The Romance of the Daily

I enjoy a good love story.  I relish and seek them out.  My friend, Heather, says she'll watch any movie as long as there's enough love to keep her interested.  I don't think Heather and I are alone.  I think women across the globe long for stories that make them sigh, stories that come back to us in our dreams.  

I've long wondered why I'm so drawn to romance.  A while ago I started wondering if there wasn't some spiritual implication in all this.  Guys are drawn to a quest or battle, a fight between right and wrong, good and evil.  Women are typically drawn to the love story.  So, I started looking around and here's what I found.

“Real life” totally gets in the way.  I have a wonderful, romantic husband.  He occasionally brings me flowers and makes grand gestures.  He regularly lays down his life for me and our kids and I know I'm spoiled and blessed beyond measure.  But, we live in a world where work is stressful and surgeries need to be recovered from and kids need our undivided attention.  We live where there's dust on the mantle and the silly “all natural” toilet cleaner doesn't keep the toilet clean for very long.  Intimacy doesn't always sound like a great idea and dinner out sometimes sounds like too much effort when we can order in and watch another episode of “Once Upon a Time” on Netflix.  

In an article on familylife.com called “5 Romantic Needs of a Woman,” Dennis Rainey says, “But creating adventurous romance requires planning and enthusiastic effort.”  I don't know about you, but my planning and enthusiasm muscles are sometimes the last things I want to exert.

I don't want to just pop in The Princess Bride or pick up Jane Eyre when the desire for romance comes along, but sometimes it's all I can manage.  In her article on christianitytoday.com, Caryn Rivadeneira says, “Any of us who enjoy reading fiction – of any stripe – do so in part for the entertaining escape.  Whether it's romance or mystery, literary novels or action-packed adventures, we love reading because we love getting lost into other people's lives, worlds, interests, and desires.  We can enjoy all the good of their world or crying at the hardship, all the while understanding that it is made up.”  She goes on to say that romance is lovely and that God even uses romance to describe His passion for us, His people, in the Bible.

“Entertaining escape.”  I want to tread lightly here. Escape just for the sake of escape may not be good or right.  But, everyone needs a breather now and again.  When Allen and Davis were tiny babies and we still needed help as often as we could get it, I felt a bit, um, overwhelmed.  I was a clueless though passionate mom to those twins.  I was unprepared for what life would be like with two babies and felt like I was sinking in a pit of diapers and burp cloths and tiny socks.  I nursed and nursed and slept, then started nursing again.  Part of what got me through that time was a series of books called The Mark of the Lion by Francine Rivers.  What I remember about the books is that a girl named Hadasseh lived this brave, romantic, beautiful life.  She was a Jewish woman who remained true to God even after being sold into slavery, taken to Rome from her home, and thrown into the coliseum to be eaten by lions.  

I read these books aloud to tiny baby Allen and Davis while I nursed them.  At one point in the book, blood-thirsty crowds start chanting, “Jugular, jugular!”  Oblivious, I kept right on reading until my sister stuck her head in my room and asked what was going on.  I think she gently suggested different reading material for her nephews' first introduction to fiction.  It was just so much easier to read about Hadasseh's inspirational life than to go out and live my own.

But, it's not just an escape I long for.  It's an unmet need for things to be better.  To look out at the world and actually see the good.  I long for those “ahhh” moments, the moments that make you want to weep with the beauty and perfection of the romance.  Those moments like when Buttercup realizes the Dread Pirate Roberts is her long lost Wesley, like when someone proposes by having a banner flown behind an airplane over a football game, like the picture I saw online of a Marine holding hands with his beautiful, emotional bride, hidden around the corner of a wall, praying just before their wedding.

It seems I should be able to transfer this joy and comfort in the love stories of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy or Buttercup and Wesley to joy and comfort in the living God.  God's love is perfect and holy and sacrificial and all things good.  Though I've read Song of Solomon, I can’t seem to regularly think of God's love for me as romantic.  I've spent so much of my life thinking of God as my Father and Savior and Friend.  How do you make that transfer to knowing God loves us with a romantic love as well?  Should I even be trying?  Because, so far, I haven't been successful.

In the first chapter of Song of Solomon alone, the man compares his love to a horse and her eyes to doves.  They speak of the bed they share and what his head smells like as he lays it on her chest.  That's all just in the first chapter!  But, the most romantic picture of all is Christ, coming to the dreadful earth from the paradise of Heaven and giving Himself, literally dying, for the one He loves, the one who is worth it all.  

I've heard the symbolism of living the Christian life being like a grand adventure, an epic battle and a romance of the ages.  I want to live like Stephen Curtis Chapman's “The Great Adventure” and saddle up my horse every morning, knowing I have “a trail to blaze.”  I want to leap out of bed wondering what God has for me.  I want to be like Jean, an Assyrian refugee we once knew.  A fellow missionary said, “I like hanging around Jean, exciting stuff happens because he loves God so much.”  

I'm sure Jean worked on his relationship with God.  Maybe his relationship with Jesus was marked by “planning and enthusiastic effort”.  Maybe Jean wouldn't have thought of this as romance, but maybe he didn't need that imagery.  But what about women?  Do we NEED that?  Does the thought of “falling in love with Jesus” spur us on to being better Christians?  

There's a song by Jason Gray called “More Like Falling in Love.”  Part of it goes like this:

I need more than a truth to believe
I need a truth that lives moves and breathes

To sweep me off my feet, it's gotta be

More like falling in love than something to believe in
More like losing my heart than giving my allegiance

Caught up, called out come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh it's like I'm falling in love

It's a good song and I like it a lot.  I think it sums up my feelings on this whole romance thing.  I want to feel like I'm falling in love.  I don't just want a set of principles to live by.  

But,...

Hardee's Biscuits, yumm

I fell in love with my husband over frozen yogurt and the Shakespeare theater, Hardee’s biscuits on Saturday mornings and water skiing, watching from my screen door hardly able to wait to see his blue car pulling up in my driveway and holding hands walking into the free movies at Auburn.  Now, 23 years into marriage, I'm still crazy about him, he still makes me laugh like no one else and I'm still happy to see him pull into the driveway.  

But, it's different than it used to be.  I may not thrill when he touches my hand like I used to, but now I'm known by him.  He senses my moods and my thoughts.  He cares for me and protects me.  The heart-pounding and the barely contained excitement may have tempered, but the love, deep and abiding, is still there.  It's still beautiful and strong, but it's really different.  I'm not falling in love, I have already fallen.  I'm in.

So, while I love a good romance and it reminds me of where I've been, it also reminds me of what's to come.       

Again, in Madeira’s christianitytoday.com article she says, “It is the ideal of being forgiven and love conquering all that appealed to me.  And while my brain knows this isn't always true, my heart wishes it were.  The good news is that my soul knows it will.  Not in a book.  Not in this life.  But one day.”

One day!  One day all the pieces will fit, this will all make sense and we'll love it!  We don't know the time, but one day Jesus will come back and call those who know Him, who've given their lives over to Him.  We'll be with Him in His Father's mansion, better even than the Beast's mansion in Beauty and the Beast or living in Biltmore in North Carolina.    

Of course, I don't want to be locked up whiling away the hours doing nothing but reading Jane Austen and watching “Wives and Daughters.”  I want to live the romance.  I want to appreciate what I have and enjoy the here and now.  I want to see the beauty and feel the love around me.  I want to dwell there, in the romance of the daily.  

So, go ahead and cry when Jerry Maguire says, “You complete me.”  Go ahead and sigh when Kate Bosworth tells Topher Grace how many smiles he has in “Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.”  But, don't forget that it's just a poor picture of what will really happen when Jesus comes back in the clouds, when He speaks your name, when we finally get the happily ever after we’ve been longing for.

How to Successfully Love Your Husband When He Feels Like a Failure

Maybe “failure” isn't much of an issue in your marriage. Maybe your husband breezes through life with a smile on his face. He was born under a lucky star. That's awesome. You've just saved yourself about 10 minutes! You don't have to read this! Congratulations! Go hug your husband!

However, if your husband sometimes struggles with feelings of failure or inferiority, then keep reading. You're not alone. Just so you know, I have permission from my sweet husband to share this stuff. You're not intruding on something private that I should have kept close to the vest. We're good.

Several years ago, Bobby owned and ran a store. It was a beautiful, wonderful store that actually helped people and Bobby loved working there. It was his dream come true. Long story short, it closed. Bobby describes that time as a period of mourning. Though he jumped right into looking for another job, it was hard and not much happened. He worked a couple of jobs where he was “under-employed”, but he didn't find a good fit until a friend (a dear, wonderful man who we will remain indebted to forever!) connected Bobby to another man who hired Bobby for a job that was 671 miles from our home in Alabama.

Bobby jumped on it. He loves his work, for which we're thankful even though it involves the adventure of occasionally moving across the country.

My husband works hard and provides abundantly for our family. I'm incredibly thankful. But, during the dark time when Bobby was still looking for a job, I wasn't. Though I had moments of loving him really well, I was often frustrated and angry. I could be snarky and impatient because of my fear. What if he never found another job he loved? What if he never found another job?

I could have loved him so much better.

I'm convinced every guy out there feels like a failure at some point. Maybe job issues aren't his concern. But, maybe he doesn't feel a strong connection to his children, or his relationship with his parents isn't the best. Maybe he doesn't read as much as he thinks he should, or doesn't make it to the gym 3 times a week. Whatever the issue, the result is the same: feelings of failure, of feeling “less than” he thinks he should be.

I have some ideas on how I can love my husband better during those hard times and I want to share them with you.

Believe, and help him believe, that this plan isn't only for him. God chose this path for you and your children too. My whole attitude changed when God reminded me of this. God's plan for your husband may be to walk through a disagreement with a co-worker, or to be told by the doctor that he has diabetes and MUST lose 50 lbs. God's plan for you is to be the helpmeet to the husband who has to walk through that.

No one suffers alone, but no one celebrates alone either. When you said “I do”, you made a commitment for better or worse, remember? This is just the “for worse” part. Believe that “for better” is right around the corner.

1993, All Young and Naive

Pray. This can't be overstated. It's imperative, vital that you pray for your husband. Pray fervently and often. Pray when you wake up and when you're making breakfast. Pray in the shower and when you're walking around the block. Pray at stop lights and before he comes home. Just pray and pray and pray.

In those prayers, make sure you're not just rehashing what's wrong. You CAN do that. God can handle it. But, thank God for what's going right too. List the things you love about that man. Tell God how thankful you are that out of all the men in all the world, God picked this one for you.

Show affection. Kiss your husband before he goes to work. Make it a really good smooch on the lips. Hug him when he gets home. Pinch his behind when he walks by you in the kitchen and hold his hand when you're watching TV. Knowing that you're attracted to him physically is a boon to a man's ego and self-worth, 2 things he desperately needs when he's in the pits.

Take care of yourself. Workout, read your Bible, use that face mask that's supposed to tighten the skin around your eyes or take an afternoon nap. Whatever you need to do to help get your game face on, so you're ready to love that man, do it. Did you hear me? I said, whatever you need to do, DO IT.

Keep the house reasonably tidy. You'll be able to think more clearly if things aren't falling down around your ears. For me, this means having fresh flowers on the kitchen table most of the time. I need to have clean clothes in the drawers and for the couches to be tidied up before bed. In my world, the rest of the house stuff is negotiable. I like making dinner from scratch and having a freshly mopped floor but, that doesn't always happen. We're talking Necessary stuff here, only what will make you stark raving mad if it goes undone.

Ever wonder why so many actors often “fall in love” while working together? They're ACTING like they're in love so they start to BELIEVE it's real. If you're having a hard time loving your husband, stop and think how Elizabeth would act with Mr. Darcy or how Bella would support Edward or what Snow would say to Charming. Then, DO it. ACT like you're in love. The feelings will come back as you practice.

True Loves' Kiss  (abc.go.com)

Okay, if you're not married, or a grown up, you might want to skip to the next paragraph. Sex helps! 50 million bonus points if you initiate. Have sex with your husband a lot. A LOT. Plan ahead to make it a great night. Do you need a nap, a bubble bath, to shave your legs, drink a glass of wine? Do it. This is almost as important as praying for your husband. His confidence and attitude and disposition will all be affected for the better. Yours will be too.

Realize that you're doing eternally important work. The job of loving your husband is huge. Loving your husband well when he's down is overwhelming. Know and embrace that this is a challenge. It's hard and time-consuming and exhausting. But, you can do it! God and your husband wouldn't have chosen YOU for this marriage if you couldn't.

“Keep a cheerful disposition, pray often, and love your husband more than anyone else on earth; you won’t need anything else.”

Feet of Clay by JJ Webb

Things I'm Learning From Knee Replacement #2

It hit me somewhere last night between midnight and 3am.  I was wandering around my bathroom trying not to wake my husband, waiting for pain medicine to kick in before trying to sleep again.  I didn't want to be there.  I desperately wanted to be snoring beside said husband, cuddled between our clean sheets and paisley quilt.  But, instead I was reading my Bible study book and stretching. 

It's been almost 6 weeks since my second knee replacement.  Honestly, I have nothing to complain about.  I've been walking without a cane or walker for weeks.  My scar, though red and angry looking, is healing nicely.  I'm going up steps almost normally and I can bend my knee to almost 100 degrees.

But...

I want to be done.  I want to hike in the woods and float down the river in a kayak.  I want to be at zumba class and out walking the streets of my neighborhood.  I want to sit through an hour long tv show without getting fidgety and sore.  Even now, I want to be able to type this and sit still without needing to get up and do some exercises.

But, that's not the plan for me at the moment.

So, last night as I was looking at my frizzy hair in the mirror and wondering why my huge bar of hand soap wasn't getting lather-y anymore, I realized that God has me here, on hold, for a reason.  I want out, I want normalcy, I want to be pain free. And, by the way, I want it now! 

But, I think I've learned some stuff in the waiting.

First,  I think God has me here to learn patience.  Yughh.  I don't want to be patient but I know it's a beautiful and valuable characteristic.  I once was a facilitator for a small prayer group.  I would email three ladies weekly asking them to share a prayer request or two with the group.  They weren't cooperating.  I got few responses; though, I knew they all valued prayer and wanted to be part of the group.  One week, in a snit of frustration, I emailed my three prayer partners and said sweetly, “Until I get prayer requests from y'all I'm praying that you have patience.”  I heard from them all that day.  Not one asked for patience.

Next, I think God's allowing this time of pain and frustration so that I can better identify with the sufferings of others.  I know what it's like to be in almost constant pain.  I know what it's like to have your family change plans to accommodate you, embarrassed though you may be.  And, I know what it's like to long to be able to take pain medication, again.  It's amazing the people I notice these days limping across grocery stores and parking lots.  I often want to stop and say, “Knee replacement?”  It's a club I'm not thrilled to belong to, but it's a club I understand.

I think I'm going through this also to, in some way, identify with the sufferings of Christ.  I'm not having thorns shoved into the skin of my forehead or nails driven into my wrists.  But, when I take another painful step, when I lay awake staring at the light seeping under my bedroom window, I remember that Jesus suffered intense pain.  And, He did it all for me.  I didn't understand His sacrifice in the same way before all this.

Humility.  Yet another prayer request I don't often hear.  But, pain, surgery, a lack of mobility, and admitting I've had two knee replacements before I turn 50 have taught me to be humble.  I'm not strong.  I'm not invincible.  But, I am humbly asking for and accepting help.  I'm really terrible at this.  The delicious meals, the sacrifices of time to take me places, the sweet hands offered when I take a wobbly step are helping me be better at accepting the service of others. 

Several years ago I was co-coordinator for VBS in a church that expected 300-350 children ages 4 years - 6^th grade.  We were also in the middle of a huge building project which caused hallways to be blocked and alternate routes to be needed.  It was crazy.  About halfway through the week, I was hiding with my co-coordinator in an office somewhere when I leaned toward her and said I had something I needed to confess.  I told her how I appreciated her working with me because I was terrible at asking for help.  I had just learned that about myself.  I was very proud of this insight.  She looked at me, nodded and smiled, understanding.  Then, she said, “Amy, I could have told you that!”  I was shocked.  I had no idea.  At least now I KNOW.

I would much rather be the one to show up on someone else's doorstep with lasagna.  I want to be the one to sit on the couch and comfort a friend.  But, it's a blessing to be able to accept that love from others.

Lastly, God has me here to experience the comfort and support of my family.  My husband has always been protective and affectionate.  He's quick to see when I've had enough and to help shield me from those trying to take advantage.  I'm sorry to say I haven't always appreciated that about him.  I have sometimes accused him of treating me like a child and underestimating me.  I was wrong and I'm so thankful he persisted in treating me like I'm precious and fragile. 

My 16 year old twin boys have surprised me with their caring concern, too.  While they've both been sweet and quick to offer help, they've shown their love in very different ways.  Davis seemed to hardly want me to move post-surgery.  He insisted on helping me retrieve my walker and scolded me about trying to do too much.  When Allen let me drive to get egg rolls one night, Davis shook his head, questioned his brother, increduously, then said, “I would have made you wait another week.”  Allen, who “let” me drive was right there in the passenger seat on the egg roll run.  He was also fond of putting my walker in the next room.  He thought I should have to work for it.

Though I'm still far from patient and humble, I think I'm now more content in the waiting.  I think I'm more willing to wring what God has for me from this frustrating and painful time because I've been reminded that there's a purpose.  As is often the case, I've found a couple of quotes that sum up my thoughts better than my own words can.

“The greatest Christians in history seem to say
that their sufferings ended up bringing them the closest to God -
so this is the best thing that could happen,
not the worst.” ~ Peter Kreeft

“Life is not in my hands.  I am not in control of every aspect of it and it is only when I fool myself into thinking that I am that the frustration sets in.” - Joan Chittister, OSB Wisdom Distilled from the Daily

            

Well, I Swear!

Actually, I don't swear.  At least not habitually and it's intentional.  I don't think I'm better than those who do cuss and I won't try to say I've never done it.  I just think there are better ways of expressing my anger or incredulity.  I don't think you're going to hell if you choose to swear.  I just think you're pretty lazy.

I grew up in a family that chose not to use profanity, so it was never an option in my formative years.  But, we were Auburn University fans and Auburn, like most colleges, uses some choice words in their cheers.  When I grew old enough to realize what those cheers were actually saying, I asked my mom about it.  She said something like, “Those kids go off to college and think they can start talking however they like.”  She said it with a “Tsk” and shake of her head.  I love Auburn, just don't see the point in wearing War D**n Eagle emblazoned across my chest.

When I was in 8th grade, my sister and I were both in the Golden Panther Marching Band at Lanett High School.  Each year there was one special half time show with more oomphh, more pizazz, more paraphernalia.  On this special night, my sister and I were rushing around trying to gather all the parts of our uniforms (gloves, hats, special shoes and socks), instruments, and frightening Halloween masks.  Our band was going to turn into a bunch of monsters at some point in the show, and throw down a rockin' version of Thriller.

But, we were having trouble getting out the door.  We were really late and my sister, band president and all around model high school senior, didn't do late.  We had already tried to leave the house a couple of times, always forgetting something vital. We thought we had finally made it and took off down our street in my sister's Maverick only for her to realize she had forgotten her dadblame mask.  She hurled her car into my Uncle George's driveway to turn around and in her very southern accent said, "Shit!”  I was shocked.  I seriously didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I've been married 23 years and dated my wonderful husband for three years before our wedding.  We've made each other mad more times than I can count, but I can only remember once when that anger manifested itself in bad language, coming from me, I'm sorry to say.  It had something to do with stress,  a late night, and parallel parking a van.  It ended in laughter.  Apparently I can't pull off a good expletive.

So, it shouldn't surprise you that I, along with hordes of other Auburn fan moms down through the ages, taught my children the lyrics to the Auburn fight song "War Eagle" as follows:

War Eagle, fly down the field,
Ever to conquer, never to yield.
War Eagle, fearless and true.
Fight on you orange and blue.
Go! Go! Go!
On to vict'ry, strike up the band.
Hit 'em high, Hit 'em low
Stand up and yell, hey!
War Eagle, win for Auburn,
Power of Dixieland!

Only that's not how the fight song really goes.  Where I taught my kids "hit 'em high, hit 'em low" it actually says, "Give 'em hell!  Give 'em hell!"  Which, by the way, rhymes with "stand up and yell".  But, anywho....

My children recently visited the College Football Hall of Fame with my sister and her husband (he can swear with the best of them, but can't abide anyone saying the word "hate").  While there, my kids and sister participated in a “fight song karaoke.”  That's where my sheltered 16 year old boys learned the truth.  

We've tried to teach our children that they will encounter times of frustration and irritation; that they'll be tempted to swear up a blue streak.  But, we don't think they should.  We think they should use their imaginations a bit.  Just think how much more interesting the movie The Usual Suspects would have been if instead of cussing more than 70 times they had said things like:  

"Back when I was picking beans in Guatemala, we used to make fresh coffee, right off the trees I mean. That was good. This is gross but, hey, I'm in a police station.”  Or, they could have used the word atrocious, or abominable, or subpar, or unacceptable, or lousy.  Would the movie have suddenly become silly or would it not have been taken seriously?  I doubt it.

If they had used “stink” or “bull honky tonky” maybe.  I learned “bull honky tonky” from my cousin who grew up in Fort Worth.  He's a pastor now.  He claimed that expression for the state of Texas, but I lived there for 4 years and never heard anyone outside of my family use it.  It's really fun to say.  You should totally incorporate it into your vocabulary.

So, bottom line, if you're going to swear (which you shouldn't), you should think of those wordy durds like fouls in a basketball game:  You should make them count.

Brian Lamb, the founder of C-Span agrees.  He says, “I don't like swearing on the air. As a matter of fact, I'm not a prude, but... I watch HBO and some of the comedy stuff, and I'm constantly asking myself, 'Why have we gone there?' It seems like it's unfortunate. It's so cheap. It's so easy.”

The next time you feel some cheap and easy word about to fly out of your mouth, take a second and see what else you can come up with.  I bet you'll surprise yourself and come up with something G-rated that's even better.

Talking Across the Table

Do you have friends who whine and complain about stuff? Do you have family members who only talk about themselves? Do you like talking with these people? Do you go out of your way to spend time with them? Do they annoy the stink out of you?

I recently realized I'm that person.

I don't know how it happened, but my prayer life has been like that. God must hate to see me coming. “Oh no. Here comes Amy. Where can I hide? I wonder what she's whining about today?”

I know God doesn't look at me like that. But if He did, I would totally understand.

I once had a vision. It wasn't a real vision, more like a really clear picture in my head. I was sitting at the dining room table in my parent’s house, praying. I have no idea what was on my mind, but I was really going to town, verbally throwing things at God and then throwing something else. I didn't take a break or let up. I didn't give Him a chance to speak. I just kept going, on and on. Then, I “saw” Jesus sitting there, on the other side of the dining room table. He kept trying to say something, but I kept interrupting Him. He was too gentlemanly to stop me, so He kept listening and smiling and trying to get a word in edgewise.

Grandmama, across the table at her 95th birthday dinner.

I didn't realize I had become so self-centered. I was slipping down a slope of frustration and anger. I was constantly asking God to fix stuff. But, I wasn't making my request before the throne of grace in an attitude of trust and freedom. I wasn't acting like I KNEW God would answer. I was acting like a 4-year-old who thinks if they ask louder and longer and with enough tears, they'll get what they want. Not pretty.

There was no joyful expectation. There was just this ughhh, grasping and whining and ughhh.

Thankfully, God gently exposed my attitude. I'm sorry to admit this, but He had to show me in three different ways.

First off, I read the May 26^th devotion in Oswald Chambers' classic My Utmost for His Highest. Then, I started praying through Phyllis Tickle's book The Divine Hours, Prayers for Summertime. And, finally I started re-reading the Mitford books by Jan Karon.

On May 26^th Oswald Chambers says Jesus never mentions unanswered prayer. “He had the boundless certainty that prayer is always answered.” Then Chambers says, “The danger with us is that we want to water down the things that Jesus says and make them mean something in accordance with common sense; if it were only common sense, it was not worthwhile for Him to say it. The things Jesus says about prayer are supernatural revelations.”

Do you pray like that, as if God ALWAYS answers? Do you believe that? I've had “unanswered prayer” in my life and I bet you have too. So, do I choose to believe that God just hasn't answered yet, or that His answer was “no” or that He answered in a way I didn't notice? Do I choose to believe that He always hears, He's always attentive, He's always near?

A year ago, I was recovering from a total knee replacement. It wasn't horrible, it was just painful in ways I didn't expect – it affected my whole body, not just my leg and left me winded. I was tender and fragile. It was then I read about a book called The Divine Hours. It was described as praying scripture without picking up your Bible. It sounded holy and peaceful and beautiful; things I desperately needed.

I prayed through the book last summer and as June approached this year, was surprised to discover that I remembered and longed for the peace and order The Divine Hours would bring. So, I began again to pray with all those who've prayed before, “Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen.”

Lastly, I began reading again the Mitford books featuring Father Timothy Kavanagh. Father Tim is an Episcopal priest in the fictional village of Mitford. These books are a beautiful picture of a life well-lived. It's fun to follow Father Tim as he walks to the Main Street Grill or gets called out to lunch with his oldest parishioner who tells him all her romantic family secrets. We get to watch and listen as he shares his faith and lives out his calling. The books are encouraging and sweet.

I once met Jan Karon, the author of these books, at a book signing. I quickly confessed my desire to write. She finished her signature, looked up with a smile and said, “Just do it! Honey, it's not brain surgery.”

Sitting around the table at a CRU ladies retreat dinner.

Lauren Winner in Girl Meets God confessed to loving the Mitford books. But, she was also embarrassed to be seen reading them, too simplistic I suppose. On her commute in NYC, she covered the books with brown paper so her secret would remain safe and she could continue getting her daily dose of encouragement.

So, God used these 3 books to guide me back to Him. I hadn't strayed, I was just desperate to get God to behave. I rehearsed my issues to Him over and over (and over and over). I told Him what needed to be done and when it should happen. I had a death grip on my plan and wasn't about to let go.

Since realizing this I would like to say I'm “cured”! I can let go and let God. But, I still slip up, often. My grasp may be looser, but it's still a grasp. I don't live with my hands unclenched yet. I'm more willing to listen, more willing to relax, more willing to trust. I still snatch things off the altar and start dragging them home thinking God doesn't know what He's doing. But, I'm quicker to turn around and go back; quicker to leave my petitions, my offerings, myself.

I'm trying to get closer to what G.K. Chesterson talked about when he said, "You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink."

That may be one of the problems I've been having: a Believer's life really isn't supposed to be divided into “prayer” and “cooking dinner” or “prayer” and “working out”. It's supposed to be a life of continual conversation. A give and take. A ceaseless communication. A hopeful, joyful, peaceful togetherness.

Just like talking across the table.

An Everlasting Meal

Several months ago I happened upon a book called An Everlasting Meal, Cooking with Economy and Grace by Tamar Adler. I'm not sure where I first heard about it, but it's on 2 of my “want to read” lists. I read the book in bite-sized pieces over a couple of weeks and almost immediately started reading it again. It's wonderful, so I thought I should let you know about it.

I love this book and think it will end up living on my kitchen counter. It's well-written, practical and funny. Yes, it's a cookbook. But, no, it's not what you're thinking. There are some recipes, but it's mostly an ode to cooking and food. It's a book length letter, encouraging us that we too can make beautiful, delicious and thrifty things to eat when we're hungry.

In the foreward, Alice Waters (who is called the mother of American food and opened her restaurant, Chez Panisse, the year I was born) in speaking of the author says, “She is teaching people not just how to cook but how to love to cook.”

Tamar Adler suggests amazingly simple cooking, like the kind you do without a recipe, throwing whatever you have in the cupboard and crisper together, stiring and tasting along the way, until something delicious pops out. In fact, in a chapter called “How to Catch Your Tail” she says, “Or do the most sensible thing that you can in most kitchens at most times, which is put the tail ends of everything in a pot, season it well with salt, add a bit of cubed potato and some butter, and simmer it until it is all tender.” I love that she wants me to use what I have. I love that she's a big proponent of using salt, not to make things salty, but to make whatever you're cooking taste good. And, I love that she makes me think I can cook as she does.

Last night I made meatballs for dinner. They had 24 ingredients. They were delicious, if spicy, but 24 ingredients, seriously? Cooking doesn't have to be that complicated to be good. At the beginning of her book in a chapter appropriately called “How to Begin,” Adler recounts reading a fast-and-easy cooking magazine with recipes for “boil-and-toss pasta” and “last-minute omelets.” She says, “All pasta is 'boil and toss',” and “There's plain deceit in hawking 'last-minute' omelets. Omelets happen almost instantly, no matter what you do to speed them up or slow them down. Suggesting there are special 'last-minute' ones is akin to selling tips for breathing air more rapidly – if you have an egg, you have a meal that needs but a quick tap to be cracked open.”

Regarding the title, An Everlasting Meal, Adler refers to one meals' endings leading logically into the next. She cites fried rice and vegetable soup as examples. Upon thinking about this I realized that some of my favorite foods are made from the “leftovers”. Fried rice is one example, but my grandmother's cornbread dressing was originally made from leftover biscuits and cornbread. These stale scraps were broken apart, mixed with chicken stock, celery and onions, spooned into a pan and baked. It's one of the most delicious things you will ever eat. Adler says, “But cooking is best approached from wherever you find yourself when you are hungry, and should extend long past the end of the page. There should be serving, and also eating, and storing away what's left; there should be looking at a meals' remainders with interest and imagining all the good things they will become. I have tried to include more of that and fewer teaspoons and tablespoons and cups.”

All of this encouragement has had a rather profound effect on my attitude toward cooking. Though I've always enjoyed being in the kitchen, I admit that I don't cook like Adler suggests. I may sometimes begin with a lot of something that needs to be cooked, but then I go in search of a recipe, put ingredients on my grocery list and plan that meal into our week. But, since reading An Everlasting Meal, I'll put more things like rice and good olive oil, crusty bread and eggs on my list because, Adler says, you can make a meal out of that. I wish I could sit on a stool in Tamar's kitchen and watch her cook. I'm sure she would feed me delicious things to eat served on little toasts, rubbed with garlic. She seems fond of little toasts.

My notes from An Everlasting Meal so far!

Though I started writing this with a spoonful of canned frosting in my hand and I fed my family frozen pizza last week, I have high hopes for making better use of the produce that will soon roll in from our CSA or farm co-op. On Wednesdays when our delivery arrives, I'm going to start boiling a big pot of water and turn the oven on high. I'm going to start cooking our good stuff so meals for the week will already have begun. Tamar makes me think I can actually do it. Whether I fold those vegetables into rice or tuck them into omelets, I believe (I BELIEVE!) we'll end up eating them all. With simple directions like this, we can't go wrong: “All cooked vegetables, whether boiled or roasted, become wonderful salads. They need only a handful of toasted nuts, chopped fresh herbs, a few vinegar-soaked onions, and a sharp vinaigrette. It's really all most food ever needs. The combination may be the universe's only reliable youth serum.” Who doesn't want that?!

But, maybe the most influential and beautiful part of this book is the connection Adler makes between eating well and living well. Illustrating this is her chapter (yes, chapter!) about grits. If I didn't love her before, I certainly do now. Adler says that a 1952 Charleston newspaper declared that grits could make peace. She says, “...it's true that we all fight less when we eat well, which an abundance of grits guarantees. The paper was also right because grits...are vehicles for butter, cream, and cheese, and most tempers can be at least a little cooled by large quantities of those.”

Maybe I should feed my twin boys grits more often? I don't know about making peace with grits, but I will say that I once fed the pickiest boy on earth my grits casserole. Drew ate seconds happily, never knowing exactly what they were. This same boy wrinkled his nose at a turkey sandwich on homemade bread. So, maybe I was making peace after all.

Again, Alice Waters writes, “An Everlasting Meal is an important work about living fully, responsibly, and well, and gently reveals Tamar's philosophy that what we eat and how we eat it is inextricably linked to our happiness.”

Church Camp

We were sitting at the dining room table; my mom, dad, sister, grandmother, even my high school boyfriend was there. So, it's odd that I decided to bring up church camp.

I was a senior in high school and had about 5 summers of church camp under my belt. Of those, I could remember one being fun. This coming summer wouldn't be. It was just a week, but still. I didn't really want to spend a precious week of my summer vacation with people I didn't fit in with.

So, I should have chosen a better time to say, “I don't think I want to go to church camp this summer.” My sweet grandmother said, “You need to go your senior year.” And, that was the end of it. No one asked me later if I really didn't want to go. No one wanted me to explain why I might not want to be there. It was just assumed that I would go. And, I don't remember pushing the issue or bringing it up again.

I love Hargis, where we went to camp. I feel particularly close to God there and it's one of the most beautiful places on earth; the lake, the cross on the mountaintop, the winding road that seems to never end leading into the camp. If I could have just been there alone, or with my friends from school, it would have been perfect. But, I went with people I hardly knew, faces vaguely familiar from years past, a couple of friends from my home church, but no one I was particularly close to.

 

Photo from Hargis Christian Retreat Facebook Page

Most people attended with a group. They “belonged” simply because they were part of a circle within the larger group of campers. I didn't feel that. Even the years that another kid or two came from Lanett First Christian with me, I didn't feel any confidence and not much closeness.

All those other campers were less than friendly. No one was outwardly mean, they just had jokes they all knew and friends they all had in common. They watched the same TV shows and listened to the same music. Their pastors and youth pastors accompanied them the week of camp as counselors and they talked about what was going on back home. They didn't reach out to include others. They were content in their own little group.

This wasn't a promising beginning for someone who would eventually be a camp counselor. But, I was, repeatedly, and I loved it. Then, I WAS part of a group, the counselor group. I fit in. I felt valued and important.

At that point, I was very concerned with making sure all the campers felt included. I wanted them to have fun. I wanted them to want to come back. I wonder if they did.

My sister and I were counselors together for two summers. That was really special. We still laugh about the poor little boy who fell out of his canoe (or was tipped out) in just 2 feet of water. He had a life vest on and was holding on to his canoe. But, just a few yards from shore, he was terrified. We came running to his aid when we heard a voice ring out, “Help me sweet Jesus!” After trying to get his attention to tell him to just stand up, my sister and I both had to catch our breath from laughing so hard. We may have collapsed on the dock for a while listening to his continuing pleas and crying with laughter. He was perfectly all right. Wonder if he ever went back to camp?

For years I craved a “family camp” experience for my little family and finally got it when we lived in Nebraska.

Victory Road Evangelical Free Church had a longstanding tradition of escaping to a camp the weekend after school started. It was wonderful. Water, a huge blob thing that sent tiny people hurtling into the air then plunging into the lake, an open air church service Sunday morning, the guys making breakfast and lots of time for talking and games. It was low key, relaxing and sweet. I loved that. I was with friends.

It's funny, isn't it, that we search for an ideal. In my case, I'm willing to get knocked down then head back in for round 2 because I'm convinced that it will be better next time. Though camp wasn't ideal when I was in junior high or high school, I still had this inkling that it could be. I guess that's why I went back as a counselor more than once. It's like I was saying to the world, “Come on y'all. We can do better than this!”

Truth be told, I still do this. I still ache when someone says they feel like they don't belong. My first reaction is to think, “That's not right. We can fix this. Who do I need to call? What do I need to do? Come on, y'all. We can do better than this!”

I guess we all want to belong, to fit in. But, we'll never be completely satisfied this side of Heaven, will we? There will always be that spot in us that's sightly out of step, slightly homesick, slightly lonely. 

The Fun Year At Camp

Last year during Lent I intentionally listened to Keep Making Me by Sidewalk Prophets every day. 40 days in a row. It was my prayer, my offering, my desire to belong wholly to the Lord. The last verse of the song goes like this:

Make me lonely
So I can be Yours
‘Til I want no one
More than You, Lord
‘Cause in the darkness
I know You will hold me
Make me lonely

I didn't want to pray that. I didn't really even want to think about it. One day during that Lent, I confessed this to my kids. “I don't want God to make me lonely. That's hard. I don't think I'm “there”.” My wise son, Davis, said, “Yeah, but that's how it's supposed to be.” We're supposed to want no one more than God. And, at some point, we're supposed to be mature enough to ask God to help us get there, no matter what it takes.

I'm not that mature yet. It still hurts to think about those lonely church camp weeks. It still hurts when I think of others hurting too.

That last week of church camp, just after a triumphant graduation from high school, was still lonely. I found a fairly easy place with some girls from another church who didn't quite fit in either. But, I can't remember one of their names. Not one. And, I'm sure they don't remember my name either.

Am I glad I went? I guess. I like to complete stuff, to not give up. And, I think it made me a better counselor, more empathetic. But, what I really want for myself and for you is more of those Nebraska Family Camp weekends and less of those lonely high school church camp times. More of Heaven, less of earth.

I'm too idealistic, I know, I know.  But, I'll keep dusting myself off and heading back into the ring to fight for it. I'll be a bit banged up, but it's what I was made to do.

Come on y'all. We can do better than this!