The End of Blogger for Me

Blogger has been giving me issues for quite some time. I have imported my blog to this website: http://seekatiebend.wordpress.com/.

Please come visit me there. I will work to spruce it up and repair my posts and once all of that is done, I will shut this blog down. I hate to do it, but I think there are currently better sites available for this thing called blogging.

Farewell, dear blogspot peeps! Hope to see you on WordPress!

Lemon Cake

"Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first." -- Ernestine Ulmer

I want to talk about something VERY important. No, it is not politics, parenting or religion. It is lemon cake.

Lemon cake has probably become one of my favorite cakes. Of course, some days require chocolate, but during summer, when sunshine constantly beats one to the pulp, and occasionally a rain shower deigns to visit, lemon refreshes like nothing else.

The most tantalizingly tart recipe I have ever tasted originates from the Food Network's Barefoot Contessa. That woman knows how to COOK! Of course, she "ain't skeered" of butter and sugar, so save her desserts for a special treat or a gift. I love her lemon cake recipe, though, because it uses lots of fresh lemon juice and zest. When I finish baking this cake, the skin on my hands stings from juicing lemons -- but it is well worth it.

When baking this particular confection for my parents, I follow the recipe exactly and use the glaze. My dad loves the cake part so much that he does not want it "ruined" with icing. But most of my friends (and I) prefer this cake baked in two 9-inch pans (the batter is perfect for this size cake) and frosted with the "Luscious Lemon Frosting" I have concocted. Most of my concoctions come from poring over recipes then combining the elements that I like the most. Following is the recipe for the frosting. I like to use a Wilton size 10 icing tip for the beading on the cake (pictured above) and alternate blueberries with the beads, because I consider blue and yellow to be the most incredible compliments to each other.

"Luscious Lemon Frosting"

1 tablespoon fresh, zested lemon rind

9 tablespoons butter

6 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted

6 tablespoons lemon juice

3 tablespoons heavy cream

1 dash salt

Add lemon rind to butter and cream well. Add dash of salt part of sugar gradually, blending after each addition and alternating with lemon juice and cream until it is the right consistency to spread. Blend until creamy. You may need to use a bit less lemon juice to keep the icing stiff enough for decorating.

Bon appetit!

First Half of 2011

So much has happened, so many stories have gone unwritten. As life is lived, blogging it has become lesser priority. But for the sake of journaling, I want to get some of it down. God has been gracious through it all. Here is a slide show of a few things that have gone on this year.

Slideshow generated with Smilebox

Simple Meals

One of my favorite songs is Simple Meals by Claire Holley, an incredible artist from our very own Jackson, Mississippi. And one of my favorite things is making simple meals. I used to cook everything in a complicated manner, taking hours to slave and becoming so exhausted that I could barely eat by the time the meal was completed. Now, some things should be this way. Pastries, pies and cakes are not best out of a box. A little love, sweat and tears goes a long way for certain foods. Chicken n' dumplings have never been good with tortillas masquerading as dumplings. Sorry, Sweet Sue, you do not have the market cornered! There should be flour, and shortening, and buttermilk, and lots of rolling out, cutting and dropping. This can even become a family experience, one that children will remember for life.

But for every day fare, I find that the key to satisfaction is grabbing whatever is in the kitchen and keeping the ingredients list short. If it has more than about four or five ingredients, move on to the next meal, unless it has eight ingredients and three of them are spices that are already in your kitchen. Take, for instance, my best oatmeal. Start with a good hearty oatmeal, like Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free Rolled Oats.

Cook for 10 minutes longer than prescribed and add an extra half cup of water to make the consistency creamier (really, you can keep cooking and adding water for as long as you want, but you need to eat at some point!). Add raisins, apples, a tsp brown sugar and a tiny bit of Smart Balance Light for buttery flavor, and you are now feasting on a scrumptious breakfast of champions. It's tasty. It's brain food. It's filling, AND it's pretty. Who could ask for more?

What I really want to share, though, is my favorite salad. My friend, Julie got me thinking about good salads, and this has become my absolute favorite. I eat it for lunch and dinner, and sometimes, yes, breakfast. My daughter loves it. It combines salty and sweet flavors, and the dressing adds the kick. It is merely green leaf lettuce, green onions, strawberries and walnuts. If you have a sprinkling of REAL parmigiano reggiano cheese, that is great. The "real" stuff is imported from the Parma region of Italy and bears this stamp on the rind:

For a whole meal, add slices of Bobbly Flay's grilled chicken paillard (obviously, leave out the arugula salad he recommends).

Here is the recipe for spicy balsamic vinaigrette, shared with me by the kitchen coordinator at our church:

3 TBSP red wine vinegar

3 TBSP balsamic vinegar

3 TBSP Dijon mustard

3 cloves garlic

3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/2 tsp dried basil

1/2 tsp sea salt

Combine in blender and blend well. Enjoy.

Now that is a meal that tastes like hours of work and only took minutes.

Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough. -Author Unknown

Bartender

It was just a family trip to New Orleans to celebrate my husband's graduation. He'd been working on this graduate school of banking thing for three years and we felt we deserved the break. Entitlement issues. Even when we think we don't have them, they define us. Humanity breaks that way. The room had been paid for for months and we decided to do free things, since money was tight and the cars were in need of repairs. We headed down.

For two days we walked the city, listening to the indigenous music of the streets and tasting the flavors. The air was thick, like the steam off of the morning's first cup of coffee; the tastes were honeysuckle and Abita Amber. The people were friendly, in the way that only New Orleans folk are. They were hospitable, cooking good food, dancing and singing, and looking for their tips. They were not alone. Our son joined in the chorus and came home with his own stash of tips, a completely unplanned yet hilarious, exhilarating and embarrassing happening. Walking the Quarter, wearing my church's youth group t-shirt that had Ephesians 2:8-9 on the back in Greek, I was asked by three different people what it was all about and had the opportunity to share the Gospel with all of them. They never argued, just listened and dialogued with me, sometimes suspicious, sometimes curious, but eventually they went on their way. I never told them they had to accept Christ right there. I felt that seeds were being planted, that the growth was up to the Holy Spirit.

Saturday night, the kids were fast asleep and the husband was getting ready to turn in. Full of thoughts from the two weeks he'd been gone and awake from the heat, I could not wind down, so I headed down to the tiny hotel bar. It was this cute little nook in the hallway, just big enough to stock the best liquor and beer, with three bar chairs pulled up to it. There were dollar bills and foreign currency with notes written on them papering the walls. I plopped down on a bar stool and ordered a Tom Collins.

It was just the bartender and me. I asked about the dollar bills and he said they came from two men who worked the city post-Katrina for five months. They had the heart to just come down from Chicago to stay and work. John, the bartender, sang their praises and the praises of many others. I told him how much we loved New Orleans, how we were from Mississippi and had been down many times and hated what happened to the Mississippi coast as well as New Orleans from Katrina. He put it best when he said "Mississippi was a natural disaster and New Orleans was a man-made one." We discovered a mutual love of James Taylor, and were laughing and talking about the concerts we'd attended. Over JT's music, we united.

John's eyes darkened as he told me of hotel guests who had told him before that New Orleans got what they deserved because of all of the "faggots and drunkards" down there. People who came in and dropped snippets of Christ before him but came to get drunk in his bar and insult his city. I told him that I was a Christian and quite conservative, but that I disagreed strongly with the stance. I shared that the church and the Gospel are about how all of us are equal at the foot of the cross and how there is none righteous (Romans 3:10). If Katrina was a punishment, then it might as well have been a world-wide hurricane. He paused, not sure what to say, and went on...

For whatever reason, this man felt safe telling me what he could not share with other hotel guests. His grief over not recognizing a friend with full-blown AIDS when the epidemic first broke out, the men ailing in the streets of the Quarter; how he and his family had evacuated for the hurricane and everything they had was untouched but everything around them was devastated and lives were changed forever. His skepticism of the church was apparent. And as I listened, and he unloaded, he stood a bit straighter. He seemed apologetic when he told me he was a liberal and I genuinely reassured him that I was more than fine disagreeing and still being friends. He had a gentle nature, and what I sensed was that he just wanted to be heard. So, I heard him. As recently as last year, I would have probably tried proselytize this man and yet the gentle stirrings of the Holy Spirit convinced me to just quietly listen.

At the end of the night, he looked at me and said, "I hope you come back to stay with us. I've never had a good conversation with a conservative before." I laughed and assured him we would meet again, and walked away dazed by how we had connected and how only through Christ I was able to listen to this sweet and burdened man share with me and know that the Holy Spirit moves as He will and that my job for that time was not to push my cart of goods into this man's life. The next morning, I left him a dollar bill in an envelope at the front desk with a note: This conservative loves NOLA and John! We headed out the door to Redeemer PCA, where we were greeted with warm fellowship and beautiful, unabashed worship. We drove home and I cried part of the way, reluctant to leave a city where there was such great darkness, such great opportunity for light to shine.

I'll be back soon... But in the mean time, the Lord has shown me that the reason I do not have these encounters at home is that I live in a cocoon at home, surrounded by grocery lists and errands, chores and laundry. I do not leave my cocoon to share the gift of the Holy Spirit with the many who are in desperate need. I cannot wait to find out how to use my time as my children both enter full-day school this year.

Lord, thank you so much for ministering to ME through the bartender. I am completely and utterly humbled to be reminded that I am but a vessel and you do not have to use me, but you privilege me with the gift of carrying your Gospel forward. I am so undeserving, so NOT entitled to a thing, and yet you have blessed me beyond measure with your Son and His gift of life and redemption. Please keep me moving toward those who need it and always remind me that I need it continually too. Amen

"So then neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but God who causes the growth." 1 Corinthians 3:7

No Perfect Solution

An education isn't how much you have committed to memory, or even how much you know. It's being able to differentiate between what you know and what you don't. -Anatole France

I told a friend a couple of weeks back that I wasn't sure if I was more thrilled after we had finished our first semester of homeschooling or after we had finished our first semester back in the school building. There were so many things to be thankful for about both. But the one thing I am thankful for in all of it is this:

That I was finally allowed peace and rest, and the knowledge that there is not a perfect way to raise and educate my children.

I am a broken individual with broken children, trying to choose what is best out of three broken systems (private, public and home school). And God allows me the choice.

Deuteronomy 6 applies to all three options in that I am to always take life opportunities to tell my children the Gospel. So, when they leave the house in the morning, I cover them in prayer. When they get in the car, I tell them I love them and then ask two questions: "What was your favorite part of the day?" and "What was the worst part of your day?" By asking those questions, many things are shared, and again, we are talking about the Gospel, and understanding that even negative encounters can be formative experiences. At night, we all eat together and share devotion. We play in the yard with the dog and see God's beauty in creation and in that 16-pound creature. Instead of throwing myself between them and every pain the world has to offer, I am stepping back and trusting God to mold and shape them through what I cannot stave off, even if I keep them locked away forever, because their own hearts (and mine) contain the sin that wounds and scars.

A particular victory came about mid-semester when God allowed me to see that in choosing private school, I do not have to take a stance as "pro-private school". I no longer consider myself pro-anything (other than pro-whatever-is-best-for-the-particular-family), because to stand on that hill is to say that everyone in this world should be choosing my path. In that, I am trying to hold myself up as the example rather than holding up Christ -- that is not the Gospel. I see families around me using private school and public school and home school for wonderful, thoughtful, glorifying-to-God reasons. And I see families around me using those institutions for what seem to be selfish and shallow reasons. And yet our gracious God, in all of it, will be glorified!

Another victory was in realizing that I don't have to be a home school mama to be a mama that wants her children to learn much in all of life. School is a part of it, home and church are parts of it. It's all formative and I can still take the kids on field trips, read good books and do art with them. School is not enough. It wasn't enough when they were home but I was so exhausted from being in school mode that by the time lessons were done, I was drained and they were off to play on their own. Our family has found, for us, the most well-rounded solution we could. That is subject to change, but today, we are so thankful that God has us in this place.

So, we are now into summer and we will read, and play, and swim, and learn together. Next year, Carter starts 4th grade and Addie starts 5K, and I cannot believe it! Life is quite different, but our relationships are really not much different than they used to be, except that we all have the time to develop individually as well as together. I am thankful for that. And through it all, we have grown even closer. Where my fear was that we would fall apart, we seem to love each other more deeply through the struggles that we went through in going back to school.

These things are never easy, but, they are good.

Addie and her precious preschool teacher Mrs. Mary on pajama day.

Carter's class at their end of the year party. Carter is second from the left in the front row. Left of him is Calvin, the precious friend God gave to him this year. He is an answer to prayer!

Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself

I was going to blog about this very thing, but many others have beaten me to the punch and said it far more eloquently and concisely than I ever could have. A friend shared this post on her facebook page. For anyone who doesn't have a fb or can't see it for whatever reason, I have copied and pasted it here. It echoes perfectly what has been roiling within me all week:

Tragedy of Tragedies: Osama Bin Laden and the Christian Response
by Jordan Warner on Monday, May 2, 2011 at 12:25pm.

There is no doubt that Osama Bin Laden’s life was marked by heinous action and unspeakable terror. It is a tragedy that so many innocent lives were lost by the hate in that man’s heart. And it is a tragedy as well that any man had to live his life engulfed in that same hate.

But today I awoke to a new tragedy. As I read the celebratory response to Bin Laden’s death by Christians whom I love and respect, I grew sick to my stomach. Then dismayed. Then angry.

After all, we Christians are the ones who spend our lives purveying the good news that we are graciously spared from being treated as our sins deserve. I find it ironic at best, that we - as recipients of such undeserved grace - are the very ones parading in the streets that this “bastard finally got what he deserved.” If you’re offended by the language, be more offended by the hypocrisy.

If America has suffered any persecution at all in recent memory, we suffered it at the hands of Osama Bin Laden. He hated us for our wealth, our infidelity, and our religious freedom. And today it’s been told without doubt that the proper American response is to hate him in return. “But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven (Matt. 5:43-46).” Do we really find the Bible infallible when it calls us to actions like that?

The terrifying-to-face truth of Scripture is that the very root of sin that drove Osama Bin Laden to kill thousands of people is vying for my heart too. If we lose touch with that - if we somehow think of ourselves as less debased in the height of our own sin - than we’ve lost touch with the Christian story and the very need for a Savior in the first place.

Perhaps even more shocking is the image of our Abba Father lovingly knitting together Osama Bin Laden in his mother’s womb. It is an affront to consider Bin Laden to be made in the imago dei. But then again, the Bible is an affront. To be clear, I am not at all saying Bin Laden’s actions were godly or anything other than evil. I am not saying God approves his terror or hate, or even that Bin Laden shouldn’t have been forcibly stopped from doing what he was doing. And I’m not saying it’s wrong for Americans who have been impacted by Bin Laden’s actions to feel a sense of relief and reprieve from the fear they’ve carried. But none of these things change the fact that a tragic end to a tragic life ought to give us a more reason to weep and mourn than hoot and holler.

Today it was us Christians who led the festive parade through the streets of culture. Yet God calls his people to respond to social wickedness with recognition of our own guilt, and our own need for humility and repentance. Today we acted even more convinced, cocksure and smug, that God is somehow inherently on America’s side. Yet God used Assyria to judge Israel, then turned around and judged Assyria too (*see bottom). Saddest of all, today we took more joy in the presumptuous thought of a man’s eternal separation from God than the hope that our Redeemer God might have somehow redeemed even this situation.

How incredibly revealing that we take more joy in imagining our enemy rotting in hell than encountering redemption?

How hypocritical that we then claim to have a heart to see the lost come to Christ?

How near-sighted to forget that our beloved Apostle Paul was once the mass-murdering terrorist Paul?

And how blind to not recognize that our riotous celebration over lost life through execution isn’t all that different than Bin Laden’s actions on 9/11?

It’s been said that our love will be the one undeniable thing to help this world know that the Christian story is true. If this is the case, then I wonder what the world knows today?

Today I thought of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a great theologian and pastor. Bonhoeffer found himself in a similar situation as us, face to face with an evil man who had killed thousands (Adolf Hitler). Bonhoeffer’s response is instructive to us – he personally took action against the evil and on multiple occasions Bonhoeffer plotted to assassinate Hitler. Yet Bonhoeffer knew that just because he was called to take necessary action against evil did not mean he had to succumb to hating his enemy’s soul or rejoicing in their separation from God. His strikingly relevant words below teach us that we can actively confront our enemies without rejoicing in their destruction.

“Jesus Christ lived in the midst of his enemies. On the Cross he was utterly alone, surrounded by evildoers and mockers. For this cause he had come, to bring peace to the enemies of God. So the Christian, too, belongs not in the seclusion of a cloistered life but in the thick of foes. There is his commission, his work. ‘The kingdom is to be in the midst of your enemies. And he who will not suffer this does not want to be of the Kingdom of Christ; he wants to be among friends, to sit among roses and lilies, not with the bad people but the devout people. O you blasphemers and betrayers of Christ! If Christ had done what you are doing who would ever have been spared.’”

I know 9/11 hurt a lot of people. That pain is very real, very honest, and very human. It’s the kind of pain Jesus cares about and weeps over too. But we cannot allow that human pain to degenerate into hatred of other humans.

Because at the end of the day, if our reaction to world events is more immersed in our identity as Americans than as citizens of another Kingdom, then we’ve lost the plot of the Christian story and the radical call of Jesus’ teaching. We can celebrate a man’s death and potential separation from God all we like. It is, after all, a free country. You can even call it patriotism. But please don’t call it Christianity.

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

*This particular idea admittedly and blatantly stolen from a great blog post by Glenn Packiam at glennpackiam.com.

I Didn't Want a Dog...

I am not a dog person. Dogs, in general, smell, bark, poop everywhere, etc... I grew up with cats but I'm allergic and I have become less of a cat person too. I had reached the point where I thought we would never have a pet, even though my son is dog crazy and has told me that the first thing he will do some day when he moves out is get a dog!



And then...



The day before Easter, I went out for my run. I was about two miles away from the house when this little dog trotted out of the gutter and began to run along beside me. I yelled at her at first, thinking she'd go home, but she didn't. She was perfectly quiet and continued to just trot along, ignoring the big dogs who would run up to their fences and bark at her. I took her picture and sent it to my husband, telling him I was being followed.

She ran right up in our driveway, where the kids had a conniption over her and we gave her some water. Convinced she would go on home, Daniel left for the church egg hunt with the kids and I left to have my hair cut. Two hours later, she was curled up on the porch of my neighbor, who loaned me a scoop of dog food. I gave her a bath and decided to care for her until we found her owners. Interestingly, I am also allergic to dogs (I have the allergy test to prove it), but when I petted and bathed her, I had no symptoms.

As the day wore on, this little girl followed me everywhere. I was baking a cake for Easter at my mom's house and she layed on a towel in the kitchen as I baked. If I left the room, she did too. When I came back, she came with me. If she was alone with my husband, she hid under the bed, but when I was around, she was right on my heels. All this time, she never barked. The kids began to call her Beulah, named after Hank the Cowdog's lady love. Daniel bought a collar and leash and told me to go back to where I found her and walk her door to door. Carter went along and cried the whole way. I harbored deep hopes that no one would claim her. As opposed to dogs as I was, lady Beulah had found a spot deep in my heart.


No one claimed her, so we returned home happily, but I continued to remind the kids that she was not ours, that we would watch for signs to go up. When night came, she curled up under our bed and slept peacaefully. Still no barking.




Easter morning rolled around and we got ready and left for church. While in the backyard, the neighbors dogs were throwing their bodies against the fence and howling (one of the reasons I do not like most dogs, or actually, dog owners who don't take the time for their animals -- these poor pups are attention starved), and Beulah gave one short yip at them. We were amazed -- she had a voice! According to my husband's wishes, we left her in the yard with a water bowl for church and lunch at Mom's and headed out. We have a privacy fence so I assumed all was good. Not so.

I checked on her between church and lunch and she was fine. But when we returned home two hours later, she had dug out and was gone. I entered into mourning. Without this little girl around, I realized that while she was here, I had experienced no anxiety and that the overarching sense of gloom I carry around with me had lifted. I read articles about dogs and depression. They really do help, and I think her sense of calm is a huge part of the reason for me.

Carter and I wept and wept. I posted about it on my facebook. Lo and behold, the next morning, one of my friends had facebooked me, saying Beulah had been found! She had wandered one street over, and a great family that fosters cats for the Animal Rescue Fund of MS had taken her in, taken her picture, ARF had put it on their fb page, and I claimed her!





That very day, we went to the vet, got shots, went to PetSmart and got tags. She has officially been christened Beulah Maxine Elliott and here is what she likes to do:


She drops the kids off at school...






And picks them up...



She is quite literary and loves to be read to...




She prefers females and does pilates alongside Addie and me...





Although she prefers females, she is learning to love the men, and she gives and receives hugs in any and all forms...







And she sleeps hard when the day is done.

So, I didn't want a dog but I have one and she's wonderful. So often, the biggest blessings are ones we didn't ask for, and didn't even want. But God created all creatures and they are good, especially my dog! :)

PS: I'm still allergic to all other dogs, just not this one. Now, did God plan this or WHAT?

"The more people I meet the more I like my dog." - Unknown

It's Been a While...

I haven't posted in so long! There was a time when updating this blog was a very important factor to me. It was my way of keeping up with everything, my way of leaving my imprint somewhere. Lately, there just hasn't been the time. There is carpool to run and lunch to be made, music lessons, homework, snuggles, bath and bed. There are miles to run and pilates to do. There is an English (remedial) course at a local community college to be taught starting next semester. There is still laundry and vacuuming and toilet scrubbing. There are many books to be read. And in the midst of it all, I snap pictures, make a few notes. I get it all imprinted on my brain, on my heart. Really, that's where it matters the most. Because whether I brag here or somewhere else, I can't take it with me when I go.

Bruschetta

'Round here, we like dishes full of flavor. "Bruschetta comes from the Italian word, bruscare which means “roasted over coals”. In Tuscany, thick slices of farmers’ bread were lightly toasted, rubbed with garlic cloves, seasoned with salt and pepper, and then drizzled with the new crop olive oil. It was meant to focus on the flavour of the new oils and only the oil. Sometimes, a tomato salad with chopped fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, and balsamic vinegar was heaped on top of the warm bread." (Source: islandfoodie.com) Now, bruschetta is meant to be an appetizer, but in our house, we eat it for meals. It is choc-full of tomatoes and other healthy goodies. Go antioxidants! The recipe is below.



2 leaves fresh basil, chopped (I use three or four)
3 medium cloves garlic, chopped finely
1/2 large or 1 whole sweet onion, chopped
6-8 roma tomatoes, chopped
1/3 cup olive oil
1 TBSP lemon juice
1 loaf Italian bread
more olive oil

Mix all ingredients together (except the bread and the "more olive oil").



Slice the bread thinly and brush with olive oil. Toast under broiler until golden brown.



Top bread with bruschetta mixture, salt and pepper to taste, and watch your family enjoy their veggies!

The Apostle Paul and the 5k

I started running this year. It was not a New Year's resolution but a step toward something I've been wanting to do for quite some time -- live a healthier life. I ran track for one year in junior high and used to run a little bit in college just for exercise, but I never was serious about it and never made it a long-term habit. In January, I started a couch potato to 5k training plan because I am not in fabulous shape. Eight and a half years after my first child was born, I am now getting serious about taking care of myself. It's never too late.

I have been having an ongoing e-mail discussion with a college student who I used to have in youth girls' Bible study. She is mature beyond her years and her walk with Christ is an encouragement to me. We stumbled onto the topic of running and the Christian faith and how cheesy the analogy seems in scripture until you run for a little while. And then, you get it.

This morning, I pushed through a segment of my training that I have been having trouble with for a week and a half. I would reach my last interval and just lose my ability to breathe steady and give up. But I made it today. I am halfway to running my first 5k. It felt great. And as I worked through that last interval, here is what occurred to me:

Running is hard (duh) and exhilarating (never thought it could be true). There are days when everything works out just as you want it to and you could run forever. Then, there are days where you just give up and quit earlier than you wanted to because you just can't go any further. On those days, you wish you had never started running and you dread doing it again. But you go again the next day and push through.

An encourager helps. Having someone who cheers you on adds motivation to keep going.

What you fuel up on matters. Too heavy a meal, you will throw up and give up. Too light, you may pass out.

Water is important. You can't function without enough. Your mouth will get dry and again, you may throw up.

Stretching is vital. No stretching, injury risk.

Your shoes are a big deal! Bad support equals injury risk.

It can take years to undo unhealthy living. I want the chocolate cake and to sleep late. I want to stay up late and just drink some extra coffee to get by the next day. But I've done that for too long. If I keep doing it, I can't run because I am not properly rested and I feel sick from what I ate.

It's not always fun. My first week, I could barely run for a full 60 seconds without wanting to just quit. Change is hard. Life change is the hardest kind.

Sometimes even encouraging noise is just a distraction. This morning, I had to just pull my headphones out of my ears for the last few minutes because all I could focus on was my feet and pacing my breathing. The music that usually inspires me was only slowing me down.

You can't carry too much with you. Every extra ounce of clothing and gear weighs you down. I can barely manage to hang onto my cell phone, a house key and the armband Walkman.

Running uphill is tough. It winds you a bit more and takes more energy. You HAVE to pace yourself and only focus on the next step and you will get there.

You can only do what you can do. Meaning, I am no marathoner. I might be some day but I'm not even a 5k-er yet. If I start comparing myself to the marathoners out there, my efforts seem meaningless and useless and I'm going to quit. But if I focus on the race I have been given, then I will steadily run it.

Though I keep myself from comparing myself to those who are much better runners, I can look at them and be inspired and encouraged. They had to start somewhere too. And I should remember to encourage those who are only just starting.

When you finally do finish, it is an incredible feeling. The stretching is great. The shower is even better. The water you get to drink is the best thing you've ever put in your body.

So, why did Paul use the analogy? Because it's perfect, and so far from cheesy. I can relate every bit of the run to walking with Christ. What I nourish myself with, how I rest, pace, perseverance, pain, comparisons, and giving and receiving encouragement are all a part of it. And someday, when I finish, I can only imagine how sweet the reward will be...

"Therefore since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the throne of the right hand of God." Hebrews 12:1-2

"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. Everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified. " 1 Corinthians 9:24-27

Something a Little Less Brooding...

I have been thinking through a lot of things and have blogged about them, using my blog for catharsis, BUT today, I am going to share some fun things...

Girl day is Friday in our house. Addie doesn't have preschool, so she and I try to do some fun things. Last week, she wanted a bubble bath, but we were out of bubbles, so we headed to Bath and Body Works. She smelled everything in the store and settled on Japanese Cherry Blossom. Great choice. AND they were having a buy three get three free sale. We stocked up. :) We came home, ran a bath and fixed a bowl of chocolates.


We then fixed ourselves a picnic and spread the big quilt in the yard for some relaxation in the beautiful weather.


We watched clouds.


And took pictures of ourselves.


Lately, she has been very interested in setting the table. She ALWAYS wants to come up with a centerpiece. Yesterday, she picked all these weeds out of the yard and began to pile them on the table. I gave her a small bowl, and she did this ALL by herself.


A weed by any other name...

Home on Sunday

Carter started throwing up at school Friday and it turned out to be strep. He got the shot and normally we would be at church but his tonsils were so swollen, the doc said to keep him home until Monday morning. He is quite a bit better, but a little extra rest never hurt anyone.

So, on this beautiful Sunday morning at home, I have been pondering this thing we call "the Gospel". What is it, exactly? Is it a call to a list of rules and actions? An isolation tactic that means (in the words of an old Sunday school teacher) "we don't smoke, don't drink, don't chew, and don't mess with those who do"? Is it being productive every day and then blogging it out so that I can be patted on the back for my accomplishments? Is it updating my facebook status with verses? Is it blogging about my convictions and then going out the door and being too afraid or apathetic or proud to just engage others who are different from me in relationship?

When we stopped homeschooling, it was because I had hit a deep depression and could not continue putting one foot in front of the other. I am pretty sure I do have some chemical issues, but I think there is much more than chemistry that plays into depression. I went further down than I have ever been and I am pretty sure it was triggered by legalism. Legalism is a killer, it's a prison in and of itself. Legalism is much more interested in making others be like me than it is in showing others the way to Christ. One can live and die in legalism and never even realize it. They'll believe they did it all right, and everyone else did it all wrong, and they will have cut off any and everyone who disagreed with them along the way, left only with a choice few that continue to encourage their stances. I'm not saying the legalist is unsaved. Only God can know their heart and He can forgive any sin. But I do wonder about the effectiveness of a life lived in this vein (though I know too that no life is lived without His sovereignty).

This doesn't mean I don't support homeschooling anymore. During my time schooling I had the privilege of meeting some beautiful families who were balancing their choices well. I also had the privilege of seeing some who did not turn out so well (this was an eye-opener because only the ideal stories tend to get told). I call this a privilege because it was good to see balance. For us, though, homeschooling had to go. You know how you can only realize things after looking back with clarity? I can look back over that year and see so much good and am forever thankful for some of the precious moments I had with my family. But one of the things I can see with absolute precision is a series of events leading to a moment where I went from thinking that homeschooling was one of many good options to believing that it was the only option and that we HAD to do it this way to keep our children unstained from the world. I am very prone to getting sucked in to hard systems of rules. I am that way because for a long time, I lived on the other end of the spectrum, not caring about any rules at all. I think, though, that this rebellion was a direct lashback against the legalism of the systems I had always known, and it was a hunger for the true Gospel of Christ. I was the prodigal son. Then, I got saved and became the elder brother. I am not sure which is worse.

Tim Keller has a book called The Prodigal God. If you haven't read it, you should. It will make you reexamine yourself in the kind of light that makeup mirrors provide. There is much debate in my Sunday school class, when the parable of the prodigal son comes up, as to whether the elder brother was saved or not. I don't really think that is the point of the parable, but I kind of think he was. I think he knew the father, but in his legalism, he felt the need to isolate himself on the homestead and withhold the inheritance from his younger brother who by grace came crawling back covered in filth. Kind of like Job knew God but was so infuriated when the Ninevites repented. In his estimation, they didn't deserve it. And yet God continued to show Job how much He loved him, just as the father showed the elder brother.

What is it in us, once we're saved, that wants to withhold blessing from those who are not, or from those who are not growing in the same areas as we are? What is it in ME that wants to decide whether others are worthy or not? This is precisely the kind of judging that Christ is against. He alone knows the heart. I do not. This, friends, is NOT the Gospel.

The Gospel is a simple truth and a harsh reality all at once. The truth, simply put, is that Christ died and rose for me and that provided grace sufficient for the holy God to see that work when He looks at me instead of seeing my blighted nature. The harsh reality is that the rest of my life is an uphill battle waged against my own flesh, whether it be propensities to physical sin or to harsh judgements of others. And then, there is another, more beautiful reality, that during the uphill battle, my Jesus is with me, rescuing me all along the way, because the life of Christianity is a life of continual repentance and turning -- not for one thing or another, but FROM one life TO another.

There is a whole world out there, a diverse, aching world of differences. So, do I cut myself off from it or live in it and live for Christ? I think I know the answer, and I think I know what my children must be taught as well...

"For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast." Ephesians 2: 8-9 (ESV, italics mine)

Self-help or Relationship?

Over the past couple of months, I have noticed in myself a propensity to get a bit carried away in areas that need improvement in my life. I'll work really hard at something until I'm worn out. If I get good results, I'll credit my relationship with God even though I feel so good about it (like I have done something major all on my own). And of course, God does get the credit because it is He that enables me to do anything at all. However, I have started examining how I view my relationship with Christ. Is it, in fact, a relationship, or is it a catalyst to self-improvement? Sure, I should want to be better, but not in a way that causes me to "use" God. I ran across a quote this morning in a book that a friend sent a few pages of to me.

"Even religion itself may be manipulated into becoming an elaborate and systematic evasion of the living God, and ultimately a system of self deification. What may have begun, like falling in love, as a deeply sincere and thrilling personal encounter, can quickly degenerate into sterile self-centeredness. And so the worship of God may be changed into a quest for human fulfillment; obedience to God becomes enslavement to one's own dreams and passions; the Kingdom of God is translated to mean a Utopian society; and so on. In one way or another, religion may be used not to glorify God at all, but actually to shift the emphasis from God to man, and to do so in a way that drips with piety." From Mike Mason's The Mystery of Marriage

When I walk with my husband, we talk, laugh, get to know each other a little bit better. Oh, that my walk with Christ would be so sweet and full of talk and laughter and getting to know Him better that all else pales in comparison, that my worship in and out of church would be pleasing to Him, that the rearing of my children and maintaining of my household would glorify Him, that any changes in me would ultimately be about His glory and not my pride and fulfillment.

More Harm Than Good

There are some things in this life that are perceived good, but they may cause more harm than good. For example, an apology that makes me feel better but makes you feel worse may very well be sincere but it may cause more harm than good.

Every Now and Again

Every once in a while, when I am studying down the rabbit trails that I follow, I will find some illumination, something that just speaks to my heart. This is a dark world, but one sentence I read yesterday said that there is no darkness so deep that it is immune to the light. So true. Here is a quote from Martin Luther that as I digested it, it lit a small flame somewhere in the darkest parts of me. This life is an ongoing struggle, but Luther speaks to this, and I find it encouraging.

"This life, therefore, is not righteousness, but growth in righteousness,

not health but healing,

not being but becoming,

not rest but exercise.

We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it.

The process is not yet finished, but it is going on.

This is not the end but it is the road.

All does not yet gleam in glory but all is being purified."

-Martin Luther in "Defense and Explanation of All the Articles," Second Article (1521)

Being the Tooth Fairy

"The great man is he who does not lose his child's heart." Mencius, Book IV

He's growing so big now. He knows the truth about Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. He writes everything in beautiful cursive. He does long division and simple algebra. He plays higher and higher levels in his piano and understands tetrachords, and other things that baffle me. But he is still so young, and inside, there is this HUGE imagination, for which I am thankful.

Wednesday night, he pulled a tooth on the way home from church and managed to drop it. We couldn't find it. He was almost hysterical.

"Here's what we'll do," I say. "Write the tooth fairy a letter!"

He sits down and composes a beautiful note to the Tooth Fairy, and the next morning, she has responded with kind understanding and an extra dollar because of his sadness. He is beside himself with joy. He cannot believe how much he is loved, and that she actually came and understood his plight!

And in the last seconds before his daddy whisks him out the door for school, he snuggles next to me on the couch, face freshly washed, hair combed and looking so manly and he whispers, "Thanks for being my tooth fairy!"

I hope that he can keep that wonder forever, though he knows the truth, in his imagination, he is able to see magic. And I am so thankful for that.

Little Moments

We had this one incredible year where our world moved a little more slowly. Things were busy enough. I didn't have a lot of time for outside relationships and activities, but there was family time galore. There were many days where we finished school and chores, and threw the big quilt down in the front yard to relax and read together, many days where the weather wasn't good to get outside so we snuggled under the covers in my bed and read together. So many good snuggles!

We don't get as many snuggles in now, and that is a little bit hard. But we have to be sure to look for the little moments when we can get them, and remember to be thankful for them. One thing I used to LOVE to do with Carter when I would drop him off at preschool was letting him sit in my lap and "drive" through the carpool line. When we were down to two cars in front of us, he would switch to the passenger's side to get out. I have re-established this tradition with Addie. She sits in my lap and "drives" as she counts down the cars in front of us. I relish the feel of her warm little body, the smell of her sweet hair as she chatters, "Oh no, four more cars, three!"

She grabs my face and says, "I have 101 kisses for you Mommy!" and goes to town, kissing my cheeks, forehead, and ending with a few butterfly kisses on my nose. I return all of her kisses and say goodbye and that I love her and will see her soon and I watch as she skips down the sidewalk, chattering to everyone she passes. She is so happy and growing so quickly, and I am just thankful for those few minutes of driving together.

We are retraining ourselves to seize the moments that present themselves...

Figuring Out Me

A wise friend and I recently chatted about New Year's resolutions. She had decided not to make any -- instead of resolving to be something she is not, she was going to work on accepting who she is. Brilliant, I thought.

At the age of thirty-one, I think I am finally beginning to know and understand and accept who I am. I can sew, but I just don't want to. I was in the middle of sewing a Halloween costume for my son when I realized that I hate sewing. There, I said it. It seems like the domestic arts are making some sort of faddish come-back, and I felt compelled to be a part of it. But I just don't want to. Why waste my time trying to be something I am not, when there are other aspects of me that I am that need working on? And why care if anyone looks down on my not developing this skill, or any other particular skill?

At different times in my life, I have chosen my hobbies, hairstyle, shoes, boyfriends, manner of exercise, and many other things because of what is popular. It is only in retrospect that I see that driving need to fit in, but I think I may be getting over that. And really, I'm not sure that others are as concerned with my choices as I used to worry they may be.

So, along with my friend, I resolved not to resolve. I just began to think about who I really am. I am a wife and a mom, a reader, a writer, a beginning jogger (not good at it but I want to be), a music lover, a cook and many other things. I'm not sure about my political affiliation. I have trouble identifying with the major parties so I think I might be something more minor. Some things I am out of necessity -- like laundress, vacuum operator, toilet scrubber. Others, like the writing and jogging, I am out of enjoyment and because of the way God designed me. For whatever His reason, He did not design me to love sewing, canning, or women's groups in general (I can handle Bible studies but ladies' nights out in large groups are not my thing). I have finally accepted this and begun to explore how I can develop the talents and desires He did place in me instead of wasting a large portion of my life forcing myself to pretend to be something I am not.

And, friends, it is good...

"We would worry less about what others think of us if we realized how seldom they do." -Ethel Barrett

Best Chocolate Cake -- EVER!

I want to share this recipe because not only is it THE tastiest chocolate cake I have ever made, it is super easy! I one-and-a-halfed the recipe to make my son's birthday cake (see previous post) and used buttercream frosting to decorate (side note -- ALWAYS add a bit of almond extract to buttercream frosting -- it just makes it so much better!). This one is for my mom's birthday celebration tonight, and is topped with fudge candy icing. The secret ingredient is coffee. You just can't go wrong with this one, unless you hate chocolate, in which case, I do not know how to relate to you! :)

Beatty's Chocolate Cake (from Barefoot Contessa):

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
3/4 cups good cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk, shaken
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 extra-large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup freshly brewed hot coffee

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 359 degrees F. Grease 2 (8-inch) round cake pans or 1 bundt pan.

Sift the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into the bowl of an electric mixer filled with a paddle attachment and mix on low speed until combined. In another bowl, combine the buttermilk, oil, eggs, and vanilla. With the mixer on low speed, slowly add the wet ingredients to the dry. With mixer still on low, add the coffee and stir just to combine, scraping the bottom of the bowl with a rubber spatula. Pour the batter into the prepared pan(s) and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool in the pans for 30 minutes, then turn them out onto a cooling rack and cool completely.


See how moist it looks? It tastes that moist too. It's just YUM! If you are using a cooked fudge icing as I did today, do not forget to scrape the pan and share the scrapings with your little ones so they don't feel left out.

8

I shake the dye in the bottle and spread it evenly through my hair, clip it all up, set the timer for 30 minutes and head back to the kitchen to finish prepping food for his party. The gray has begun showing heavily. I don't feel old enough to have an eight-year-old, but he turns anyway, triumphantly, noisily, joyfully eight. And the clock keeps ticking, and his hands look like big boy hands, any trace of baby fat gone. All that cursive writing must be making them leaner. He races ahead to bigger and bigger things, and I look forward and backward at the same time. It's bittersweet...