Post Category → faith

june 19th

:: 2 days + 1 morning = how much is left of my life in Madrid.

:: I was so, so very blessed by the send-off at church on Sunday. So blessed. So overwhelmed. So very… surprised?… by the expressions of love and appreciation, although I don’t know why. I’ve only ever been encouraged and valued by my family at CFC. I feel extremely blessed to have grown up in such a congregation.

Several people offered testimony to how God had used me to minister to them in some way over the years — things that made me think, “Really? God used that?” And isn’t that just cool? Isn’t it really gracious of God to every once in awhile let us glimpse the harvest of seed we’ve sown?

After thinking about all that was said, I realized that God had kind of said, “See? I told you so.” For the last few years (or maybe I should say more like 10?) I’ve felt challenged to just serve wherever I am able, and not worry about whether or not I’m “missing God.” I felt like He was asking me to just be faithful in Today and trust Him to weave all of those Todays into something effective and worthwhile. And I’ve done my best to do just that — but sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve missed out on “real” ministry. Sometimes you wonder if God asks you that just to teach you a lesson of being poured out.

But God is not mocked, right? Seeds bring harvest.

And so, for the future, I feel encouraged to once again put my hand to the plow and love the Lord by loving those He puts in my life, and serve the Lord by stepping forward to fill needs. He knows what He’s building, after all, and I can trust Him

:: My mom is awesome. Her 9 kids are spreading her thinner and thinner. Someday, when I have 5 little kids and feel like I might pull my hair out, I’ll remind myself that having 5 little kids is, in many ways, not so bad. Try having 5 big kids — one of whom has her first baby and is moving and needs help, lots and lots of help, another who has 3 little people and is on modified bedrest and whose husband has placed her in your capable hands for 3 weeks while he’s away, and another who’s in a show this summer and needs you to come and play accompaniment for a rehearsal, and another who’s — well, actually, #4 is pretty low maintenance –, and another who’s overseas and probably would appreciate hearing regularly from her mother. Oh, and then add 4 more kids onto that, one of whom is graduating from high school next year and needs to know what to do next, and three more who are at home and need your undivided attention, because, well, because they’re you kids.

Whew!

I look at her and realize, God’s call doesn’t usually include a retirement plan. In fact, we just keep giving and giving and giving, dying, and dying, and dying. Subtly, deep in my sub-conscious, is this notion that someday we get to kick back. But that’s not really in the Bible. It’s just not. And I so deeply admire my mother, and others like her, who are actually taking it up a notch when the culture around them says it’s time to be indulgent.

And as I look on, observing that this is sometimes hard, and yet they do it anyway (and with joy!), I am so, so convicted. I do not want selfishness, laziness, or popular thought to keep me from serving the Lord with great fervor until the very end. No, I want to be like mom, holding grandbabies and teaching 3rd grade English and everything in between — wholeheartedly. I want to know, like she knows, that the sacrifice is worth the eternal reward.

:: I have so many other things to write about, but they are officially waiting for another time.

today, and part two

:: He’s moving quickly these days, although he has yet to do anything more than scoot along on his belly. It’s so much fun to watch him dart for something, change his mind, spin around on his belly — only to change his mind again and head back in the original direction. And he jabbers the whole time.

:: Today we ran errands. He didn’t cry once the entire time. Even when he was riding for 15-20 minutes in his carseat. This is a milestone!

:: He’s been told more than several times not to touch the stack of magazines and books I have tucked under a table. Yesterday he headed towards the pile once again, paused as he reached out his little hand, checked to see if I was watching (I was), paused again, and then turned away. I was OVERJOYED! My own dear baby chose obedience! How amazing to watch him develop and grow right before my eyes, from a brand new baby into a thinking, communicating, enthusiastic little man!

[Those were all new thoughts for today. Now we segue into part two of my post last Saturday:]

:: This is the other book Ryan bought me for my birthday. I finally cracked it open and have been enjoying it at a rapid pace. (Rapid is a relative term. Back in the pre-Jamesonian era, rapid meant 1-2 hours while folding laundry.) Her entire premise is that we are created in God’s image, and one thing we can know without digging too deep is that we must, therefore, be made to create. (Get it? Created in His image?…) She then points to the things we often take for granted and urges us to see them for what they are: the mark of a great artist. I’ve always loved the whispering of leaves as wind dances through them, but I’ll never be able to listen and watch again without thinking of how composers and choreographers for centuries have been doing their best to mimic nature’s model.

Yes, God is revealing Himself all around us. Recently I read a soldier’s account of his time in Iraq. Having been raised with a concept of God’s existence, he found that challenged in the horror of war. “Where is God?”, he wrote in his journal.

I thought of this article while reading Edith’s book. Yes, where is the mark of the gracious Creator in the midst of atrocities?

The mark is in us, I realized. It’s in the surge of compassion that rose in that soldier’s heart, in the sense of injustice he felt as he protected the helpless. Why do we feel injustice so acutely? Because we are made in His image, the image of the Great Judge.

Even in war, He is revealing Himself.

:: What I don’t understand, given all of the above, is what foreign policy should look like. I don’t like the idea of being the world-wide police force… but then again, I don’t particularly like the idea of turning a blind eye when we have the ability to act for the helpless. What does a Judeo-Christian government look like? I suppose those are the questions we’re all asking as we look forward to another round of elections.

:: I’m getting more excited about moving. Finding pictures of the area that will be my new home, exploring google maps, looking up gardening info on California — it will be a fun place to live. Simultaneously, I’m getting more sad about leaving. I guess it’s just all sinking in. Every evening, I turn off the lights and lock the door and sigh a little. I love this little place. But it’s much more than that. I love this season of life. This will be the season I look back on when I want to recall the highs and lows of newlywed life, my first holidays under my own roof, the experiences of being newly pregnant, and the amazing days of falling in love with my first baby. All of those memories live right here, in our little tree house apartment.

:: And now, what you’ve all been waiting for: the other stuff I’ve been cooking in Ryan’s absence. This is not about to turn into a food blog, since I don’t know what I’m doing, really, in the kitchen. I love to make stuff up, but I never know why I feel like I should cut it this way, cook it that long, mix in that spice. I guess my mom passed along her “hunch” gene to me, and so I find my way around the kitchen in the same manner in which she does: total guesswork.

So, I made this pasta salad a couple of weeks ago, with the addition of garlic. (Umm, hi. How could you not have garlic??) It was good, will need some tweaking (more salt and pepper, namely, so that my poor little nephew doesn’t complain that his salad has no dressing), and inspired my ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE DISH EVER. My mom and I happily munched on it together, which is one of my favorite ways to consume a meal:

1 bunch asparagus, trimmed and cut into 2″ pieces
1 lb pasta (I used whole wheat linguini)
3 cloves garlic, chopped
3 T butter
4 slices fresh lemon
1/4 c. grated asiago cheese
salt and pepper

Saute garlic in butter. Add lemon slices, salt and pepper, and cook until your hunch tells you to stop. (See what I mean?) Remove lemon slices and seeds. In the meantime, boil water and cook pasta according to preference. One minute before it’s done, add asparagus. Drain pasta and asparagus. Rinse. Toss with butter sauce and asiago cheese.

Heaven!

:: Lastly, I was challenged by this post. I need to remember the discipline of quiet, and carve out moments for sacred silence. Of course, such talk conjures up memories not unlike the ones Nancy relays: large, inspiring spaces; heavy, silent air; the presence of a magnificent instrument inspiring inner symphonies of praise. Yes, (sigh), I remember. But I’d be delusional to think that revisiting the discipline of silence should look like that in this season of life. No, I find that rather than enforcing an hour of quiet in my daily schedule, I must discipline my mind and my heart to be still once in awhile. I must remind myself to stop. the ideas and stop. the to-dos and stop. the worries and stop. the creative juices. Just. stop. In the midst of cleaning, nursing, cooking, laundering, harness my mind and soul and be still.

That’s what I want to do.

memorial day

null

Thank you.

From the Green Mountain Boys, to the men serving with our red-headed hero: thank you, all of you.

Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.

today

It’s a perfect day. The morning dawned, fresh and clear, and cool enough for a summer cardigan. By afternoon, the sun was hot on my face as I walked around the block.

It’s a sad sort of day, too. Sad because Ryan flew away, far away, and this time it’s for keeps. He’ll [prayerfully] find a perfect spot to plant our little family, and then I’ll join him, along with our stuff.

It’s not just sad, of course. It’s exciting, too. I confess at times to being a wimp, and that hinders excitement. But when I’m looking at the future in light of the Lord’s gracious hand, I know that leaving my secure little world is okay.

And besides, I don’t ever want to be a wimp. “We must never lose our sense of adventure in the Lord.” (I think Andrew Eastmond said that.)

Now begins the chore of packing up. And closing bank accounts, making a last run to the dry cleaners, canceling mail boxes, changing addresses, oh yeah — calling doctors and accountants and…

Here we go!

***

On another note, I’ve had French toast on the brain for weeks. And I don’t know about you, but if I get a hankerin’ for a certain food, it doesn’t go away until I’ve tasted that food. So tonight, home alone, I fired up my stove and whisked up some eggs and made myself some toast.

And it was good.

Growing up, we always dunked a slice of bread in the egg mixture, flipped it, and put it on the griddle. However, I recently read directions that I thought might result in the rich, flavorful toast I was so craving. Here’s my new favorite breakfast (or dinner):

2 eggs
3/4 c milk
1 T sugar
1/2 t cinnamon
1/4 t nutmeg
1-2 t vanilla

Whisk. Cut old Italian bread into generous 1″ slices and lay in baking dish. Pour egg mix over bread. Let soak for 5-10 min; flip, and let soak again. Fry in buttered pan until golden brown on both sides.

Mmmmm.

Thick and pudding-ish texture, with plenty of nutmeg for this girl who’s obsessed with it. Of course, I ate mine swimming in maple syrup. Extra mmmm.

Does everyone else know that soaking trick? ‘Cause I love it.

You would, too. I just know it.

:)

morning thoughts.

Would this be called a posting frenzy? Just curious.

We watched the presidential debate last night. I’m pretty out of the loop, so it was nice to finally find out who our Republican choices are. Well, “nice” might not be accurate. It was actually more like, “scary to finally find out…” Why? Because the men who seem actually ready to run a country are ridiculously liberal on the social issues.

But that’s not why I’m writing this.

As I listened to a long row of intelligent men, all well versed in the current world affairs, answer the questions posed them regarding terrorism, foreign policy, national debt, and abortion, I realized this: None of these men know all the answers. Not a one of them. They looked so frail, so finite in their humanity as they stood up to questions that are so much bigger than a single man’s wisdom.

I realized this: We desperately need the Lord. Only His wisdom and power can keep babies safe, provide for the needy and sick, protect us from nuclear warfare, and bring peace to the Middle East. We need Him.

With all of the world issues we face tumbling around in my mind, I read 1 Pet 4 this morning:

“The end of all things is near; therefore, be of sound judgment and sober spirit for the purpose of prayer. Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.”

When I consider the “end of all things”, I have to say that sound judgment, sober spirits, and fervent prayer seem appropriate postures. I don’t immediately think that I should love the brethren more than ever.

But that’s what it says. Isn’t that interesting? I’ve always thought so. Loving one another — our relationship with the greater Body of Christ — is so incredibly important. More than we realize, and probably more than we can fully understand. (Isn’t that the way most God things are? We just obey and find out later why it was such a big deal?)

And be hospitable. Don’t forget that. When another suicide bomber dies, another soldier goes missing, and another storm rocks the South Pacific, fire up the oven and make some cookies. Love — forgiving love — and an open invite for dinner will always stand bright as the night darkens around us.

eight months, moving, and Truth

:-%,/|} Today I’m bored with starting new sections with “-“, “*”, “:.”, and “::”, so I came up with “:-%,/|}”. Whaddya think?

:-%,/|} Jameson is 8 months old today. This is amazing to me, mostly because I don’t remember spending all day and all night of eight months with him. I still feel like he just arrived!

But no. He’s been around long enough to start figuring the world out. He knows what he wants, and pushes away anything I try to pacify him with. His adorable forward-scooch upgraded today into a modified military crawl, and he’s realized that he can use it to move distances. While I realize that there’s nothing particularly adorable about creeping on the floor, I find it hard to not just stand and watch him move. MY baby is MOVING! Amazing! “Mama’s so proud of you!,” the little guy hears all the time! And a close second in recurring statements is, “No, no, don’t touch/eat that!”

He loves to be silly and get tickled. Peek-a-boo continues to hold its status of possessing universal appeal.

He went to the nursery for the first time this week. I think this was actually more distracting for me, and my entire row, as my eyes were continually watching for my number to appear, indicating a complete Jameson-meltdown. And yes, he can cry with the best of them.

He has six teeth, soon to be eight. That must be the worst part of being a baby.

He talks more and more, and now even his cries have definition — especially the one that means, “I’m totally bored and want to be picked up, but in the meantime, I’ll just experiment with how many ways I can move my tongue.”

So yes. Eight months ago, he was born. I’m so thankful for him, and the message he is that God knows best — you can trust Him.

:-%,/|} As Bri said, the mother’s day message was “off the hook!” (That would be Ryan’s influence.) Absolutely amazing. I won’t mention that it should be posted online, because that job would fall to my husband, who already has too much on his plate right now. But really, it should be posted online.

:-%,/|} The moving company sent someone to come and give us a quote this morning. I now know that I have less than 4,000 pounds of stuff. At least, I hope it’s less. At $1/lb, I’m rooting for less, not more. It was weird to walk through the apartment and think of packing everything up. Moving it. Leaving.

*sigh*

Going is fun. Leaving is sad. Too bad you can’t do one without the other.

Yet another thing I like about heaven: you never have to leave.

:-%,/|} As I mentioned, things are a bit undone around here, thanks to me not keeping up with my chore schedule. Know what’s funny? From the age of 4 or 5 until Jameson was born, I have lived by a schedule and routine. While feeling totally undone after having a baby, I realized that it probably had a bit to do with the fact that, for the first time in my life, I didn’t have a regimen for every day of the week.

Boy, do I like routine.

More like Looooove routine.

And I’ve realized, in this last month of slacking off, that one reason I like having my responsibilities assigned and scheduled is that it’s the only way to live ahead of the natural entropy of life. Instead of my housework being a reaction to what’s the dirtiest, I’m cleaning before it gets bad. I like that feeling. And I’ve always been that way. I was not the student who crammed for a test, or only practiced because I had a concert coming up.

Our souls thrive in order, and order comes through routine.

Okay. That was my little pep talk. Get back on the ball, Danica.

:-%,/|} Being goal-oriented is not fun much of the time. Just when I think I’ve mastered the art of focusing on people, I realize I haven’t at all. Like, last week I thought about how I’ve gotten better about waking up and thinking about what would bless Ryan and Jameson — and then making my to-do list with them in mind. Wow, Danica. Way to put people first. But then I realized that as soon as I’ve determined what will bless them, I have to get those things done, and heaven forbid Ryan or Jameson (or anyone else) get in my way.

Oh dear. Dying to self is hard. Does everyone else know that? Is it only me who is surprised by how hard it continues to be?

:)

:-%,/|} This has been on my heart the last few days, “Behold, children are a gift of the LORD, the fruit of the womb is a reward.”

How much self there is that stands between us and truly understanding that. I was inspired again as I heard my father praising my mother for embracing that truth completely — even though it meant so much death.

But as with all Kingdom principles, that initial death is only that true life may come. And all of the selfishness that clouds our vision will be shown for the pathetic guise of happiness that it really is when we decide to embrace what God calls truth.

In this, as well as in our ideas of womanhood, our culture has wandered so far from a biblical standard that a moderately secular worldview becomes palatable to us. But there is so much more to be discovered, and so much more joy and freedom to be found, in the whole truth of God.

Lord, open my eyes, so “[I] will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe.”