simple deliciousness

It's time to quit ruminating and throw out a new favorite recipe of mine: Pork and Apple Bake. There's nothing else to say but YUM!


4 pork chops (I used 3). Mine were nice and thick, and so tender they practically fell off the bone. Tasty!
¾ cup hot water, apple cider, or apple juice
¼ cup brown sugar
½ tsp cinnamon (I also tossed in a little cardamom—it was a good call!)
2 apples, peeled, cored, and sliced. You could easily do 3 apples.

1. sear pork in frying pan in a little hot oil. A little! Maybe a tsp.
2. preheat oven to 375
3. place browned chops in a 9 by 13 pan, as spread out as possible.
4. sprinkle with salt and pepper
5. layer on apple slices
6. combine remaining 3 ingredients and pour over apples and chops
7. cover with foil and bake for 35-45 minutes, until pork is cooked through
8. if you want, pull the chops out of the pan, thoroughly stir a little cornstarch/water slurry into the juicy apple “gravy” and put back in the oven for a few minutes. It will thicken up. Yes, I know. This is usually done on the stovetop, but hey—why dirty another pot? After it's thickened, pour over chops.
9. Eat. Eat it all. It’s good for you. Or at least low fat.

Tastes great with couscous! I might try it with noodles next time—but honestly, the whole wheat couscous I used totally rocked.

as dumb as sheep

I don't know about anyone else, but I know I can go from hip and intelligent to decidedly dumb in less than one point two seconds. It's like a switch that I can't control, a button that gets bumped into--and bam! Stupidity.

Fortunately, for the most part I contain the toxic spill within my own brain, and offer minimal evidence to the world in general.

Unless you happen to be the person I'm speaking to when the idiot light goes on. Sometimes I clam up, and make eight-year-old level comments. No sentences over five words long. (Yes, that was yesterday.)
Or worse--I babble. Things just drop from my mouth. Silly things. Or worse--mean things. Wit and sarcasm gone horribly awry.

I almost always notice when the light goes on, and try to act normal, casual--but the button has been pushed, and the system needs a reset. It may take three minutes, it may take an hour. There's no telling how dumb I'll be or for how long.

And somehow, I don't think I'm the only one who has this problem. We all have...ahem..."issues." Some have more obvious and/or violent ones than others, but we all have them. We're all royally screwed up. It's a switch we can't control. It doesn't matter how self-aware we are, or how good our intentions are. That idiot light will always pop up.

So how can anyone live in this world and not think they need a savior? Surely it's not too hard to see that we all need to be rescued from our own junk. Especially this time of year, when the regretable, illogical paradox of what we have turned Christmas into stares us right in the eye. It's the season of loving, caring, sharing...stuffing our faces, and trampling people as we rush to seize the deal. Doesn't that just make your skin crawl?

Mine does. Because I know it wouldn't take much for me to be just as stupid and selfish, much as my pride would like to argue otherwise.

We focus on the cheap, temporary gifts, and miss out on the greatest and best and most wondrous gift ever. The eternal Gift.
Freedom from my own stupidity. Forever. Someone to set me on my feet whenever I tip over. Forever.

Happy birthday, Jesus.

control versus apathy

You know what the world tells me? We’re supposed to live believing that you can control your life, that bad things eventually happen to bad people, and good things eventually happen to good people—and that if you work hard, if you smile at the right people, if you invest wisely, then things will go pretty much your way. You’ll persevere and climb the mountain. You’ll find that soul mate. You’ll land in that wonderfully fulfilling job. You are so entitled. You're worth it.

But life has a nasty way of knocking those houses of cards over. Bad things happen to good people. Senseless acts of violence occur every day. Kids kill kids. People abuse spouses, children, coworkers, the elderly…you name it, someone’s hurting someone. Including themselves. Every ninety minutes, someone commits suicide in America. Natural disasters and accidents and diseases are everywhere. Why?

There is no why, not the way we understand it. Life is out of control. People cannot control one single thing. Not even the words out of our mouths. Even our breathing occurs without our volition. Thinking you can really control your life makes about as much sense as trying to sail the ocean in a paper boat.

Well, since we can’t control anything, what’s the point? Why should we do anything? Why should we care? Why should we act? Things will never change. Just sit this one out. No matter how hard you fight, or prepare, or save, it can all be knocked away in a moment. No matter how many people you try to help, there will always be a million more suffering. No, thank you. Opt out. Choose not to choose. Step away from the cruel coldness of life. And cover your insecurity and fear with snarky criticism. Get sarcastic.

If not control, choose apathy. One or the other. Those are your only two options. That’s what I hear in both ears, every day.

Bull.

That is a false dichotomy, a sinful lie that has been spread so thick we can barely breathe without inhaling it. And so many of use relax into its embrace. Brilliant young adults coast through life, making selfish choices.

And let me say, that makes me want to kick and scream and swear, and wish that it were possible to beat people into right thinking. But you know what—there’s a better answer than my stick of justice.

When we ask why, when we seek either control or its inverse, apathy, we miss the point. We’re asking the wrong questions. Complete understanding and control are not ours. They are God’s.

In the book of John, chapter 1, it speaks of the light (Jesus) shining in the darkness. And the darkness, depending on your translation “could not understand it,” or “could not overcome it.” When we want to fully understand God, when we want to absolutely know how and why—that is when God would no longer be God. A god that can fit so neatly into my pocket is no kind of Creator or Savior. A god that I can comprehend and therefore conquer is not God.

Book of Job. Love it. Because when God shows up, he doesn’t answer Job’s “why” questions. He doesn’t justify the tragedies that occurred. He doesn’t give a reason. He just says, “You’re asking the wrong questions, Job. You’re focusing on the wrong stuff. I am God. ME. Consider my majesty and redirect your thinking.” And Job says, “I see now—I’m so wrong. You’re so right.” And he praises, through the pain.

Job grieves. Job suffers. Job has crappy friends. Job gets shafted. Job endures with no foreseeable benefits. God does not dismiss that, nor does he provide a pat answer.

“Redirect your thinking, Job. Focus on me. Don't miss the point. Grieve, but grieve in my embrace. Struggle, but know that there is a reality so far beyond your struggles that expecting me to swoop down like a fairy godmother is ridiculous.” (Ok, so that's not really a direct quote from the Bible. Picky, picky.)

Bad things don’t diminish God’s transforming power. He is sovereign. Whatever this crazy world throws at you, he can and will use it for good. Sometimes a good so great you cannot even recognize it from your limited perspective. An ant standing in front of a mature oak tree doesn’t see a tree—he sees a limitless wall. And so it is with us, and life, and all the crap we’re stepping in.

You know what—crap is crap—and it is also fertilizer, over time. It stinks, but let nature work it, and it will help you grow.

Does a plant know it’s growing? Maybe. Maybe not, until it bears fruit.

I am out of control. I will grieve and I will hurt and I will wonder why. And I repudiate apathy and it’s cause—fear. I repudiate helplessness. Sitting still is for sissies. God built me for purpose, for action.

And yet—my life is not a sum of what I do. What I do is the effect, not the cause. My life is who I am while I’m doing it. What is true, what is real, is my relationship with God, wherever I am, whatever happens to me.

God does not call us to sit on our keisters and let life go by. Opposite! God calls us to strive, to work—to run the race, as Paul puts it. There’s no arriving. And that thought should bring not fear, but joy. I cannot control the path. I don’t have to control the path. I am released from that burden. My path will be smooth, rocky, hilly, muddy…

And always an adventure.

Run. Breathe. Don’t quit. Turn a deaf ear to the world’s crappy logic. And please, please, for the love of God, look beyond the why.

deep thots...and Charlie Brown

Ever wondered just who, exactly, is living in your skin? God knows I do.
Seriously.
I ask him. A lot. The same question in a hundred different ways.
And he answers me. Not in one giant chunk of perfect self-awareness (which would undoubtedly be absolutely unbearable and would turn my brain to Spam), but with little flashes. And generally when I'm not all wrapped up in myself.
Funny how that works.

Sometimes, I am certain that God brings people into our lives to show us who we are--and just as often, who we're NOT.
Take yesterday, for example. Children's Sunday school. I serve as the coordinator for one of the services, meaning that I organize materials for teachers, collate offering and attendance records, and generally prowl the halls as an enforcer. (dun dun duh...) I also keep a finger on the opening-session worship band schedule and--my alltime favorite--arrange for subs when someone is out of town. (Ick.) It's pretty fun overall, until something gets discombobulated. I like the kids, and the teachers are great. I'm a good organizer, even if I don't get all uptight about exactly what the teachers are doing every minute of every class.
Breathe a sigh of relief.
But, due to the holiday, we were indubitably discombobulated this Sunday. I knew we would be, so I had plans....
Quake with fear, disorder, for I bringeth...Charlie Brown Christmas! Let's do the Snoopy dance!
Still have some extra time? No problem. I'll ad lib a ten minute talk about goats. Really. (It's a missionary project thing, I promise.) Then we can ship all the kids back to their rooms with their teachers for the last few minutes. They can talk about turkey, or Jesus...whatever. If I don't have enough teachers? No sweat. I have a Koosh ball in my purse. I can pinch hit as a sub.
So, I arrive a few minutes before the service starts, ready to get rolling.
And run smack into the director from the previous service. Who has a bit of a tendency to be a high-energy, high-stress micromanagement speciality item. I very nearly recoiled, but controlled myself before I could physically dive-roll and run for the door, and greeted her cheerfully.
"Are you doing a video? We did a video. Don't do the same one, some of the kids go to both services."
I nod, and smile. I knew that already.
"Here's the worship DVD since there's no band. There's no band!"
I knew there'd be no band.
She said a long stream of something else, but honestly, I tuned out. She had redirected her attention to one of the other teachers anyway, a sweet lady who often sings with the kids' worship band. Then I realized she was dumping the responsibility of worship time on my teacher. For my service.
Geez, lady! Hands off. I'm standing right here, perfectly capable of running my own service.
But I didn't say anything. And she soon left. And then I told my teacher she didn't have to sing. She could just relax, take a week off if she wanted.
And then I talked about goats.

The other director? A great person. Passionate, dedicated--loves Jesus, loves kids.
And so NOT like me. I get high energy. I get passionate. I like to serve. But, thank God, I'm generally organized and chill. Simultaneously. It was sweet of him to show me that.

going for broke

So, I'm gasping for air, sweat making my shirt cling to my body and running down the sides of my face. It's chilly, so my nose is running. I've taken a couple hard falls; I know I'll be sore tomorrow. I wish I had cleats  on; I've lost my footing several times today, once falling flat on my face, almost hard enough to knock the wind out of me. One of my hands stings; I've definitely bruised the meaty part of my palm this week; last week I broke a blood vessel on one of my fingers. Three weeks ago I earned a hand-sized bruise on my shin.

What on earth am I doing? I'm playing. Playing hard. Really hard. I've never been particulary nimble or quick, but by pushing hard I can keep up with just about anyone in this group.
Why? Why punish my body like this? Why try so hard when it doesn't really mean anything?

Because it's not punishment. It's love.

Love of life, and love for my body--for the fact that I can run and jump and hurl myself through the air and catch and throw and fall and laugh. It makes me feel alive. Truly, truly alive. Something in me loosens, for better or worse, making me just a tad wild and loud and flamboyant and perhaps, depending on your persepective, totally nuts. Those who know me are nodding their heads. Perhaps laughing. They've seen me like this.

So, even though I'll need a hot pad for my back after the game, I'll do it again. And again. Because life should be more than just sort of trying. Sometimes, you gotta push it. I'll never be an all-star, and I'll certainly never look attractive while doing it--but I do it, gladly.

I fall again, as three of us collide. I roll over my shoulder onto the cold turf, and laugh. I'm not the only one laughing. I bet God is laughing to, delighting in the fact that I delight in this body he's made me. And laughing because I look so silly.

guess what we're doing...

I'll give you a hint. It involves fabric and a staple gun.

fragility

And still and still and still
there is this restless seeker within me
and I had hoped she’d be dead by now,
dead and buried and at peace,
not writhing on this bed of apathy, not half-sedated by dreaming.
No, she must die.
Die—or be brought fully to life, to her feet, to dance, to sing, to make love
to chance to explore to leap so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that
so high into the air that

And still and still and still
there is this restless seeker within me.