her career or take the riskier leap of leaving behind this success and moving on to her greatest call of composing music. She took the metaphorical leap.
Music flowed through Lily's veins. This is one reason, perhaps the only reason, that she loved the Finleys who are themselves musical. She was finicky, being a cat and all. Her soft, muted meows proved that she would not be a vocalist, but that did not matter to her as her forte was the keys, which she played through dance. She loved a piano or harpsichord, but her preference, by far, was an 80's-vibe synthesizer. She worked with some top musicians, composers, and producers in her life and found tremendous success. She was a key collaborator with Toto on their hit song "Africa," and she also composed the chimey, synth-y music every traveler hears who uses the terminal trams at the Denver airport. She collaborated on hundreds of other projects. A generous soul, she had a hard time refusing people's requests for her artistic direction, refusing only Prince with a flat "no." He was devastated.
Lily had been retired for some time, but she did amass great wealth. While the Finleys have no idea where it is, the circulating legend is that she sent it all to her favorite charity, "Kittens Born to Psychotic Strays." Lily also left behind a library full of poetry and inspired musical compositions. The Finleys don't know where that is, either.
Lily would want you to know that she loved Yahweh, her creator. She always said that, to animals, this was a no-brainer. We figure this makes sense since Lily's brain was actually very, very small.
Thanks for all the wonderful memories, good laughs, inspired imaginations, affectionate purrs, and sweet leg nudges. You were enough personality to fill a hundred more such eulogies, sweet girl.
We love you, Lou Lou.
(More pictures to be posted.)
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Make No Mistake, In Our Story, We Win
It's not lost on me that things started coming to a head within thirty-six hours of me singing prophetically in worship on Sunday that there's nothing in our way that we cannot overcome, no mountain in our way that cannot be moved. By the Spirit of God empowering us, those mountains must be moved. I sang it, and Monday happened. Our enemy always overplays his hand.
"Is it still Sunday?" I tried to find my bedside clock. Found it. The hazy, neon green glow steadied into distinct lines. It was 2:43 a.m., Monday, and this marked the seventh time, at least, that I'd thrown the sheets back and stumbled to Adelaide's room to either reinsert her pacifier, burp her, console her, feed her, or all of the above. Teething. We repeated the routine about 300 more times until she woke for the day at 7:30. As much as I wanted to go bury my face back in my crumpled pillow, I was actually sort of relieved to end the nighttime battle for sleep and just get started with the day. I gave myself a quick, mental pep talk along the lines of, "Jennifer! You are not rested. Guard yourself. Don't let it mess you up." Then I made some coffee and began admiring the little ridge of my daughter's first tooth, emerging through her lower gums.
All weekend, Jed and I had been washing our dishes by hand in the downstairs bathroom. The kitchen sink was clogged, badly, and the dishwasher shared the same pipe. I'm so grateful for drains that actually drain, and for dishwashers, that I could kiss them on the mouth. But back to the bathroom. When you open the door to our tiny downstairs bathroom, you're face to face with our stacked washer and dryer, almost as wide as the doorway and not even a foot from the threshold. If you can squeeze through the sliver of space it leaves on your left, you have a small patch of floor on which to maneuver between the toilet, the giant cylindrical waterheater, and the smallest (real) sink you've probably ever seen. I love that sink. It's sort of old school. But at about 9 inches wide and fewer still from wall to front rim, it was clearly not intended for scrubbing clean a dutch oven, especially when straddling the cat's litter box. When he wasn't helping with the dishes, Jed was working for hours trying to unclog the kitchen pipes. He wielded crazy tools, he removed the dishwasher, and he put said dishwasher tightly back in place. Every inch that he further disappeared under the sink was another stack of dollars saved from having to call a plumber. Until he had to call a plumber.
Meanwhile, Lily's food bowl had continued to look exactly the same for days. Same food level, same spot. I kept thinking Jed had been feeding her. Saturday morning, its static look finally registered with me and had to mean one thing: she hadn't been eating. How long had it been? At least since Thursday, I was thinking. Our introverted and beautiful, fluffy cat had been much more reclusive lately, come to think of it, so I went looking for her. Lying on our bed, she looked different, sunken. Had I not really seen her in two days? She had lost weight. She looked lethargic, and her eyes seemed to be asking a question. I pet her for a while and tucked it away somewhere that she wasn't well. Saturday flew by, what with all the drain-clanking noises and the dish-washing escapades. Then it was Sunday. Sunday mornings are always busy. After church, in the brief afternoon pause before Jed left for the service in the Northeast Kingdom, I remembered our cat.
"Jed, I think Lily's dying." The words were out before I even knew that's what I really thought. That was weird.
"Dying? She's probably just sick." Of course, Jed's answer was more probable, but I just wasn't sure. That night, the kids were finally down, and I found Lily. She was standing at her food bowl, and I gave her all sorts of high-pitched, soft-voiced praises for attempting to eat or drink something. Barely sniffing her food, she tapped her paw in the water as she always does to verify its depth, then she tapped it with her other paw, then she just stopped. Without drinking, she came to me and lied down for some affection. "Oh no," I thought as I stroked her from head to tail. I could feel her shoulder blades, ribs, spine. For a fat cat, she was super skinny. She looked at me, and made a low, mournful, barely audible plea.
After my Monday morning pep talk and cup of coffee, life came at me fast. I thought we'd be winging it with the tiny-sink dishwashing-a-thon for a few days when Jed texted me that the plumber was coming that morning. My heart leapt and sank at the same time: "Working drains!" "Lots of money." As I tidied up the kitchen, I glanced at Lily's bowl, hopeful. No change. I went to find her, and she wasn't dead, but she looked to be at death's door. I called Jed. What were we going to do? We obviously had to call a vet and just figure out the cost. By the time I got around to making the appointment, the plumber had been humphing and sighing for hours in complete consternation at the horribly designed entanglement of pipes under our kitchen sink. He tried all his tools and knocked out part of a wall before he finally snaked our neighbors' hose into my kitchen and used a blow bag to, really, just blow out the clog. Wouldn't you know, it worked. About halfway through the drama, I remembered how tired I was, Adelaide wasn't eating well, Levi was craving some Mommy time, and I was worried about Lily. By the time I made several calls and finally made the appointment, I started to cry. Where did that come from?
Then I remembered all the kick-butt prophetic words we received via Holy Spirit just the day before. Ones I had so passionately sung. Ah-ha. You see, for those willing to receive it, Yahshua (or most people call Him Jesus) bought victory for us with his life, death, and miraculous resurrection. Pretty awesome. For us, the deal is done. Most of us know about that, right? But does that mean one day in heaven, or did He say, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven?" That means today, in my life, right now, I have a chance to walk in that resurrection power and apply that victory to everything. Indeed, maybe I must. Maybe that's the point. The ever-increasing Kingdom (on earth as it is in heaven). Hmmm... I have the opportunity to look at the clogged drain, the sick cat, the sleepless nights, the financial statements and say, "Come what may, you are not the final word." And so they are not. Because maybe junk comes at us, and maybe that junk would like to dangle a very rotten carrot to distract us from the purpose we're fulfilling and the God we're glorifying. Maybe it'd like to make us soft, make us want to take a break. Maybe our enemy would like nothing more than to keep this little thing he's got going in the earth, and maybe he's terrified of sons of God who finally get it that every victory we win in our lives puts him one step closer to his ultimate dethronement. Maybe he knows what I know. Maybe he's scared of what I know: In this story, I win, because my God is remarkable, mind-blowing, and splendid. End of story.
"Is it still Sunday?" I tried to find my bedside clock. Found it. The hazy, neon green glow steadied into distinct lines. It was 2:43 a.m., Monday, and this marked the seventh time, at least, that I'd thrown the sheets back and stumbled to Adelaide's room to either reinsert her pacifier, burp her, console her, feed her, or all of the above. Teething. We repeated the routine about 300 more times until she woke for the day at 7:30. As much as I wanted to go bury my face back in my crumpled pillow, I was actually sort of relieved to end the nighttime battle for sleep and just get started with the day. I gave myself a quick, mental pep talk along the lines of, "Jennifer! You are not rested. Guard yourself. Don't let it mess you up." Then I made some coffee and began admiring the little ridge of my daughter's first tooth, emerging through her lower gums.
All weekend, Jed and I had been washing our dishes by hand in the downstairs bathroom. The kitchen sink was clogged, badly, and the dishwasher shared the same pipe. I'm so grateful for drains that actually drain, and for dishwashers, that I could kiss them on the mouth. But back to the bathroom. When you open the door to our tiny downstairs bathroom, you're face to face with our stacked washer and dryer, almost as wide as the doorway and not even a foot from the threshold. If you can squeeze through the sliver of space it leaves on your left, you have a small patch of floor on which to maneuver between the toilet, the giant cylindrical waterheater, and the smallest (real) sink you've probably ever seen. I love that sink. It's sort of old school. But at about 9 inches wide and fewer still from wall to front rim, it was clearly not intended for scrubbing clean a dutch oven, especially when straddling the cat's litter box. When he wasn't helping with the dishes, Jed was working for hours trying to unclog the kitchen pipes. He wielded crazy tools, he removed the dishwasher, and he put said dishwasher tightly back in place. Every inch that he further disappeared under the sink was another stack of dollars saved from having to call a plumber. Until he had to call a plumber.
Meanwhile, Lily's food bowl had continued to look exactly the same for days. Same food level, same spot. I kept thinking Jed had been feeding her. Saturday morning, its static look finally registered with me and had to mean one thing: she hadn't been eating. How long had it been? At least since Thursday, I was thinking. Our introverted and beautiful, fluffy cat had been much more reclusive lately, come to think of it, so I went looking for her. Lying on our bed, she looked different, sunken. Had I not really seen her in two days? She had lost weight. She looked lethargic, and her eyes seemed to be asking a question. I pet her for a while and tucked it away somewhere that she wasn't well. Saturday flew by, what with all the drain-clanking noises and the dish-washing escapades. Then it was Sunday. Sunday mornings are always busy. After church, in the brief afternoon pause before Jed left for the service in the Northeast Kingdom, I remembered our cat.
"Jed, I think Lily's dying." The words were out before I even knew that's what I really thought. That was weird.
"Dying? She's probably just sick." Of course, Jed's answer was more probable, but I just wasn't sure. That night, the kids were finally down, and I found Lily. She was standing at her food bowl, and I gave her all sorts of high-pitched, soft-voiced praises for attempting to eat or drink something. Barely sniffing her food, she tapped her paw in the water as she always does to verify its depth, then she tapped it with her other paw, then she just stopped. Without drinking, she came to me and lied down for some affection. "Oh no," I thought as I stroked her from head to tail. I could feel her shoulder blades, ribs, spine. For a fat cat, she was super skinny. She looked at me, and made a low, mournful, barely audible plea.
After my Monday morning pep talk and cup of coffee, life came at me fast. I thought we'd be winging it with the tiny-sink dishwashing-a-thon for a few days when Jed texted me that the plumber was coming that morning. My heart leapt and sank at the same time: "Working drains!" "Lots of money." As I tidied up the kitchen, I glanced at Lily's bowl, hopeful. No change. I went to find her, and she wasn't dead, but she looked to be at death's door. I called Jed. What were we going to do? We obviously had to call a vet and just figure out the cost. By the time I got around to making the appointment, the plumber had been humphing and sighing for hours in complete consternation at the horribly designed entanglement of pipes under our kitchen sink. He tried all his tools and knocked out part of a wall before he finally snaked our neighbors' hose into my kitchen and used a blow bag to, really, just blow out the clog. Wouldn't you know, it worked. About halfway through the drama, I remembered how tired I was, Adelaide wasn't eating well, Levi was craving some Mommy time, and I was worried about Lily. By the time I made several calls and finally made the appointment, I started to cry. Where did that come from?
Then I remembered all the kick-butt prophetic words we received via Holy Spirit just the day before. Ones I had so passionately sung. Ah-ha. You see, for those willing to receive it, Yahshua (or most people call Him Jesus) bought victory for us with his life, death, and miraculous resurrection. Pretty awesome. For us, the deal is done. Most of us know about that, right? But does that mean one day in heaven, or did He say, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven?" That means today, in my life, right now, I have a chance to walk in that resurrection power and apply that victory to everything. Indeed, maybe I must. Maybe that's the point. The ever-increasing Kingdom (on earth as it is in heaven). Hmmm... I have the opportunity to look at the clogged drain, the sick cat, the sleepless nights, the financial statements and say, "Come what may, you are not the final word." And so they are not. Because maybe junk comes at us, and maybe that junk would like to dangle a very rotten carrot to distract us from the purpose we're fulfilling and the God we're glorifying. Maybe it'd like to make us soft, make us want to take a break. Maybe our enemy would like nothing more than to keep this little thing he's got going in the earth, and maybe he's terrified of sons of God who finally get it that every victory we win in our lives puts him one step closer to his ultimate dethronement. Maybe he knows what I know. Maybe he's scared of what I know: In this story, I win, because my God is remarkable, mind-blowing, and splendid. End of story.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
5 Things I Learned at Disney World
OK, so most of these "life lessons" are not new to us. But Disney does have a way of wow-ing you on a completely never-before-seen level.
5. Dreams really can come true! And it's usually imaginative vision and staunch perseverance (read: relentless forward motion even in the face of setbacks) that drives them. If you go to Disney World today, you can't help but think it takes a lot of cold, hard cash to pull all that off, but Walt Disney didn't start out with all that cash. Don't believe me? Check out a brief history of his beginnings here:
http://corporate.disney.go.com/corporate/complete_history_1.html
2. Not everything is worth the wait. ("Remember that one time we drove all the way to see Plymouth Rock, and it was nothing more than a large-ish stone?")
Sometimes you wait a long time and you have certain expectations, then the thing upon which you've set your sights for so long turns out to be so-so at best. If it happens at Disney World, of course it happens in the real world, too. And that's just life! No big deal. Turn it into a great story and move on.
1. But if we must wait, and we must, make the wait part of the fun. Most of life is what happens in between the "big events." In Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go," the infamous Waiting Place traps people in a perpetual state of just...waiting. At Disney World, they had long, winding paths for the extensive lines they get in peak season, and often they embodied the theme of the ride. For Finding Nemo, the line seemed like it was underwater. It was fun! Notice your surroundings, smell the roses, engage the people around you. Do what you can to make the most of wherever you are, and you'll be rewarded.
5. Dreams really can come true! And it's usually imaginative vision and staunch perseverance (read: relentless forward motion even in the face of setbacks) that drives them. If you go to Disney World today, you can't help but think it takes a lot of cold, hard cash to pull all that off, but Walt Disney didn't start out with all that cash. Don't believe me? Check out a brief history of his beginnings here:
http://corporate.disney.go.com/corporate/complete_history_1.html
4. If it runs smoothly, someone's doing a ton of work behind the scenes. You ever been to a fancy wedding? You ever planned one? You know what I'm talking about. Multiply that times about 1000, and pull it off every day. The same goes with anything in life and can be applied this way: If I want it to run smoothly, I've got to make it run smoothly. That means work.
3. You appreciate a thing more when you've invested something in it. Many people travel from far away to visit Disney World, and let's face it, just getting through the gates isn't cheap. And because of the cost and the sheer size of the place, most people (should) devote some time planning out their days. Because of all the effort, you have this pervading attitude upon arrival that you will enjoy yourself to the max, come what may! What a great way to approach anything in life. Plan, plan, plan, then show up determined to make the most of it.
2. Not everything is worth the wait. ("Remember that one time we drove all the way to see Plymouth Rock, and it was nothing more than a large-ish stone?")
(Do I exaggerate?)
Sometimes you wait a long time and you have certain expectations, then the thing upon which you've set your sights for so long turns out to be so-so at best. If it happens at Disney World, of course it happens in the real world, too. And that's just life! No big deal. Turn it into a great story and move on.
This list is not exhaustive. Or, maybe it is. After all, I certainly didn't spend my whole time at Disney pondering the lessons I could learn. We simply pushed ourselves to our physical and mental limits, multiple days in a row, in pursuit of having the most possible fun. Wait. Maybe that's another lesson right there. (Sort of.)
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Service Recap*: 10-07-10, Honor
What ever happened to honor? Or even, dare I say, honoring authority? I'll be the first to admit that I had a lot to overcome in my attitudes in this area. My dad, of all people, reared me to question all authority, and that concept was permeated with distrust and suspicion. In his defense, he was trying to teach me to be an independent, critical thinker, but I gained a great deal of lawlessness with it, because the principle alone is lawless, or rebellious. I used to think rebellion was a good thing. Can you believe it? Then experience taught me that the chaotic self-indulgence of a rebellious life leads to a broken sense of self, and to confusion, cynicism, and insecurity.
When Jed and I were first married, I would drive him to work before heading to my job. One fall morning, we were late (you know it wasn't his fault), and I was speeding, trying to weave through traffic on a 40-mile-per-hour city street. I have a lead foot if anyone does, and believe it or not, I inherited that from my tiny, sweet, white-haired mother. Fortunately for her, she has a knack for getting out of traffic tickets. I, however, do not, as that cold morning demonstrated. (In a moment, you'll see why.) The officer that had the audacity to pull me over asked me for my phone number. Overcome with tremendous frustration, I tearfully blubbered it under my breath, punctuated by gasps and gulps. We could not afford a traffic ticket.
"What was that last bit?" the policeman asked again, glancing up from his pad a little stunned.
"SIX! FIVE! ONE! FOUR!" I shouted at him between sobs. You know he was thrilled to be standing, on what was possibly his first stop of the morning, face to face with hysteria and madness. I'm sure he was cold, too.
My husband is the quiet, consistent one, and he'd never been stern with me. Until that fateful day. As I drove away at 13 miles an hour, I was ready for him to commiserate with me about how dumb it was that I couldn't break the law and get away with it--when I heard an unfamiliar tone in his voice:
"I can-not. Be-lieeeeeve. You shouted at that officer."
What? Was he on crack? And who calls them "officers?"
Betrayed and embarrassed, I realized that my handsome new husband was, after all, a menacing, hateful man who would harass me till death do us part. Great.
Then that squirmy feeling started turning in my belly. He had offended me. But he was right. It so thoroughly went against my pre-programmed perspective up to that point that his words blind-sided me. It didn't matter. He was still right. From this new angle, I couldn't believe how ridiculous my behavior had been, which annoyed me even more.
Oh, why does it really matter? Well, let's see. First of all, I was acting like a selfish, bratty juvenile. Never pretty. Isn't that typically the underlying attitude when we're disrespectful? Secondly, authority is part of the system of having and maintaining order for the good of all. So I can be that selfish brat and think, "It's not going to hurt anyone if I speed a little bit. What are the odds?" Ah, but if everyone decides their singular life is more important than the whole, we've suddenly got a lot of speeding, light-running brats on our hands. I don't want to live in that place: car crashes and bad attitudes and entitled demands everywhere! The beauty of showing honor is that it's part of our way of transcending our own lives, of getting outside ourselves, of saying, "OK, so I'm going to be late today, so maybe tomorrow I'll get my bum out of bed and out the door on time like a responsible adult." There's power in not being self-absorbed and in recognizing that the greater good is more important than our singular existence.
So do I say "ma'am" and "sir" even though I'm in my thirties? You bet, and I teach my kids to do the same. Do I allow my children to call adults solely by their first names? Nope. Do I dress like a bum when I go to church since that seems to be the current trendy thing to do? Not a chance. I make a decided effort to dress in deference of the occasion just as I do when attending a wedding or another special ceremony. And do I address police officers in a calm, respectufl manner? *with a sheepish glance at Jed*: You better believe it!
This idea of honor and getting beyond ourselves touches so many aspects of our lives including how we allow our children to behave as members of our family and the overall manners we use as a means of being polite to those around us. I learned an important lesson that day in the cold car with my new handsome husband, and in case you were wondering, he's not so hateful and menacing after all.
*This story is not really a service recap as I intend them but it's the direction I took in response to the service in which my apostle talked about honor and truly honoring Yahweh.
When Jed and I were first married, I would drive him to work before heading to my job. One fall morning, we were late (you know it wasn't his fault), and I was speeding, trying to weave through traffic on a 40-mile-per-hour city street. I have a lead foot if anyone does, and believe it or not, I inherited that from my tiny, sweet, white-haired mother. Fortunately for her, she has a knack for getting out of traffic tickets. I, however, do not, as that cold morning demonstrated. (In a moment, you'll see why.) The officer that had the audacity to pull me over asked me for my phone number. Overcome with tremendous frustration, I tearfully blubbered it under my breath, punctuated by gasps and gulps. We could not afford a traffic ticket.
"What was that last bit?" the policeman asked again, glancing up from his pad a little stunned.
"SIX! FIVE! ONE! FOUR!" I shouted at him between sobs. You know he was thrilled to be standing, on what was possibly his first stop of the morning, face to face with hysteria and madness. I'm sure he was cold, too.
My husband is the quiet, consistent one, and he'd never been stern with me. Until that fateful day. As I drove away at 13 miles an hour, I was ready for him to commiserate with me about how dumb it was that I couldn't break the law and get away with it--when I heard an unfamiliar tone in his voice:
"I can-not. Be-lieeeeeve. You shouted at that officer."
What? Was he on crack? And who calls them "officers?"
Betrayed and embarrassed, I realized that my handsome new husband was, after all, a menacing, hateful man who would harass me till death do us part. Great.
Then that squirmy feeling started turning in my belly. He had offended me. But he was right. It so thoroughly went against my pre-programmed perspective up to that point that his words blind-sided me. It didn't matter. He was still right. From this new angle, I couldn't believe how ridiculous my behavior had been, which annoyed me even more.
Oh, why does it really matter? Well, let's see. First of all, I was acting like a selfish, bratty juvenile. Never pretty. Isn't that typically the underlying attitude when we're disrespectful? Secondly, authority is part of the system of having and maintaining order for the good of all. So I can be that selfish brat and think, "It's not going to hurt anyone if I speed a little bit. What are the odds?" Ah, but if everyone decides their singular life is more important than the whole, we've suddenly got a lot of speeding, light-running brats on our hands. I don't want to live in that place: car crashes and bad attitudes and entitled demands everywhere! The beauty of showing honor is that it's part of our way of transcending our own lives, of getting outside ourselves, of saying, "OK, so I'm going to be late today, so maybe tomorrow I'll get my bum out of bed and out the door on time like a responsible adult." There's power in not being self-absorbed and in recognizing that the greater good is more important than our singular existence.
So do I say "ma'am" and "sir" even though I'm in my thirties? You bet, and I teach my kids to do the same. Do I allow my children to call adults solely by their first names? Nope. Do I dress like a bum when I go to church since that seems to be the current trendy thing to do? Not a chance. I make a decided effort to dress in deference of the occasion just as I do when attending a wedding or another special ceremony. And do I address police officers in a calm, respectufl manner? *with a sheepish glance at Jed*: You better believe it!
This idea of honor and getting beyond ourselves touches so many aspects of our lives including how we allow our children to behave as members of our family and the overall manners we use as a means of being polite to those around us. I learned an important lesson that day in the cold car with my new handsome husband, and in case you were wondering, he's not so hateful and menacing after all.
*This story is not really a service recap as I intend them but it's the direction I took in response to the service in which my apostle talked about honor and truly honoring Yahweh.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Funky Line Dancing Is Fine...Not So Much Funky Line Spacing in My Blog
Remember that one time when I said I was leaving perfectionism behind and was just jumping in and looking forward to how things would progress?
I figured out how to make it so that my blog does not post my About Me info twice, nor does it post my first post twice. Forward motion is good! However, I regret to say that somewhere along the line my post body text in my first post has become all crammed together, as you can see (Except this post is not doing it, which I guess is good?). I know that makes it (the first post) really hard to read, and I'm working on it as well as a few other things.
Thanks for the kind comments here and on Facebook. I'm working on Post #2 (I guess now it's #3), and no, Dan, I don't think that one will have guns or violence, except maybe the gun carried by the police officer. But he didn't have to use it. The suspense builds...
So far, this thing is gloriously not perfect! I do believe we're in for a blog education.
I figured out how to make it so that my blog does not post my About Me info twice, nor does it post my first post twice. Forward motion is good! However, I regret to say that somewhere along the line my post body text in my first post has become all crammed together, as you can see (Except this post is not doing it, which I guess is good?). I know that makes it (the first post) really hard to read, and I'm working on it as well as a few other things.
Thanks for the kind comments here and on Facebook. I'm working on Post #2 (I guess now it's #3), and no, Dan, I don't think that one will have guns or violence, except maybe the gun carried by the police officer. But he didn't have to use it. The suspense builds...
So far, this thing is gloriously not perfect! I do believe we're in for a blog education.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
There's No Room for "Perfect" Where I'm Headed
It's finally time! I'm embarking on a little journey into the blog world, and as my tendencies are towards perfectionism, I want to get everything just right before diving in. Let's be honest, though. Is anything ever completely "just right," or is life a little more organic, changing, and utterly messy than the sterile confines of "perfect?" I've decided to leave "perfect" for other times and places. And people. Let's leave "perfect" for social network profiles and Christmas cards. The truth is, if anything's ever going to happen, we just need to dive into it, particularly at that moment when we know in our spirits that the time is right and we're not just making a flippant decision. Perfectionism has only ever led me into a perfect paralysis in which I accomplished absolutely nothing while waiting around for everything to be...some weird ideal that doesn't exist.
My church here in Vermont just celebrated its 13th anniversary, and as we began Year 14, my apostle said that we would do well to examine our lives and leave behind some things that we just didn't want to take into Year 14 with us. Indeed. No need to muddle things up as we move forward, growing, changing, and ever increasing. I've decided to leave behind perfectionism. Since I've always wanted to start writing more and have always stopped just short of actually getting that going, I've decided to take the plunge as one of my first forays into leaving perfectionism behind. OK, so the profile aesthetics might not be exactly what they could be yet, or maybe I have no idea how to fancify my page, or wait, maybe I'm not using the best platform at all. Maybe I haven't yet learned about all the gadgets and fun ways to include links in my writing, but who cares? I'll get there, and I look forward to watching how things will progress along the way.
So here we go! I've decided that ordinary life is really a succession of extraordinary days. It certainly has that potential. Kids, faith, keeping a home, overcoming challenges, loving the truth, marital bliss, philosophy, what else? Dirty dishes, oil changes, poopy diapers, and good books, too? Everything that brings meaning, and life, to our lives... If such things are important to you, hopefully you'll find here a fun spot to sit with your coffee and get a daily (let's be honest, more likely weekly) dose of humor or inspiration or rest. I've been writing this post for about a week, and this one isn't even meant to have much depth! This morning alone, I've been interrupted about ten times by my preschooler, and this moment, the baby has begun to cry. Forget perfectionism! The fact that I'm about to finish my very first blog post is nearly a miracle.
Here and now, let's set sail, then, and see where it leads us, shall we? I'm leaving perfectionism at the dock. What would you like to leave behind as the coming days unfold? Or perhaps pick up?
See you in about a week!
My church here in Vermont just celebrated its 13th anniversary, and as we began Year 14, my apostle said that we would do well to examine our lives and leave behind some things that we just didn't want to take into Year 14 with us. Indeed. No need to muddle things up as we move forward, growing, changing, and ever increasing. I've decided to leave behind perfectionism. Since I've always wanted to start writing more and have always stopped just short of actually getting that going, I've decided to take the plunge as one of my first forays into leaving perfectionism behind. OK, so the profile aesthetics might not be exactly what they could be yet, or maybe I have no idea how to fancify my page, or wait, maybe I'm not using the best platform at all. Maybe I haven't yet learned about all the gadgets and fun ways to include links in my writing, but who cares? I'll get there, and I look forward to watching how things will progress along the way.
So here we go! I've decided that ordinary life is really a succession of extraordinary days. It certainly has that potential. Kids, faith, keeping a home, overcoming challenges, loving the truth, marital bliss, philosophy, what else? Dirty dishes, oil changes, poopy diapers, and good books, too? Everything that brings meaning, and life, to our lives... If such things are important to you, hopefully you'll find here a fun spot to sit with your coffee and get a daily (let's be honest, more likely weekly) dose of humor or inspiration or rest. I've been writing this post for about a week, and this one isn't even meant to have much depth! This morning alone, I've been interrupted about ten times by my preschooler, and this moment, the baby has begun to cry. Forget perfectionism! The fact that I'm about to finish my very first blog post is nearly a miracle.
Here and now, let's set sail, then, and see where it leads us, shall we? I'm leaving perfectionism at the dock. What would you like to leave behind as the coming days unfold? Or perhaps pick up?
See you in about a week!
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