Sweets!

For the past couple of weeks, our church has been participating in a Daniel fast, eating whole foods. Since standing in the pantry and downing a mouthful of honey straight from the jar is uncouth in some circles, I figured I should come up with more appropriate ways to get my fix. Because I am a girl who just can’t go a day without eating something sweet. Our time of fasting is almost at its end, but I thought I might still post a few of the sweet fast-friendly recipes that we have enjoyed along the way.

Apple Pie Oatmeal
½ cup oatmeal
1 cup water
½ Granny Smith apple, peeled and diced
cinnamon
1 Tbsp pure maple syrup
¼ vanilla soy milk

Mix your oats, water, diced apple, and cinnamon to taste. Cook as directed on your oatmeal package. Stir in maple syrup and vanilla soy milk. It tastes like apple pie!

Crackers Posing as Waffles
Break up Triscuit crackers and drizzle with warmed pure maple syrup. Delicious! (This little treasure was passed along to us by Pastor Scott Wilson, of FC Miami.)

Kettle Corn
For years we have had a hot-air popcorn popper, which I’m sorry to say sat unused in a cabinet until this fast. Pop the kernels, spray with canola oil, sprinkle with salt and natural sweetener. (We are using truvia.)

Chocolate Soy Milk
That’s all there is to say about that.

Sweet & Sour Sauce
½ cup water
4 tsp soy sauce
½ cup white vinegar
½ cup pineapple juice
4 Tbsp cornstarch
1 cup honey

Combine water, soy sauce, white vinegar and pineapple juice in a small saucepan. Stir in honey and cornstarch until evenly mixed. Bring to a boil.

Simmer gently on medium-low heat for 5 minutes, remove from heat.

Serve immediately and refrigerate leftovers. Sauce will thicken to a gel when cold.

This is great on vegetables with whole grain brown rice! The recipe makes quite a lot… we had enough for two meals with plenty left over.



So, friends… What have you been eating?

9-11-01

Tuesday morning. I hadn’t been listening to the radio. Not watching television. I was having a great morning with my sweet sixteen month old boy.

I was actually early, pulling into the parking lot of the church where I taught two year olds at a mother’s day out program. Several of the moms were already there, still sitting in their cars, engines running. The shady parking lot was just beginning to gather fallen leaves from the canopy of oaks.

I stepped out of my car and noticed the mother in the black SUV next to me. She had her hand to her mouth, eyes wide, unseeing. I don’t remember her name, but her son was in my class. She must have noticed me noticing her. She rolled down the window, keeping her eyes locked on the nothing in front of her. I smiled and asked her, “Are you okay?” Finally she turned to me, eyes still wide, she asked, “Don’t you know?” and turned up her radio. Then the second plane hit.

The rest of the morning is a blur. I don’t remember much about the activities of the day, just feelings. Being anxious to leave. Anxious to hear news about what was happening, and what was being done about it. We spent that day with our precious young students, trying to pretend that everything was normal. We were cut off, going through the motions. We couldn’t listen to the news reports. If we became upset, which we certainly would, it would upset the children. They were just babies. Innocent children. They couldn’t process this, or our disbelief, sadness, worry, outrage. As soon as the children were picked up, I rushed home to see the news.

That night, our church had a service. I was working for our preschool at the time, and we didn’t know how many children to expect. Did the word get out about our service that night? Would people know that they could come here, and lay their burdens down before the Lord? We readied our classrooms and hearts to receive whoever would come.

As the time neared, I stood by the window, facing north. The sky looked so strange, empty. Normally, the children would stand at that window and count airplanes cutting their way through the sky to and from DFW International. But now, and for days to come, it was blank. Eerie.

My eyes fixed on a sight that brought both sorrow and gladness. The first car, winding its way along the drive and through the gate at the far end of the lot. Followed by another car. And another. And another. The cars streamed into the parking lot, carrying hurting souls to the church for their appointment with the Great Physician. So many hurting. So many coming to be healed. Coming to the right place.

In that moment, I was filled with gratitude: for my country and her people who refused to be paralyzed by fear, and for my church, whose people stand, hearts open, with one hand Up and one hand Out, to praise the Lord and embrace the broken.

Persecuted, but not forsaken;
Struck down, but not destroyed.
II Corinthians 4:9

He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3

Birthdays

I’ve had a few memorable birthdays. I have a vague recollection, like a 20 second mental video clip, of my second birthday in Ohio. My grandparents gave me a plastic Little Tykes swimming pool, complete with built-in steps and slide. Someone rolled it out and leaned it against the side of our gleaming white garage. I had a birthday at McDonald’s once, and we threw bean-bags into the mouth of a big purple Grimace character cut out. I had a party at Interskate in Lewisville. I had slumber parties, where my friends and I made ridiculous home videos that we thought were hilarious. My friend Amanda and I had a party together when we turned fifteen. Now THAT was hilarious.

But today, on my twenty-ninth, I want to talk about a different kind of birthday. A better kind of birthday.

Yesterday was my brother-in-law, Trevor’s birthday. His spiritual birthday. Yesterday, he went to church with us and heard an amazing message presented in a creative way. Trevor has been to church with us before, and because of that, I’m sure that he has heard the Gospel before. But yesterday, he came to church with us and, for the first time, received it.

Now, I know that you’re supposed to keep your head bowed and eyes closed when the new believers are asked to raise their hands. But I just HAD to look. My spirit was jumping up and down at the sight of Trevor's raised hand. I had to look.

I’m a sinner. What can I say? And, while I’m admitting my hand-looking issues, I should admit that this isn’t my first time to peek down the aisle.

At an Easter service in 1993, my brother Adam and I both prayed the invitation. We’ve never talked about it… I only know about Adam’s salvation because I looked down the row, past all our family members, during the closed-eye hand-raising. I am so thankful that I looked up and saw Adam’s hand that day.

I cannot fully express the joy I find in knowing that these brothers of mine are also brothers in Christ. These are birthdays that I will give thanks for and celebrate each and every day!

A Hug in a Dream

Saturday night I had a beautiful dream. It was one of those where everything seems so real that you wake up wondering if it WAS real.

In my dream, it was a sunny morning. Andy and I were walking into church. But it wasn’t the grand worship center of our Grapevine church campus, where we normally attend. It was the much more intimate high school auditorium where the Dallas campus of our church used to gather. Walking down the aisle, the rows were full of familiar smiling faces. I recognized them in the dream, but now I don’t remember who they were. I just remember the splendor of it… like walking through a garden in full bloom.

In the very front row, in the first seat to the left of the aisle, sat an old friend. We used to see each other nearly every day, but that was years ago. How did so much time pass without me noticing? He stood and turned to greet us with that famous smile, giving me a great warm hug. The dream was so real I could feel it. I haven’t seen him for so long. I miss him.

And then I woke up. The ethereal beauty of the dream melted away, and I knew.

He’s gone.



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Better than Busy

There are a lot of things going on in my little world. I don’t like to use the word “busy” because I feel that it implies stress and over-scheduling. No, the word busy does not do justice to this season of my life.

Instead, I like to say that my days are full. I don’t mind spending a season in this manner. I even enjoy it. I am blessed to be given opportunities to use my God-given abilities for His glory. I have even been asked to do a few things that are way outside of the boundaries of my comfort zone. Things that I would NOT list among my strengths. But I guess that's the point. I can't do any of this on my own.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
John 10:10

Jesus tells us that he has come to give us life. But not just life… life to the full.

I pray that my activities at the school are not only for the benefit of the school itself but that, in some way, a child or parent or staff member will see God working through me. That the glory will fall on Him. And because He is the one I work for, I know that it will. I also know that the areas where I volunteer at church are great movements of God. His work will be done with or without little me. I am humbly blessed to play a part.

I am thankful that God has allowed me to have this life. It is a pleasure to receive, but the greater joy is to give it right back.