Somewhat Amusing

Never before have I posted a pic of a guy in a speedo and encouraged you to focus on his derriere, but this shot of Tom Daly, British Olympian, is just too funny to ignore:

In case you can't quite make it out, his rump says "British Gas".

Did they decide to sponsor Tom just so they could laugh about their logo placement?

The flame is the winning touch. Heh heh heh...

Also, you may have already seen this. If not then please take three minutes to enjoy it. It's quite funny, whether you relish politics or are simply annoyed by them.

Jesus Will Disappoint You If...

...you have a custom-made agenda for Him.

Lately, I've been learning the lesson that I have very little power. I know that's contrary to what the world is constantly trying to pep us up with.

Empowerment!    You can do ANYTHING!    Wish upon a star, people!

I won't go so far as to call these lies because I think the people spouting them probably believe them and have good intentions, but alas, I fear they are misguided.

I mean, think about it...what do I truly have power over?

*insert thoughtful whistle*

Me.

Little ole me.

Yep. That's about it.

I can choose to make myself be kind, choose to make myself seek wisdom, choose to make myself exercise, and choose to make myself think before I act.

But even in all of that, I don't have total control.

If I get some horrible disease, it's not likely to be my fault because I live a very healthy lifestyle. Still, I can't make sure it doesn't happen. No matter how vigilant of a driver I am, I could still accidentally change lanes right under the carriage of a semi truck on the freeway. That certainly wouldn't be on purpose.

Even in rudimentary ways, I don't have complete control over myself.

Several months ago (on my birthday, in fact) I was under a lot of stress from different sources, but there was one in particular that was infuriating me. I knew what was best for a situation (I don't say that sarcastically because I really DID know what was best and important in that situation), but the only person who had any power to change anything about it was unwilling. It was to their detriment and the solution was so simple, yet they refused. My frustration with them and anger with my own impotence was so great that I kinda, sorta, most definitely... flipped out.

I was in the shower (home alone, thank God) and I started screaming...and screaming...and screaming.

Stupid?

Yes.

Embarrassing?

Mm hmm. (Even though no one was around to witness it.)

Stress relieving?

Oh, yeah.

Would I recommend it?

Not as a regular part of one's routine.

I didn't want to do it, but just like the build up of steam in a kettle will make it scream, so (occasionally) will a build up of frustration and stress in me.

I had been praying for months about that situation, asking God what my role was to fix it. Obviously, I didn't get an answer that was as effective as I wanted and the result was a soapy, dripping, enraged me, screeching my lungs out in an echoing, slippery, closet-sized area.

I was disappointed. Ear piercingly so.

You see, I had an agenda for Jesus. I wanted Him to show me how I could change another person's will. I wanted for me and Him to be a tag team of sorts and dually show this person the error of their ways so that their own life would be improved for THEIR sake. (I wasn't even being selfish!)

That didn't happen.

After my squeaky clean shriek fest, I realized that something needed to change, not in the other person because that clearly wasn't happening, but something in me. I needed to think differently if I was going to carry on, if I was going to be healthy in mind and vocal chords.

I acknowledged that I'd been trying to do something which I was powerless to do and I'd expected God to do something He never promised to do. God will not violate the free wills which He has granted us, not yours, not mine and not *insert name of person presently frustrating you here*'s.

The main point of Jesus's ministry was to save us from sin...our own personal sin, not the sins of others. Neither did He ever make any promises that His incarnation, death and resurrection would ensure my good relationships with friends and family members, nor my body's good health nor the realization of my career aspirations, etc.

When we think He has promised us those things, we are wrong and that's where we get disappointed.

That's what some of Jesus's disciples wanted. I can just hear them after Christ delivered His difficult teaching in John 6:53-58.

"What's all this about eating His flesh and living forever? I came for the snacks and good times, not this bizarre mumbo jumbo. I'm out." (This is my very loose paraphrase of John 6:60 & 66.)

So is Jesus enough?

It depends on what you want Him for.

To help you live a somewhat dignified and wise life in the midst of all the poo that cosmic apes sling your way?

Yes; He is enough for that.

Is He enough to make all of your wildest dreams (and some of your mundane dreams) come true?

He certainly hasn't promised to be.

You may have to vote for Pedro for that:

Hmmm...he is quite the orator, but somehow I doubt he'd deliver....

A Worthwhile Tapping

I've been practicing typing a lot lately.

I want to do something well, increase my skill level in something I like doing.

Most of the activities I enjoy aren't so black and white.

When I write a poem, it might be delightful in the opinion of one person, but not worth finishing in the minds of a thousand others. Same goes for a meal I spend time preparing or a song I sing.

Not so with typing. You either pressed the right keys at the right time or you didn't. As you practice, you are likely to improve, and there's a satisfaction you feel when you see that occurring. Any time spent practicing is not wasted--assuming you're not doing it to avoid a more pressing task like making sure your bills are paid on time or taking out the trash that is stinking up your kitchen.

I hate wasting time. That doesn't mean that I don't relish doing things that aren't incredibly valuable. As long as I'm enjoying myself (and it's moral :) then I can feel good about spending time doing all sorts of things. However, when I pour myself into something and have hopes of certain results which don't pan out, it's very painful.

That's why I have a half written novel rotting deep within my computer.

I've spent countless hours pouring myself into it, but I got to the point where I realized I'd be miserable if it was rejected endlessly by publishing house after publishing house. To know I had spent so much time investing myself in something when I could have spent all that time helping people or honing a useful skill would drive me crazy.

I've considered paying for a writing course in which a published author would take my hand and walk me through the finishing of my novel, but then I think I'd be even more crushed if it didn't find an audience.

I guess that, for me, the joy of writing isn't enough. Perhaps I'm just too practical for that. Maybe that's bad. Maybe it's not.

I want to know my efforts are accomplishing something more than just filling up a page that a few people will politely look at.

And so I continue visiting www.typeonline.co.uk and smile as I witness my scores improve.

This is Too Good to Keep to Myself

I find absurdity quite delicious, particularly if it manifests itself cleverly.

Thus, I give you...

...the Ostrich Pillow!

As you can see, this delightful configuration of cloth and foam enables you to nap anywhere, any time. A wisely placed opening allows you to breathe while blocking out light, minimizing sound and cushioning your forehead.

Let's see this bad boy in action:




Apparently this fellow has exhausted himself with origami folding and possibly some Internet surfing.

Must nap! 

Note the ergonomic hand-pouches. (We all know that when you rest your head on your desk you don't know what to do with those pesky hands of yours.)

I was super embarrassed on my trip to Romania to utilize one of these fine inventions of comfort:

(Perhaps if I had looked as peaceful and attractive as the above pillow-user I wouldn't have minded so much.)

 Therefore I can not fathom pulling an Ostrich Pillow over my head.

However, you have to have mad respect for the fellow who is brave enough to sport this look in public...



At least the stuffing will soften the blows to the head that will certainly rain down on his/her unsuspecting cranium due to the cruel nature of many individuals in the human race.

Are you asking yourself, "Why? Why? WHY?" Wonder no longer. Click here to watch an illuminating video.

And now you know...

We Regret to Inform You...

A friend recently told me that she coveted my life. This made me wonder if I'm being transparent enough. I am incredibly thankful for the great things in my life, but I have my share of problems, some of which are gut wrenching. However, since most of my problems involve other people and I am a firm believer in not airing dirty laundry inappropriately (like on this very blog), then I can see how there might appear to be a dearth of trials and tribulations en la vie d'Aimee.

So here you go... a post about one trial I'm facing that I can let flap in the breeze because it centers entirely on my own insecurities and lameness with nary a glimpse of a malign-able person anywhere.

I applied for a job recently.

It seemed like the perfect job for me: the hours were in the middle of the school day so I could still take my kids to school and pick them up afterward; it was in a library where I've always liked the idea of being employed and there was no experience required.

When I saw this job become available, I couldn't help but think it might be my answer to a recent prayer. You see, with Jeff's promotion (for which we are extremely grateful) came the realization that he will no longer be working overtime which means a drop in funds. The overtime he used to be required to work provided cash for all those extras like vacations, regular oil changes in the cars and extra curricular activities for the kids. (Okay, I realize that second one isn't technically an extra, but you see what I'm saying.)

The logical conclusion was for me to get a job, nothing major, just a few hours a week so that Delaney can take the sign language classes in which she is interested and to ensure that we will be able to fly out to Tobias's graduation from basic training next September. Those things aren't necessary to sustain life but they're still important, quite important.

So I started looking and saw this library paraprofessional job opening. I drove over and picked up an application.

This is where my insecurities kicked in. I have a lot of life experience, but very little employment experience. Filling out an application is somewhat embarrassing when you have to hearken back to your time in a sandwich shop TWENTY years ago. Like my former boss would even remember me!

So yes, I have a college degree and yes, I'm a reasonably intelligent person who can learn new skills and yes, I've successfully managed a home for the past 19+ years, but SO WHAT?

After turning in my seemingly-paltry application, I was scheduled to take a test. So several days later, I showed up at the appointed computer lab with about 12 other women who all looked like they also finally have kids old enough to allow old mom to venture out into the workforce. Looking around, summing up my competition, I was disappointed to see that an actual librarian from our local branch was there applying for the same job as the rest of us.  

Arghhh...there goes that! I thought.

I took the test anyway which consisted of a typing test (I average about 50-55 words per minute with a 98% accuracy) and a barrage of multiple choice library-related questions, some of which were completely inane like "True or False: You must know the author personally in order to be able to check out a book they've written at the library." Seriously?

Needless to say, I did well on both portions of the test.

However, as expected, I received a letter in the mail a few weeks later which said something like, "We regret to inform you that you were not selected for an interview for the position for which you applied."

Ho, hum...

Evaluating how I'm thinking and feeling, I'm not sure that it's the loss of this particular job that is so frustrating to me. It might be more rejection in general.

I'm sorry if I sound like a whiny baby, but I've had plenty of rejection in my life.

Since junior high I've pursued a number of friendships with people who didn't reciprocate. And I'm not talking about people with whom I was trying to "get in good" to secure my own social success; I'm talking about people who I just genuinely found interesting and enjoyable. (Although, looking at some of the truly scary photos of me at age 12 probably explains a lot.)

I've never had a single poem published in a reputable poetry journal though I've submitted them again and again. (See my "poetry" category to the right under "Labels" if you so desire to determine if they're publishable.)

I've applied for a number of jobs over the years and most of the time have hardly been given a second glance.

Then there are many other examples of rejection that strike a little too close to my heart for me to declare so publicly so I will  refrain from referring to them.

Okay, I know I know I KNOW that this kind of thing happens to everybody and the things I'm complaining about probably seem quite shallow compared to what nine-tenths of the rest of humanity is dealing with. I also know that if it is truly important for me to get a job at this point then God will provide an even more suitable one.

BUT,  I'm just being honest that I am discouraged.

And I am tired of being rejected.

THE END

Loose Ends

Not being a professional blogger, I feel no obligation to tie up all loose ends. This blog is a hobby at best and a scratch pad at not-so-best. Therefore, I know I sometimes leave issues hanging in the breeze, unresolved, at least in the minds of my three or so readers.

Case in point: Just about this time last year, I was buying airplane tickets for Jeff and myself. We were going on an adventure to the Pacific Northwest which involved job interviews and a whole lot of hope. You can read about it here and here .

As of August '11, Jeff was on eligibility-for-hire lists with three different police/sheriff departments. That meant that he was considered hire-able and might be called for another interview at any time over the next 12 months.

So what ever happened???

The short story is:

Nuthin'.

At least nothing happened in regards to the jobs in the PNW. However, something did happen here in our present corner of the world--you know, the corner where we already own a house and know people and stuff.

Jeff got a promotion and we are thrilled!

No, we will not be moving to a lush green mountainous region dripping with moss and ferns and riddled with hiking trails.

 

Nor will we be dodging logging trucks on the freeway or side streets.



But, my man has a job that he is excited about and every woman knows how important that is. :)

Perhaps My Dullest Post Ever...

Yes, I realize that cleaning products are about as insipid of a topic as I could choose to write about, but I really do love this stuff.

A few years ago I got fed up with little black strips of pan coating defiling my culinary creations, so I stopped replacing my pans with non-stick pans and bought some stainless steel ones.

Yes, they are expensive, but I figured instead of buying a new non-stick pan every year when its coating started to flake, I'd just invest in some good pots that would last for years. Besides, if you don't care about all your pots and pans being a matching set (which I DON'T) then you can just pick them up at Ross or Marshall's at a fraction of the cost. Who said piece-meal is bad? (Whoever did paid way too much for their convictions.)

There is a problem with stainless steel cooking-ware, though. You can wash it very thoroughly with regular dish detergent and it still looks like this:

See the blotches and spots? And that's after a good scrubbing.

 

That's where this magical product comes in:















If you just sprinkle a bit of this into the pan, add a splash of water, use a paper towel to wipe around the inside, rinse it out, lather away the residue with a sponge and rinse again, then voila!




Your pan will look virtually brand-new.

It also does wonders on brightening up copper strips and bottoms if your pots have those.

My sweet Grandma Hazel introduced me to "the King". I've never been contacted by him nor by his minions, so this post is not a paid or compensated advertisement. I'm just really thankful for the stuff because I hate cleaning and this makes it soooo much easier, so I thought I'd share it with you.

Mommy's Little WHAT???

Once upon a time (seventeen and a half years ago, to be more precise) I brought forth my first born.

He was little, pink, wrinkly and completely helpless.

As the months passed, I kept feeding, cleaning and cuddling him and eventually he could squat in the backyard and play with a garden hose on a hot summer day.

As the years passed, I continued to feed him, teach him how to keep himself clean and cuddle him as much as he would allow (which wasn't much) and eventually he could drive a car and had earned himself the nickname "Honest Abe". (You can see why, I'm sure.)

This next week, my itty bitty baby begins his senior year of high school.



Well, that's not the only momentous occasion of recent times for this boy.

No, indeed.

You see, my boy done went and signed himself over to Uncle Sam.

For quite a while now, Tobias has been talking about joining the military. At first, we just laughed, considering how much he LOVES being told what to do. Oh, and by the way, when we tell him what to do, we don't tag the words "scum sucking maggot" on the end, the inclusion of which makes the whole process so much more enjoyable, I'm sure.

It's a really long story. I've started this post several times and have given up each time once I felt bogged down in all the details, so I'll just be giving you a condensed version.

November, 2011--Tobias took the ASVAB at school.

December, 2011--He found out he scored higher than anyone else at his school that year, receiving a 95.

January, 2012--The Marines started calling...and sending pamphlets and gifts in the mail...and pulling him out of class at school to woo him with tales of heroics and adventures, all of which awaited him as a future Marine...or so they hoped.

Spring, 2012--A couple of Army recruiters sat down at our kitchen table and were able to sway him away from jugheadism and toward soldiery.

(You may be wondering what Jeff and I were thinking and feeling throughout these many months. Well...a LOT of different things but the summary is this: knowing our son and the self-determined, intelligent, needs-to-learn-lessons-the-hard-way-sort-of-a-fellow that he is, we mainly wanted him to make his own decision but to be very informed so he could do that well. Tobias made it clear for months that his intention was to enlist once he turned 18. It was clear that it was happening, so we wanted to be on board to help steer him in the most well-informed, well thought out direction. Still, it's a very weird sensation signing your first born over to Rumpelstiltskin.)

June, 2012--Tobias and I went to the recruiting station to see which MOSes (jobs) were available for which he qualified. There were a lot of them, but not many in which he was interested. We left there very happy that day, though, because he had secured a reservation for a highly unusual MOS--that of firefighter. I was thrilled because it wasn't a combative position and it could give him a huge head-start on a career once he was out of the Army. He was scheduled to have his physical a few days later and as long as everything went well, he would enlist as a firefighter.

Well, during the day long physical at the MEPS (military entrance processing station) it was confirmed that Tobias does not have normal color vision. This disqualified him not only from the firefighter position but almost every other MOS in which he was even slightly interested (37F PsyOps, 35P Crypto Linguist, 35M Intel Collector, 15Q Air Traffic Controller, etc.)

What was left?

11X Infantry.

Oh, dear...neither Jeff nor I wanted that at all.

But wait...

There was one other MOS which sparked the interest of our very odd boy and lo and behold in...

July, 2012--it was available and he qualified for it. This singular MOS which stood between our boy and infantry was...

... 92M.

I must confess, I kept expecting some sort of divine intervention before his enlistment process was complete. I've experienced a few miracles in my life and witnessed some in others' and I thought now was the time for the next one. I wasn't sure how it would be made manifest...maybe a phone call saying that some higher up had waived the need for normal color vision so Tobias could enlist as one of the other jobs that appealed to him. Yeah, something like that.

But it was not to be.

Nope.

It is official...our son signed away several years of his life to become a...

...Mortuary Affairs Specialist.

Honestly, does this look like the face of a future mortician?

Mommy's little crypt keeper

I don't want to seem disrespectful, but it took me a few days to get used to the idea. You see, it's the type of job that everyone solemnly proclaims a "noble profession" as they silently and fiercely thank God that it is not their profession.

Yet, there is a necessity for it, sadly, and there are some people who are intellectually and emotionally fit for such a position. Apparently, my son believes himself to be one of them and actually, I see that he might be right. He's very level headed and is almost completely devoid of sentimentality. (I think his rarely utilized tear ducts shriveled up completely about the same time that his boy-bits descended.)

One thing that helped me see the dignity involved in his future line of work was an HBO movie called "Taking Chance". Starring Kevin Bacon, it tells the real life story of a Marine escorting a fallen Marine home to his family. It shows the difficult and noble efforts that the armed forces make to ensure the honor of the service men and women who give their lives as their remains make their final journey. There were several scenes showing 92M-like workers who play a huge part in that. It is arduous but respected work.

Although this isn't the route we envisioned for him, I'm proud for how he has gone about making this decision and as long as he is engaged in honorable work and pleased with it, then we're pleased as well.

So what's next?

Tobias leaves for basic training in July of 2013. That means we have 11 more months as a domestic family of four.

That's it...ELEVEN MONTHS! It's unbelievable how life just keeps going and going and everything you're comfortable with keeps morphing into something new.

Dear God, thank You for the time we've had; help us live the rest of it honorably and thankfully.

Amen.

Sad, Sad, Sad

It is with tearful eyes that I type these words: Our dear, sweet Elka has died.

Although it's been several days, the shock hasn't lessened much.

Last Sunday morning, Jeff leashed the dogs and took them with him for a mountain bike ride. This wasn't their first time, so it wasn't a brand new experience. Although it was very hot last week, that morning was significantly cooler. He kept them on the leashes until they were past all of the busy streets of our neighborhood and then turned them loose so they could go at their own pace.

He kept checking their progress and offered them water several times. He said they were doing very well, better than ever before. Eventually their journey was nearing its end so he releashed them for the way home.

Suddenly, Elka collapsed.

Jeff dismounted and knelt beside her, stunned by her abrupt change in behavior. At first, he thought she was just exhausted (though she hadn't been showing signs of it even a moment earlier) and needed a couple of minutes to recover. He spoke softly to her and petted her silky head.

Soon he realized she was in pretty bad shape. She would try to lift her head only to have it drop and her hind legs were clearly not functioning. Jeff moved her into the shade on someone's lawn to make her more comfortable and noticed she wasn't able to help him much in the process. He offered her water but she showed no interest in it.

Though she was having difficulty controlling her body, her tail continued to wag.

After several more moments, Jeff saw she was worsening and made a sudden decision. Tethering her and Duncan to a tree, he hopped on his bike and rode it as fast as he could home to get the car.

Meanwhile, I had just emerged from the shower and was wearing only a towel when Jeff burst through the door, saying, "Something's wrong with Elka."

After hearing his quick description, I urged him to not wait for me to get dressed. The thought of her tethered to some stranger's tree while she was so ill for even a few unnecessary seconds made me want him to return to her immediately. He and Delaney jumped in the car and hurried back to the dogs.

When they returned, she had slipped into some sort of stupor, not even able to recognize her heartsick owners. Jeff gently stuck her muzzle into a bowl of water he had brought and she didn't respond in the slightest.

Carefully, he lifted her into the back seat, quickly got Duncan and Delaney situated in the front and rushed off to the vet.

She stopped breathing before they got there.

Once at home again, Jeff lifted her out of the car and onto our lawn. He came inside and sorrowfully told me, "She's gone."

I hurried out front. Delaney and I wept over her lifeless body, touching her beautiful head and lengthy legs for nearly the last time. Even in death she was lovely. 

It was impossible to believe that she was gone. Only two hours earlier, I had been looking out the window at her and thinking how cute she was, bounding around playfully.

Of all the dogs I've ever owned, she by far had the sweetest disposition and was the most amusing.

Sometimes when she would wag her tail, it would move in a circle instead of the normal back and forth motion. That always made us laugh.

She was a lanky creature, possessing legs that were slightly too long for her body. The result was a gangly clumsiness when she was excited which was all the more endearing.

She pulverized several toys far beyond recognition and then continued to play with them as if they were the most beguiling items ever. Sometimes we would hear strange noises and look out back to see her batting her plastic food bowl around on the patio like it was a hockey puck sliding across ice.

When we walked the dogs together, she would often bite Duncan's leash as if she wanted to be the one walking him. Other times, she would walk alongside one of us and nip at our clothes or nudge our hands, urging us to pet her as if she wanted to enjoy some of the best things in life (walking and being petted) simultaneously.

She hardly ever barked which, in my opinion, is one of the best qualities a dog can exhibit. She was compliant, but not timid and playful without being too overbearing. She had soft, reddish fur and beautiful, naturally outlined eyes.



Don't misunderstand; she wasn't perfect. She destroyed more than her share of items which we had to replace, she dug a number of moon craters in the backyard and she would sometimes jump up on you, dirtying your clothes with her muddy paws. In other words: She was a dog.

When Bruiser died, it wasn't a shock. He was 12 or 13 years old so we knew he was living on borrowed time. He had lived a full life of adventuresome walks, belly rubs and tasty kibble.

Elka was only two. I had taken it for granted that she would still be with us once the kids were both grown and gone.

So what killed her? If it had been overexhaustion, I think Jeff would have noticed her looking tired before that because he was watching for it. It doesn't seem like her heart gave out on her because she would have been gone within a minute or two and it took over half an hour for her to actually pass after collapsing. It may have been a snake bite. During his runs in the nearby wildlands, Jeff has killed three or four rattlesnakes in the past year or so. Her symptoms seem compatible with this theory but we'll never know.

Jeff deeply regrets having taken the dogs that morning, naturally, but if he hadn't taken them, fearful of the unknown, he'd likely never take them on bike rides or for runs in the wash. What kind of life would that be for a dog? She loved to bound around freely through the scrub brush, chasing rabbits and plunging through the shallow waters of creeks, sand flying up behind her scampering paws. Though we wish she was still with us, we know that she had an enjoyable life and that's because we regularly took her out of the safe confines of our suburban backyard.

When life is lived best, it's a bit dangerous.

It's so sad. She really was a very precious girl.

Make This If You Like Your Family Even a Little Bit

"Please don't experiment on our guests," Jeff requested earlier this week.

You see, I have a tendency to make brand new recipes when people come over for dinner. Sometimes it works out fine and other times...well, there were those turkey legs for which I didn't have a big enough pot so the ends stuck up into the air while the meaty parts were boiling in a bunch of water on the stove top. Those were pretty scary...and possibly dangerous...and definitely embarrassing.

And then there was the pumpkin cake which I had never made before, but the reason that was disastrous wasn't because of the recipe itself but simply because I forgot to add the sugar. I didn't realize it until after I had served everyone and then taken a bite of my own portion.  

Ick.

(FYI: Sprinkling sugar over the top doesn't exactly remedy the situation.)

But this week, I found a recipe for a chicken curry that I was anxious to try out. Last night was the night.

It is so good! Our soon-to-arrive guests will wish I'd experimented on them!

Here you go:

Curried Coconut Chicken

six chicken thighs, trimmed of skin and fat, baked and diced
2 tablespoons peanut oil
2 1/2 tablespoons curry paste*
1/2 onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
14 oz. can coconut milk
14 oz. can diced fire roasted tomatoes, drained
8 oz. tomato sauce
3 tablespoons sugar (white, brown or palm)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon fish sauce**
1/2 teaspoon onion powder

Heat peanut oil in a large skillet over medium low heat. Stir in curry paste. Cook for about five minutes. Stir in onion and garlic and cook until onion is transparent, about 7 minutes. Stir in coconut milk, tomatoes, tomato sauce, sugar, salt, fish sauce, onion powder and chicken pieces. Lower heat a bit. Simmer for about ten minutes until everything is heated through. Serve over cooked basmati rice.

*This is the curry paste I use:

I have a wimpy-white-girl-mouth so I was happy to find this paste because it has all the flavor without the pain.

**Fish sauce is by far the foulest smelling ingredient I have in my kitchen. (It smells like unwashed body parts. Which parts, I will not detail.) In fact, I've contemplated storing it out in the garage in case the bottle leaks and we have to call in a HazMat team. However, the vileness magically transforms into Thai authenticity once it's cooked for a while. It's a culinary miracle of sorts. If you don't want to house a bottle of this stuff in your home, just omit it from the recipe and up the salt to 3/4 of a teaspoon.

Anyway, my whole family loved this served with some Thai green beans on the side. I had a bit of it for breakfast this morning and I think it tasted even better as is often the case with sauces that are allowed to sit in the fridge and meld overnight. Don't underestimate the power of melding.

Enjoy!

A Plea for Prudence

Recently, a friend of mine asked if the new church fellowship we were attending was part of the emergent church. (Someone had told her that it was.)

I confess that I'm not even sure what her query meant. I mean, there's no official Emergent Church Registry Book for churches to sign, right?

If I understand recent church history accurately, the "emergent church" is a loose term referring to a group of people who are attempting to make the gospel more "palatable" to non church goers by compromising foundational beliefs. (Don't quote me on that.) If mine is a fair statement, then the answer to my friend's question is, "Absolutely not".

However, I suspect that the term "emergent church" has evolved into a phrase that some people slap onto other fellowships whose worship practices seem unfamiliar, whose ways of doing things make them uncomfortable.

Different=Bad

Of course, when we see the above equation typed out, our reasonable minds can dismiss it as silly and narrow-minded, but the subconscious tendency to actually believe it is embedded deeply within.

It's called xenophobia and we all suffer from it to one degree or another.

I do acknowledge that some of the goings-on at our new fellowship would possibly make some more conservative members of Christ's Body uneasy. For example, recently a woman shared her story with the congregation on a Sunday morning. It was one of the most powerful and helpful testimonies I've ever heard.

You can listen to it yourself here. (The whole message is excellent, but if you only have time for the testimony, it begins around the 22 1/2 minute mark.)

Basically,  Lisa was a Christian who decided to stop suppressing the homosexual desires she felt but after years of pursuing that lifestyle she decided she would rather, "Walk with God and struggle with homosexuality than walk in homosexuality and struggle with God". Therefore, she has chosen celibacy and over the years has experienced the restoration of being able to minister to others in spite of discouragement from many Christian quarters. (My description doesn't do this amazing story justice. I strongly encourage you to hear her tell it in her own words.)

Lisa's story is applicable to us all, whatever our individual struggles may be: We walk with God and struggle with sin or walk in sin and struggle with God. Some people are uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of homosexuality and might, in hushed tones, inform others that "That church allows homosexuals to speak from the pulpit".

(Technically, the statement could be considered correct, but its many implications would not be.)

Anyone hearing that sentence uttered might suppose that our fellowship is a place of compromise where leaders invite certain guest speakers in hopes of fitting into modern society, to "get with the times", so to speak. However, those suppositions would be ill-founded, advancing dissonance and inaccuracy. (At no point in the message was homosexual activity condoned.)

That is what this post is really about, not a defense of my new fellowship, but rather a somewhat inarticulate plea that we would be less apt to make assumptions.

Yes, I am speaking to myself. I have been guilty countless times of speaking authoritatively concerning matters about which I knew little. I'm sure I have planted seeds of speciousness and confusion in many minds with my thoughtless comments. I have slapped labels onto people and organizations so that I could mentally dismiss them, therefore "protecting" and "justifying" myself.

I repent.

Unfortunately, I know I'll have to repent on this point many more times before my substance is dustily settled in its urn.

I'm not suggesting we oughtn't stand up and speak out against erroneous statements and actions which we witness in the world and the Church around us. I'm merely stating that it is important that we be educated and prudent while doing so.

Who's That Girl?

Delaney attended her first dance last night. Jeff and Tobias had no idea what she was going to be wearing ahead of time, so they got to stare, open-mouthed when she appeared in the the living room all dolled-up.

Tobias commented, "She looks beautiful, but I don't like it. She doesn't look like my little sister."

You can see his confusion/wonder/discomfort here:

Close-up:



(By the way, Tobias was not dressed this way to complement his sister's attire; this is actually what he wore at school all day. In fact, he wears outfits similar to this every Friday, complete with walking stick. No, he's not normal, but that's the way we like him.)

The dance was actually a cotillion which her school put on for the promoting eighth graders. They put a lot of work into it, wanting to keep it classy and fun. The girls had to wear floor length (or close to it) gowns. They were taught some official dances over the preceding weeks and given etiquette lessons on how to eat properly, etc. It really was a wonderful thing that the teachers did. (Although by the sound of the etiquette standards, my family and I are a bunch of uncouth beasts.)

When we first got there, the kids milled around, oohing and aahing over each others' transformation from middle school teen to princess/rico suave. Here's Delaney with one of her best buddies, Ashlynn:



Soon, the kids had to line up to be presented on the "red carpet". Their names were announced person by person and everyone clapped.



There were more girls in her class than boys so many of the guys accompanied two girls. The dance partners were assigned, ensuring that each student had someone with whom to practice and perform.

As is usual with students this age, most of the girls were taller than their male counterparts. In fact, the following pics make me giggle:





I'm sure he'll hit a growth spurt soon. :)

Here's a better view of Fred and Ginger:


You've got to love his braces and her freckles. So sweet.

Once the choreographed dances were finished, the parents were all shooed away while the students filed into a nicely decorated hall for dinner, a talent show of sorts, a keynote speaker and some non-choreographed dancing.

Delaney, who isn't much of a girly girl (she declined to wear any cosmetics last night), had a wonderful time at her first "ball". Great job, Mrs. P. and crew! Thanks for all you did to make this a special and memorable time for your students.

Meanwhile, while Delaney was nibbling cheese cubes and sipping Martinelli's, Jeff, Tobias and I drove off to attend the graduation ceremony of Tobias' oldest friend, Christopher.

Here they are, looking all grown up and stuff:



This is them (and Delaney) years ago:



People used to always think they were twins. Some lady at the beach accused them of lying to her when they denied being brothers, let alone twins. They were the same height, but if you look at their features they look quite different despite the similar hairstyle and glasses.

Where does the time go?

I'm so thankful for the love of God, family and friends. What else is there? Truly?

Weird, Yet Yummy

I recently made these cookies for a church function. They are unusual, but people seemed to really enjoy them and I was asked for the recipe, so...

...voila!

Chocolate Chip Ginger Cookies

1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1 egg
6 tablespoons molasses
1/2 teaspoon salt (3/4 if using unsalted butter)
2 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom*
1 1/2 cups semi sweet chocolate chips2 1/2 cups flour

*Cardamom is incredibly expensive and the cookies are still very good without them, so if you don't already have some available, don't bother buying any.

Cream together butter and sugars. Mix in egg and molasses. Once well incorporated, blend in salt, soda, ginger, allspice, pepper and cardamon. Stir in chocolate chips and finally add the flour. Blend well. Place bowl of dough into fridge to firm up for about an hour or two. Preheat oven to 350^. Once dough is sufficiently chilled, form inch sized balls of it and place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for 12-15 minutes. Let cool for a couple of minutes, then remove them from the cookie sheet and cool on a wire rack.

I think next time I make these, I'll crank them up a notch by adding 1/4 teaspoon of each of the spices (except for the pepper).

Enjoy!

"Right" or Just "Wise"?

Last Autumn, Jeff and I were struck with the realization that we would likely have Tobias living with us for only another year and a half or so. He's a junior in high school and although things can obviously change, at this point, his plans have him in basic training with the Army as of the Summer of 2013.

This revelation paired with the knowledge that about 50 percent of young people who have been "churched" all their lives are no longer continuing that "churching" once they're out on their own really got us thinking.

And praying.

We asked God how we could most effectively invest in our son not only intellectually, emotionally, and individually, but also spiritually in this limited time we still have. A plan took shape in our minds, a plan that would require us to step out of our very cozy comfort zone.

We decided that about once a month, we would visit another nearby fellowship to see how God was working and being worshiped in other branches of the Church. This way, our kids would witness that there are many ways to do this thing called "church" and that there are a lot of great people and ideas beyond the walls of the denomination in which they've grown up. Our hope was that once our kids were on their own, they'd remember there are variations on the same theme (loving God and people and being loved by God and people) so they would value corporate worship and Christian community enough to seek it out. If their first try wasn't a good fit, hopefully they'd try elsewhere until they found a better fit.

Several weeks ago, there was a surprising turn of events. On Easter Sunday, we visited the sixth or so fellowship since we began this venture. When we returned to our car, Tobias began to tell us all the things he appreciated about this particular experience. Since listing virtues of anything (whether they be animal, vegetable or mineral) isn't one of his usual pastimes, Jeff and I listened attentively.

This is where the perplexing part began--Jeff and I separately began to wonder if we should begin to attend this fellowship regularly. Let me explain why this notion was so startling: We had attended our former fellowship for 10 + years, we both greatly enjoyed serving in the ways we served (Jeff with the young adults, me on the Sunday morning worship team, both of us writing devotionals for the fellowship's website), and we love and respect the people with whom we served. We were quite comfy with all of this.

Over the next several days, we prayed a lot, talked a lot and did a bunch of online research on this new fellowship to make sure it was sound and in line with our own personal convictions. It took us less than a week to decide that we would in fact change churches. That's not to say it was an easy decision. We'd be sacrificing so much. However, it seemed to both of us to be the wisest decision. Once we came to this conclusion we agreed to make the switch immediately. (I had listened to several of the pastor's podcasts and kept thinking, "Oh, I wish Tobias had heard that" and "Oh, there's another thing that I think would have really spoken to him".)

(So if you're wondering why you haven't seen us around at WCC for the past several weeks, now you know. We miss you guys!)

This brings me to the point of this post, which isn't so much to tell you about this specific experience as it is to address this question: What does it mean to "obey" God?

God has given us some very clear directives in the Bible. Adhering to them is "obedience". I am obeying God when I don't cheat on my taxes. I am obeying Him when I don't commit murder. I am obeying Him when I do give to the poor.

On the other hand, when I'm trying to figure out which fellowship to attend or which charity to give to, that's not my attempt at "obedience". It's simply me seeking to honor God in this option or that option. I shouldn't assume there is one "right" answer and the other ones are therefore "wrong". The rightness is in the fact that I want to honor God.

You'll notice that in making the above decision, I detailed that we prayed aplenty, but that I didn't say, "We conceded that God was telling us to change churches."

I honestly believe that if we had decided to stay at WCC, God would not look at that decision as an act of "disobedience". Regular attendance at either fellowship would be a very good thing because they would both allow us to learn, serve and belong. I believe that those are God's desire for us, not so much where we do them. However, looking at both options in depth, one came across as somewhat more beneficial so that's the one we went with.

For the first couple of decades of my Christian life, I was completely caught up in the world of specifics. I truly believed that God had an ornately detailed plan for my life and I didn't want to veer even an inch off that track. I thought I needed to diligently seek Him over minutiae.

Why?

I think some of my reasons were good, like I knew my time here was limited and I wanted to do the best with what I'd been given in the place I'd been plunked. That's a very biblical notion.

There were other reasons under the surface which took some seriously honest self-examination to acknowledge, such as I didn't really want to be responsible for some of my decisions. If it all goes back to God, then don't blame me!

So what changed?

As I became more familiar with scripture, I saw the emphasis on internals far more than on externals. We are exhorted to know, think and behave in certain manners way more often than we are told to determine an exact plan of action.

Of course there are biblical examples of people seeking specifics which result in God clarifying them. However, most of these are in the Old Testament. Since Christ established the new covenant, the Spirit Himself has been imparted to us. What are the fruits of the Spirit? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. In other words, these are attributes God wants to work in us no matter where we are, nor with whom we're speaking about specifically what on Tuesday at 5:07 pm.

Scriptural awareness combined with many years of seeking and (quite honestly) not finding many clearly defined answers to pleas for guidance and specific direction made me realize, "Maybe God's not so much into the small stuff and maybe He doesn't want me to be either."

I wouldn't dare put God in a box and say that He doesn't work in certain ways, nor do I want to ruin anyone's perception of God's intimate machinations in their individual lives, so why am I harping on this issue? (And not for the first time, I might add.)

Genuineness is vital.

I'm committed to it so here's some honesty for you: I was deeply disappointed for quite a while that the "top secret missions" I was confident God would send my way if I only prayed enough or knew enough scripture just weren't happening. He didn't whisper in my ear that the lady on aisle 17 was suffering profoundly from the loss of her brother and I needed to tell her this important message which would significantly help her. I'm embarrassed to type that because it reads so stupidly, but I really longed for that sort of precise intimacy and believed I could somehow attain it. I thought that if I was the Christian God wanted me to be then that kind of stuff would happen all the time.

It took me a while to understand that some of the expectations other believers had encouraged me to have combined with my own presumptions weren't the expectations God intended for me to have.

It wasn't that there was something wrong with me or that I wasn't pure-minded enough, or that I was in sin and therefore missing out on some super spiritual, intimate blessing. It was simply that that's not how God intended to work in my life at that time and He had never told me to expect Him to.

I'm not suggesting that we shouldn't pray for guidance and direction nor that God doesn't ever care about specification. I'm simply sharing a notion that has been incredibly freeing and encouraging to me in hopes that it will help others relax in God's hands. The notion is this: There aren't necessarily a whole bunch of "right" decisions that we need to make in order to be "obedient" to God, nor will our lives be somehow marred or possibly even ruined if we sometimes don't choose "correctly". Sometimes the best option will stick out like a sore thumb and other times we'll step out feeling completely unsure about the superiority of what we've chosen. Nevertheless, God is pleased when we genuinely seek to honor Him regardless of the resultant A or B.

Mud Run! 2012

This is the second year that Jeff and Tobias have taken part in the local mud run.

This year, we dragged our friend, McKenna, into it as well. We told her we were taking her to Disneyland. In this shot, she thinks she's in line for the Matterhorn.

To have a successful mud run, one must...

...tape up their shoes to keep them rock-free:

Take a pre-run photo of your buddies so you can remember what they look like sans-mire:

Behold the super-heroes in your midst:







There was also a man with a green afro wearing an over the shoulder thong, but I sha'n't offend you with a visual.











Regard some of the obstacles you will have to valiantly endure on your 5K trek:






Find the starting line and...Papa Smurf?



Wait for the low swoop of the helicopter and the cool red smoke and...



...GO!



Action shot:



Taste the rainbow, Jeffery:







These luchedoras were confused as to what kind of wrestling they'd be doing today:
















Remember, this is FUN.



Right, McKenna?



Up and over:







Don't get swarmed by the Bees of Sludge:

























Here's a super creepy shot of Tobias:








See?








I told you.








Afterward, stand around reveling in the glory of your muck and mire:



How can their teeth still be white?

Jeff finished in 35:34!




Tobias is going to include these in his modeling portfolio:





Hey, American Eagle, are you interested?


So, has this post convinced you to participate in your local mud run?

Yeah, me neither.