Oh, the Irishness of me!

The view from any given road in Ireland. Simple. Beautiful. Simply Beautiful.

   Until recently we believed that my great-great-grandmother immigrated here from Ireland. Thanks to my mother and ancestry.com we now know that's not true. Mary McCartney was most certainly Irish but not not 'off the boat' Irish. Her parents, or grandparents, or somebody (I'm not sure...my mom may be able to comment and clear this up) were from Ireland. Or she married a guy from Ireland. Or something--somewhere there is an Irish connection. Because of Mary McCartney I used to claim to be 1/16th Irish, which I know doesn't sound like much but back in the day if a person was 1/16th African-American it was enough to be enslaved. Soooo...clearly, 1/16th is a lot! However, now that the Irishness of Mary is somewhat in question, I'm not sure the math is correct anymore. At any rate, I've got enough Irish blood to get extremely excited about Saint Patrick's Day, Ireland, and Irishness in general.



In a very, very old garden at Huntingdon Castle in Ireland.



So of course today I had to wear green--and orange because I'm a protestant. I've even got my green St.Patty's day socks on! And I'm frustrated that I didn't have time to bake my traditional Irish soda bread. Now, plain soda bread is like 'blech! disgusting!'....but this is the most yummy, delicious, mouth-watering receipe for soda bread ever in the history of the Irish soda bread universe. Seriously. I usually make it for Thanksgiving, too, because it's just so yummy. I'll share the recipe at the end of the post with a couple hints and tips I've learned making it the last couple years.

So tomorrow I plan on making my soda bread and watching 'The Quiet Man'. I watched it for first time two years ago and couldn't believe I'd survived 24 years without this amazing movie. It's not exactly like 'Gone With the Wind' or 'It's a Wonderful Life' amazing but for Irish enthusiasts it absolutely must be included in the collection. And at our next Ladies' Craft Night at church I want to fix my scrapbook of my trip to Ireland. When I graduated high school my uncle took my great-aunt and me to London and Ireland. It was such an amzing experience and I loved every second of it. I made a scrapbook with all my photos and brochures and ticket stubs but there's a few pages that turned out all smudgy and lame. I really want to fix it up and make it all beautiful.



At one of the many places in Ireland said to be
where St.Patrick baptized people.



Today I'm brought in some Irish music, my scrapbook (smudgy pages and all), some books about Ireland, and a book of Irish fairytales to share with my students. So you can see, my Saint Patrick's Day celebration isn't patricularly exciting but it is still enthusiastic. I don't think its possible to be Irish (even just a smidge) and not be enthusiastic about it.

Irish Spiced Soda Bread 

Cook Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients:

·        3 cups raisins

·        2 cups water

·        3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

·        2 teaspoons baking soda

·        2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

·        1 teaspoon ground nutmeg (I usually do a 1/2 tsp because nutmeg is strong)

·        1 teaspoon salt

·        1/2 teaspoon allspice (I usually do a full tsp allspice because I really like it)

·        1/2 cup butter

·        1 1/2 cups sugar

·        3 eggs, beaten

·        1 cup liquid from soaking raisins

Preparation:

In a saucepan, combine raisins and water; bring to a boil. Cover and simmer over low heat for 15 minutes; drain and reserve 1 cup of liquid (if not enough liquid left, add a little water to make 1 cup). Set raisins and reserved liquid aside.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and allspice. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar; add eggs and the raisin liquid and mix until well blended. Stir in dry ingredients until blended; add raisins. Pour batter into 2 greased and floured 9x5x3-inch loaf pans. Bake at 350° for 35 to 40 minutes. Cool soda bread in pan for 5 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.

I don't have 2 bread pans so I've used a round cake pan and a muffin tin. The muffin tin works beautifully although it bakes through faster so you have to keep an eye on them. But a muffin is the perfect serving size for this bread and it makes it so easy to just grab one and enjoy. And, my husband is not a big fan of raisins, so you can make one loaf with raisins and one loaf without (still using the raisin liquid but not the raisins themselves).

So in closing for this St. Patrick's Day post...I leave you with my favorite Irish blessing.

May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

The sun shine warm upon your face,

The rain fall soft upon your fields,

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the hollow

Of His hand. 



The rolling hillside atop the Cliffs of Moher

(PS...I will give anyone 5 bonus points for knowing which book the title of this blog is derived from. Googling won't help as it's not a direct quote, I changed one word....comment with your guesses!!)

Is it just me, or am I going in circles here?

That's exactly how I felt the other day. Like I've been going round and round and round on some kind of really awful merry-go-round. It's exhausting--because every now and then I get hit with a ton of bricks, or a grand piano, or an anvil (very Looney Toons) of reality. I'm never going to triumph over this, not in this life, not in this flesh. And then I think, what's the point then? Why am I trying? Why do I fight the good fight and press on and all that other stuff?

Because to give up would be unthinkable.

It's hard for a perfectionist to accept never reaching perfection. It's hard for someone who is compulsive, loves controls, and is great at making neat little to-do lists to have to throw all that away because God doesn't work that way. I've come to the earth-shattering conclusion that God doesn't fit in a to-do list. Not time for Him, not His plans, not Him in anyway. He's so much bigger than my to-do list.

One of my cousin had a seven year plan that went something like...go to college...graduate...start a career...get established in said career...then get married. Yeah, his seven year plan got thrown off course when he met, fell in love with, and married his wife. We all had a good chuckle. It's great to have a plan but don't ever expect God to follow it.

Sometimes He'll go along with part of it...almost like He's humoring me, I think. And then just when I think I know what the next step is WHAM! There's a sudden plot twist and we're going in an entirely different direction. Well, it's probably not an entirely different direction but it feels that way for the girl who needs the security blanket of to-do lists and a nightlight of control.

I realize that my 'need' for these things signifies a lack of trust in God's sovereignty and goodness. If I believe He is in control and will only do what is best for me, then I wouldn't worry so much and have to compulsively account for everything. I could just follow Him--mistakes, trips, falls, and sidetracks included. If I didn't rely so much on my own ability to do things right, I could be free to just follow Him. Because God is bigger than my greatest falls. He is stronger than my biggest weaknesses. He has already triumphed over that which I can never triumph.

So I do go in circles. I think we all do. It's part of the human condition. Call it a thorn in our side, or the weakness of flesh, or human stupidity. The name doesn't matter, it's how we deal with our not-so-merry-go-round of life that counts.

I'm not sure that I have a neat tidy concluding paragraph. I think I'm still working on that--in my heart, in my life, in my head. If I ever get it figured out I'll be sure to share it. I'm sure it will be quite profound. But I think the lesson for me today is to find peace somehow in the fact that I'm not going to get it right. But Jesus did. So I don't have to. It's not about what I can do for God or for myself...it's what He can do for me. What He already has done, is doing, and wants to do.

There's something very freeing in that for a perfectionist like me. It's not just accepting sin and going, 'oh well, we're just fallen.' (I had someone say that to me once what I had to confront them about the sin of gossip...I mean, really...oh well, we're just fallen???? REALLY?) It's more about accepting grace to cover those sins, grace to make up for the reality of our fallen state. Grace is either enough or it isn't. Jesus is either bigger than us and our sins, or He isn't. God is either in control, or He isn't. God is either goodness and love, or He isn't. And I either trust in these things and more forward in obedience...or I'm say that all those things aren't true. Fact. Period. Exclamation Point. !

So I won't give up. I'll keep on keeping on and all that other good stuff. And I will try to start every day in a shower of grace, a nice long bubble bath of His goodness, soaking in all He has already given me. Then choose to dress myself in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, and followed by a strong suit of armor--truth, faith, righteousness, and peace. Because if I start each day already covered in and filled up with God's truths, I've got a shot at getting away from that not-so-merry-go-round. If I can really build each day on the foundation of Him, then maybe the set-backs and upsets won't be so devestating to me. And if I can just learn that God is already perfect, I don't have to be...then I have a chance at becoming perfected through His love.

I wrote what you just read several days ago. Last Friday morning, I think. And this morning (that would be Tuesday) God pointed out something else. A parallell point which I feel that I should add--that He wants me to add.

First--a backstory...my brother is 5 years older than me so when I was in high school (the peak of the drama years for most of us) I went to visit him at college. I stayed in a room with a couple of his girl friends (girl SPACE friends) and listened to them talk. The one was pouring her heart out about what some guy had just done or not done or whatever, and the other tried to reassure her that he was a jerk, or he didn't mean it, or whatever. And I remember thinking: this doesn't go away in college/ It's all still a mess and people are still stupid and boys are still horrendous? Great.

So fast forward to this morning...thinking about a situation entirely different save for the fact that people are still involved. And I realized: this doesn't go away. Ever. It's still a mess, and people are still stupid. Enter God's sweet voice...

So you're going to have to find a better way to deal with this.

Because you have a right to be hurt, or angry, or frustrated.

But you can't act out on those feelings,

and you have to do more than complain to me about it all the time.

I'm more than your sounding board.

I'm the source for your strength, the answer to your questions,

the only option for choosing something better.

So that was my breaking news for today. It's not going to go away...the main players may change as I go through my stages of life but the plot isn't going to differ too much, the dialogue will stay largely the same...unless I choose a different response.

Apparently we're all on two merry-go-rounds here....or maybe a merry-go-round and a ferris wheel....or a scrambler...or anything other amusement ride that goes in circles. A circle with God and a circle with people...and maybe even a circle with ourselves. Learning and re-learning the same things, struggling with the same struggles, feeling frustration/pain/confusion from the same situations. Haven't I been here before? Yes, I have...and I think I'll continue to until I do that which God has invited me to do--choose something better. Choose Him. The ultimate brass ring. Hmmm...I guess that's a neat, tidy ending paragraph. If only doing it were so simple. 

Surround Yourself With the Things You Love

I love it when I start to think about something---really think about it--God throws reassurances in my path to gobble up. Like Hansel and Gretl, but without being almost cooked and eaten in the end. ANYWAY--that has absolutely nothing with what I'm going to write about but...I had to share. Because the God part is sorta connected. The cannibalism is not.

Okay, now that's we've got that settled, let's put on our serious faces and get down to business.

I saw a decorative wooden sign recently that said: Surround Yourself With the Things You Love. And I thought to myself, I should buy that sign, to remind myself of that. And then I had to laugh at myself because that's my problem. I love too many things! So I have to buy myself a sign to remind myself to only bring in to my house that which I love the most...and I don't really love that sign...so it would be counter intuitive. Oh, sigh...oh, me.

But instead I committed that little phrase to memory and I am capturing it for time immemorial on this blog. I have a lot of stuff. I always have. My brother and I were the long awaited grandchildren, the much hoped for next generation. So when we came along, there was a load of 'stuff' waiting for us upon arrival. Our whole lives we've been given and collecting things. My brother doesn't seem to have the same addiction for sentimental stuff that I have but nonetheless, he hasn't been able to completely escape the STUFF!

So as a child, my room was always filled to capacity. Then when we started all the moves from apartment to apartment it got boxed up for 'someday'. Well, getting married and have a whole house to decorate seemed like 'someday' had arrived. Except that...there was more stuff on top of the original stuff. And we got wedding stuff. And Curtis has stuff...albeit not very much stuff, not like me. And our house is just stuffed with stuff already. And we don't even have kids yet.

I feel claustrophobic just thinking about it. And the clutter is out of control. I think I'm secretly running a Clutter Factory and someday the Clutter Elves will bring me a fat paycheck for manufacturing so much clutter. There's clutter on every flat surface...the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the computer room, the bathroom, the bedroom! CLUTTER, CLUTTER EVERYWHERE, and not a drop to drink...or something.

Frankly, I can't take it anymore!!!!!!!! So I'm trying to de-stuff and de-clutter the house. I've read many magazine articles and searched for tips online. I've tried several methods and plans in my battle against stuff and clutter. But the problem is--what works for someone else, Martha Stewart, my mom, whoever--might not work for me. The solution to stuff and clutter is apparently not one-size-fits-all.

So I'm overhauling my views about my house. Shifting my paradigms of housekeeping. For example, we have a ridiculously small closet in our bedroom. Ridiculously. Small. So my dresses and skirts have been relegated to the Nursery closet (so named because someday that room will be a nursery) and the Guest Room closet. So whenever I wear a skirt or dress I have to go all the way to another room to get it out and put it away. Now, really, this isn't that big a deal but clearly, it's not working for me. My skirts and dresses end up draped over the balcony railing above the dining room. After months of this behavior I realized--it's broken, fix it! I went through all our clothes and filled a huge garbage full of items we just don't wear. Or don't need. My husband had 3 blue long sleeve dress shirts, almost exactly the same. Really? And then I moved all my skirts into the closet. My next step is to try on all my dresses and donate what doesn't fit anymore along with all that other stuff. De-stuff which leads to de-clutter. Love it.

I'm looking around my house and trying to see why there's clutter. The answer is because there's too much stuff. So by eliminating the stuff, there's room to put the clutter away. Thus far I haven't spent a dime but I've managed to empty one large storage bin and two or three smaller boxes. It feels good to purge the house and elimintate the things we don't need or don't really and truly love. Life is too short to fill it with a bunch of stuff I don't love and have to dust around.

And my goal isn't perfection (gasp!). It's to make our house a home. Gee, I've said that before, haven't I? Ann Voskamp' s blog today speaks to this very idea. A 'perfect' home is not a perfect home. Museum quality cleanliness isn't warm and cozy. But neither is clutter and stuff oozing from every closet, nook, and cranny.

And remember how I started this post with God throwing out the crumbs? Well, the aforementioned blog is one of them. So is this blog which my mom sent me. Another is the following verse which I read last night:

Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.--Matthew 6:19-21

So what matters to me most? Having a bunch of stuff because it brings back a memory or I just 'had to have it'? Or emptying out so I can be filled up with things I love? Because my house is like my heart. I can hold on to the stuff I've always had or always wanted, or I can let God fill it with His gifts.

So...go clean out a closet or something! Or read Hansel and Gretl and think about how messed up children's stories used to be. Seriously.

The Same But Different

Looking at the porch from inside the garage

When I enter their house it is always the same and always different. The paradoxical world of a grown up grandchild. The bathroom hasn't been remodelled since sometime in the 1970s. I amused myself wondering who would argue over inheriting the brown and orange seahorse that has been on the wall for four decades. The carpet is the same my whole life, the linoleum upstairs the same for my mom's whole life. Some things never change, and I think I'd be heart broken if they did. I love this old-fashioned house where it's always been simpler to just be.

This photo was taken over 10 years ago
but the house looks just the same.

They are the same as always and of course different. Time has marched on. Their beings more boiled down to the essence. I heard once that our personalities are like a big pot of soup and old people seem more themselves because all the broth as evaporated out. Maybe that's why some old ladies wait their whole lives to be feisty and outspoken. Maybe that's why some old men are said to have mellowed with age. But my old people (who are the youngest old people I'll ever know)...she's simply more sweet and he's simply more devoted. That twinkle in his eye is much twinklier, and the grace in her smile is even more graceful.

Sometimes I feel that the worst thing I ever did was grow up. I stopped being small and compulsive and creative and charming. I did that ghastly thing of settling down, and learning to measure words and affection in small doses. Somewhere along the timeline I started believing that now it was what I could do for them, rather than still seeing all they still do for me.

On Saturday she taught me how to make a pie crust, and my absolute assurance that I would screw it up, made her laugh and say

"You know that thing above your shoulders is your head,
it's okay to use it."

And she's the only dear soul on Earth who could get away with saying such a thing to me. Because she was speaking the root of my problem. I don't believe I can do it so I can't do it. She sees the intelligent, capable young woman I've become but I still hide in the helplessness of childhood. She wants me to be the young woman she contributed to raising.

I know they miss when I was little, but growing up wasn't, in fact, the worst thing I ever did. It was a gift. My grandparents are very old--they were 72 and 64 when I was born. Most people I know, their grandparents are only know reaching into their mid-70s. I don't know if they expected to see me graduate high school... graduate college...get married...and this autumn they got the news their first great-grandchild was born. This winter they got to hold her, and the best photos are of his 97 year old hands and her almost 90 year old hands holding her little month old hands. And if we hadn't grown up, my brother and I, they wouldn't have had these joys, these blessings from a gracious God.

I still wish every now and then I could be the small creative bookish pixie that used to flit around their house and yard seeing magic, making magic every where. But even though I'm big now, there's still room for my head on her shoulder as we watch TV and talk about our favorite person--my niece, her great-granddaughter, and what a miracle she is. This next generation, this breath of life in our old family. She laughs and says,

"We needed some new blood in the family."

One of my favorite things in the attic-
an old pump organ.

The house is the same but different. Same furniture (mostly), the surfaces a bit more cluttered with gifts and knick knacks and other notions. The attic, always my favorite treasure trove, stuffed full. We wonder what we'll do with everything when they're gone. There's just so much stuff, we all say over and over. But I don't want to think about when they're gone. We've been planning for that my entire life. Truly. And here they are, able to give us far more 'stuff' from their hearts than we'll ever take from their house--if we pay attention to the gifts.

I love them differently that I love anyone else on earth, and it will always be that way. My heart has a special room, an attic room perhaps--which for most folks would be insulting but for them seems just right as a favorite place--that no one else will ever abide in. A room furnished with the gifts I'll take from them--devotion to God, devotion to family, laughter, grace, whimsy, ingenuity, smarts, and always and everywhere love.

My Grammy and PapPap. Such childish names, I can tell some people think, when I call them that. But they've never been Grandma and Grandpa, they were entirely different people in my life. I get indignant when people call her my Grandma...she's my Grammy. Always and forever my Grammy and PapPap. In the novel I've been writing for nearly a decade now, a character is raised by his grandparents and although he is a thirty-year old man he still calls them Grammy and PapPap. Like my brother, like me. Not childish names, affectionate names...their only names as far as I'm concerned.

They are the same but different. Still in love with each other but their love is different--it's somehow more pure having been refined by 72 years of marriage and sickness and trials. They love me the same but different--they love me as they always have, unconditionally and deeply--but with a love that has learned to let go and let the pixie-child become a woman. And they love God as they always have, steadily, faithfully, but I think they are closer to Heaven now more than ever. He's drawn near to them in these twilight years, as we call them. But God sees them not as twilight but as a the pre-dawn to the Life that awaits. He sees them the same but different. He's been with them for a lifetime of miracles and blessings. He loves them even more than I do, if I can imagine such a love.

Going home, it's what we call it. Even though my address has never been theirs (which has changed several times despite the fact they haven't moved houses in over 65 years), their house is my home. And every time I go home it hits me, the house is the same as it always was, but it feels a little smaller, a little fuller, a little different but maybe I'm just bigger. And when I lean in to kiss their soft weathered cheeks, I realize they are the same as always and maybe I'm the one who is different.

Off With Your Head!

The author of the book I'm reading Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World used the Queen of Hearts to describe herself and her temper. I have to say while I laughed, my heart was stinging. I knew exactly what she meant. A tyrant, sputtering ridiculous commands in selfish anger.

And again yesterday when Proverbs 31 president Lysa TerKeurst confessed a bad attitude as an outward indication of an inward problem, I had to cringe. As she named off a handful of tell-tale signs of inward decay & rot, I had to wince as I identified with two or three of them. No one likes to have their ugly exposed for what it is.

I've always had a short temper. As a child I'd stomp my foot so hard the china closet in the basement would shake. A time or two I threw whatever object that was closest at the source of my anger (typically my teasing big brother...but not always). In high school when I found out some of my best friends had been gossipping about me, I threw my purse at the dance mirrors in the choir room. It broke. It was the second day of school. With a brand new music teacher.

That day I went home and wrote up a bunch of verses about anger, and a couple Latin phrases my fantastic  Latin teacher had taught us. I taped them to my mirror. It seemed fitting. And I calmed down considerably. When you  have to shell out some cash because of your anger and the choir of 90+ students look at you like you've wandered from the set of The Exorcist...you learn to get a grip.

But lately, my grip's been slipping. I hear myself start to lose it and the words 'Off with your head' form on my lips, foaming at the mouth, waiting to be shouted at the next frustration.

I've been struggling lately with feeling that I am being taken advantage of (and I realize that one should not end a sentence with 'of' but I couldn't come up with a better way to phrase that). But I read this morning that I'm to honor God, even when I feel dishonored. If I'm being honest, and I have to be honest or what's the point in writing anything....IIIIIIII Doooooon't WAAANNNNAAA!!!! (read that real slow and whiny) I don't want to do the Godly thing, I want to do the fleshy thing. I want to live in the moment, stomping my foot, throwing things, feel indignant about how I've been treated. It's not fair. And, childish outbursts aside, I think God would agree that things aren't fair.
But He never promised life would be fair. In fact, He told us it wouldn't be fair, easy, or comfortable. It wasn't for Him, the promised Messiah, the Savior of all Mankind, the God of all the Universe. It wasn't fair that He should be called crazy, be forced to escape from stoning or being thrown from a cliff...and it wasn't fair that he died a humiliating, agonizing, slow death for sins He never committed. Sins that had already broken His heart, now were breaking His body and, for a short while, breaking His relationship with His Father. That is the ultimate injustice.

But the Scriptures never show Him whining. I see Him lose His temper in righteous anger, a truly justifiable indignation of the sacrilegeous defilement of His Father's house. But He doesn't ever explode at the disciples' failure to just get what He was saying. The gospels don't show Jesus losing his mind over little things. Jesus doesn't lash out when His own family tries to have Him committed. He doesn't stick around for the abuse either, but He doesn't get down in the mud, slinging angry words. No, the only time Jesus seems to get in the mud is to produce a miracle.

In this new light, the light of Heaven, my slights and frustrations seem piddly in comparison. What right do I have to look at Heaven, shaking my angry fist, spewing angry words, and stomping an angry foot? Venting my self-centered feelings to God, forgetting that it's His creations I'm talking about. Never noticing that I'm simultaneously breaking several commands...all those things relating to anger, love, and forgiveness.

In this new light, I don't look so pretty. I look like the red-faced Queen of Hearts. But I have one thing she doesn't, because Lewis Carroll never wrote it in, unlike the Author of my story. Redemption is my plot twist. Forgiveness awaits me, and an opportunity to do better. I can draw close to the Prince of Peace, and in His presence, I will also emit peace. While looking into His face, I won't be looking at myself and thinking only of me. And He will start to show me how He sees His creations...with love, compassion, and tenderness.

Jesus doesn't say that it's right or okay that we suffer injustices and a world that just is plan unfair. It was never meant to be this way. So of course it's not okay! But He will help us get through it until the day comes when we enter a world that is fair. How glorious will it be to never hear again, "whoever said that life is fair?" And for all of us short-tempered folks, how truly amazing will it be to never feel that tightening sensation in my veins as I try to resist a good cry of 'OFF WITH YOUR HEAD?' No more selfishness getting in the way of meekness and peacemaking. Just Love and Goodness every I look, every where I am, even inside me.

Someday...no more Queen of Hearts lurking deep within me, stewing and threatening to surface. And in the meantime, I have to let His grace fill me up so much that it spills out onto everyone around me even when I've been wronged. I have to focus on Him so self fades so much that I can swallow hurt feelings, wrong-doings, and every little thing that just gets me going. I'm going to pray for some perspective. I mentioned in yesterday's post (which if you haven't read yet, check it out) the Francesca Battistelli song 'This is the Stuff'. It's my new anthem and prayer. The world is full of situations to drive me crazy and get my frustration building but I have to remember how big I'm already blessed and it's not the end of the world. And in the moments, I have to listen for the Prince of Peace to direct me, and I think inevitably He will point out....how will taking off someone's head do any good?

In The Midst of Counting...

Have you heard Francesca Battistelli's really fun new song --'This is the Stuff'? The lyrics for the chorus are: "In the middle of my little mess, I forget how big I'm blessed." And the bridge has a great closing line of, "It's not the end of the world!" So I was singing along the other day in my truck when I had to stop mid-lyric for one of my famous 'ah-ha' moments. I've been having a lot of those lately. It's good to be coming awake from spiritual sleepiness. Anyway, I rabbit trail....'how big I'm blessed.' That's what hit me.

I've been counting gifts. Check out my newly added page by clicking the tab at the top to find out more about what that means. I'm counting all the little blessings from God. Sunsets. Laughter. Random little boys with swords (I'm not kidding...he was jumping around my office with a plastic sword). Story-telling. A puppy-kisses alarm clock. The thousand ways God shows me He loves me.

But somewhere in the midst of counting I lost sight of the BIG blessing. The one that takes all, the trump card. The one that goes beyond just little me. The one that saved little me. Christ's gift of death for my rebellion. Jesus' triumph over death so I don't have to be forever and ever separated from Goodness and Love.

How often I forget the biggest moment in all history. How shameful. I walk around with His name on my lips but forgetting what He's done. James, whom most scholars believe was Jesus' brother, writes about this very problem. He says it's like looking at yourself in the mirror and then forgetting what you look like as soon as you walk away. To say that you know Jesus but forget His sacrifice. Impossible if you really love Him, with true love, with extravagant love.

So counting all the blessings, that's a good thing. But I can't ever let that get in the way of seeing the blessing of all blessings. Relationship with my Creator, fellowship with the King. (Rabbit Trail: I have some thoughts about God's kingship, especially since watching Showtime's series on Henry the VIII. I know, who woulda thought God could use Showtime to teach anyone anything spiritual? But don't ever put limitations on Him...nothing is outside the realm of His possibilities. I'll be posting those thoughts soon...) I can tell you it is a blessing, an honor, a gift to be able to approach the King freely. Especially the King of Kings. The one with all the power.

On my way to work I heard the first verse of 'Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing'. This is a beautiful old hymn. Jars of Clay has a great version, David Crowder Band has an amazing one. But I think the lyrics speak to this very idea. Acknowledging that God is the source of every blessing....and first counted is always Jesus' blood. And incidentally, I have a feeling these lyrics might become inspiration for many more posts. Read them slowly, let their truth sink in.

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

I Don't Have a Plan For This

Women of the Bible. I'm writing a book in which every character has a Biblical name (except three and they're virtues)...so let me tell you, there aren't very many. I've run out of names. I've had to dip into the 'not-sure-how-to-pronounce-this' names. But the women who are included in the Scriptures are interesting examples of womanhood. Very few stereotypes or caricatures. These were real women who reacted to real situations in real ways. Like me.

I was thinking about a few of them imparticular yesterday. Sarah, Rebekah, and Hannah. Sarah and Rebekah determined to fulfill God's promises for Him. When He didn't do what He'd promised within their timeframe, they both figured out a way to do it themselves. Manipulative and determined. Never mind the collateral damage--Hagar & Ishmael (And Abraham, too) and Esau (And Jacob, too).

But Hannah. Not Hannah. She was broken-hearted. I think Sarah was, too. It's unimaginably hard having a womb that won't conceive, to feel broken. And maybe Rebekah was broken-hearted as well. Year after year waiting for Jacob to be made first, as God had promised. This wasn't her idea--it was God's! But where was He? What's He waiting for? All three women must've asked that question countless times...what are you waiting for, God?

But no matter how many times she asked, Hannah didn't take matters into her own hands. She took it to God, she released her grip on that which she desired more than anything in the world. She cried out to Him.

I don't have a plan for this. 

Those were the words that came to me yesterday. I can't say that I thought of it. No, that was a message. And it actually got through.

I'm more like Rebekah, in a hurry and always planning. Not manipulating people as much but trying to manipulate God to get things done! You know those ridiculous JG Wentworth commercials of people yelling--"It's my money and I want it  now!" I feel like that. You promised me xyz and I want it NOW! 

And I like to have a plan. Sarah and Rebekah must've felt pretty good at first. We know what the plan is, we can make more plans based on that. I love to make plans on top of plans on top of more plans. I'm a compulsive planner. Which is weird because I'm also indecisive...but thats a rabbit trail for another time. 

But these days my heart is worn out from planning. If this is a chess game, I'm exhausted from trying to figure out what His next move is and plan ahead based on that. My heart is fed up with my own plans. Now, instead, my heart is whispering...

God, I don't have a plan for this. 

I don't have a clue how to deal with what I feel or what I want.

 I don't know how to navigate from Point A to Point B.

I don't have a plan for this. 

But I do have His promises. So did Hannah...and for that matter so did Sarah and Rebekah. The defining factor is putting trust in His promises and His character, or putting trust in self. I want to be like Hannah and trust--always putting my trust in Him, His promises, His character, His goodness.

Last year for Christmas my uncle gave me a bracelet which reads 'For I know the plans I have for you' Jeremiah 29:11. And the verse finishes, 'plans to prosper and not to harm you, to give you a hope and a future'. That verse has been my anthem for going on two years now. And my mother-in-law has taught me to see the miracles in ordinary days, and to expect miracles at any time. God can do anything and He will not withhold goodness to those whom He loves. As my mom often reminds me, He makes everything beautiful
in His time. And I think God's definition of beautiful differs from ours. It looks more like Him and less like a magazine. Beautiful is a heart that trusts Him in a doubting world, beautiful is a steadfast belief in His goodness in a fallen world, beautiful is loving Him even when it's hard to see His purposes. 

So while there might not be very many women in the Bible, not compared to the lists and lists of men, there are some dazzling examples. What a legacy of faith they left for us to follow.