A sweet friend sent me the recipe for "resurrection rolls" to make during the Easter season this year. A fun idea. You wrap one triangle of crescent roll dough (from Pillsbury) around a buttered marshmellow, dip to into cinnamon and sugar, and put it in the "tomb" for ten minutes at 375 degrees. When the buzzer rings, Jesus (the marshmellow) has disappeared. He has risen from the tomb. They were fun and delicious.
One problem though. My kids didn't want the marshmellow to disappear. They wanted to eat it too. Of course, Nathan had trouble understanding that the marshmellow hadn't disappeared. It had just melted. So when the rolls came out of the oven, his was so disappointed. And the rest of us, were at least pretending to be excited. He had RISEN! He had RISEN indeed!
I've thought about that morning this week. And I've thought that Nathan's reaction was not too different from mine. Not unlike both Marys that went searching for their Lord's body, do I really want the tomb to be empty. Wouldn't it be easier if He were still here? In flesh and blood? So that I could touch Him, taste Him, smell Him, and Hear Him? I want to see the marshmellow and to know that it is real and that it tastes so sweet. To believe that He truly is with me and loves me and is holding me in His strong arm.
It is so much easier to walk by sight than by faith. Isn't it? But, of course, faith is the "assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Heb. 11:1) But thankfully, faith is "not of your own doing, it is the gift of God." Otherwise, I would be sneaking some more marshmellows...
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
ADVERTISEMENT
I cannot help myself. I'm posting an advertisement.
Almost three years ago my family moved from Oklahoma City to Tyler, Texas. You would think that moving from a fairly large city to a small town would prohibit decent grocery shopping and that you would wind up shopping for everything at Walmart. (Now, believe me, I'm not knocking Walmart. It is the cheap one-shop-stop, and convenience does comfort my soul.) BUT, at the risk of being called a grocery snob, I would much prefer a grocery store for my groceries. Now, all that is to say, you would think that OKC's options for grocery shopping would be much larger than Tyler's, but actually the reverse is true. The Walmart Neighborhood Market was my best option across the Red River, but one of the most wonderful things about living in Tyler is Brookshires.
Three brief stories to prove my point. We moved here with a 4, 2, and 2 week old. Chaotic at best. I hardly knew a soul here, and my days were filled with nursing, picking up toys, and just trying to keep order. I made my first trip to Brookshires alone, thank goodness, so this won't be the crazy-mom-with three-kids-pulling-stuff-off-the-shelves-poor-pitiful-me-story. That will be my third one. But I first went to the Flagship Brookshires off of Rice Road accompanied only my purse.
I walked in, and at least three guys stocking fresh produce greeted me. First of all, I never saw anyone putting anything fresh out at Walmart. So this was immediately "refreshing," not to mention, their greeting me as I walked in. Being the new girl on the block, I didn't know where anything was, so I slowly wandered around to get my bearings. Lots of great specialty items, great looking fish (also not at Walmart), a real kitchen for visiting chefs to offer a class or two, fresh Boarshead turkey by the pound, and a good-looking bakery. I was impressed.
After filling my cart with lots of the necessities, I realized that I had missed one thing. Refrigerated pasta. Where was the refrigerated pasta? Well, before I had time to blink, another kind employee approached me and asked if I was looking for something in particular. She had seen my inquistive look. I asked about the pasta and she replied simply, "Oh, I'll go get it for you." She returned (seconds later) with two or three packages of each variety of ravioli that I had requested. "Which of these would you like?" I couldn't believe it. Was she some kind of grocery angel or something? She actually went and got the pasta for me instead of looking at me like I was an idiot or pointing in some general ballpark direction. I almost pinched myself.
And to top it off, as I entered the check out line, two efficient and very competent employees removed and bagged my groceries, rang me up, and one walked me to my car to load them. I offered a tip like my mom had years ago, and the bagger refused claiming that Brookshires did not accept tips. I smiled the whole way home.
The second story is probably what truly won me over to my local grocer. So six months into our move here, I had had another hard day. Hadn't left the house. The kids were so very needy, and I was still getting up in the night to nurse. One tired and grumpy mama. Greg kicked me out of the house, and I told him that I'd make the much-needed trip to the grocery store.
After making my rounds again at Brookshires, I entered the check out line. The familiar checker ran my "Thank You Card" (a frequent buyers discount card), and I waited. After a few minutes, the lady looked at me and said, "Oh, congratulations! You have won a roaster!" What? My sleepy, grumpy self looked at her like she was crazy. She told me to hang on a minute and came back carrying a brand new boxed roasting pan with lid. I did not own a roasting pan. Nor did I own a lid. I stood there stunned, asked her why I had won, and she claimed that I had spent a certain amount of money at Brookshires showing that I was a loyal customer and that I had won a roaster. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Still don't. But I did laugh hysterically all the way home thanking God for comic relief, for my roaster, and that He had chosen to bring us to such a wonderful town. Six months later I won luggage.
The third story happened two days ago. Not quite as funny, but amazing enough to put on paper. This time I had all three kids - 2, 5, and 6 year olds (definitely not funny). They know Brookshires well now and are past the extremely difficult phase grabbing things off the shelf or taking a bite out of the apples, but that day I did have alot of groceries and all of our patience was wearing thin.
It was about that time that Nathan fell, bumped his head, and started screaming. I tried to calm him down, feeling like, of course, the whole store was staring at the cart packed with my food and family. Within thirty seconds (maybe), the florist (did I mention the great floral department?) ran over and asked each kid about their favorite color. Minutes later she returned with three helium balloons in each color, and I had three smiling faces. But that was not all. Not surprisingly, as we were checking out, Nathan let go of the balloon and it flew to the top of the warehouse ceiling. We practiced saying "Bye-Bye Balloon," and I didn't give it much thought. But then the manager walked by and realized that my little guy (who isn't really that upset about it) was missing his balloon. He left and returned with one of those long poles that some of you may use for your gigantic closets - to pull down clothes on your second tier of summer shirts. He worked at it awhile, and was heriocally able to rescue that little blue balloon. Amazing. Surely he had something better to do with his time?
Now I am a natural cynic and very little impresses me. But really friends, are there any stores that you could think of with this kind of customer service? In my former grocery store experience, it was difficult to find an employee, let alone one that speaks to you, looks at you close enough to realize that you have a need, and is eager to help. And if that is not enough, Brookshires actually rewards your loyalty to them. Isn't that amazing?
Not sure how to end this...I don't have a jingle to sing or a sentimental picture to leave you with. Just wanted to share a positive customer service experience...they seem so rare....maybe if I print this out, and take it up there, I'll become Brookshire's poster child....I don't know...but regardless, I'll probably win a bird feeder or something next month.
Almost three years ago my family moved from Oklahoma City to Tyler, Texas. You would think that moving from a fairly large city to a small town would prohibit decent grocery shopping and that you would wind up shopping for everything at Walmart. (Now, believe me, I'm not knocking Walmart. It is the cheap one-shop-stop, and convenience does comfort my soul.) BUT, at the risk of being called a grocery snob, I would much prefer a grocery store for my groceries. Now, all that is to say, you would think that OKC's options for grocery shopping would be much larger than Tyler's, but actually the reverse is true. The Walmart Neighborhood Market was my best option across the Red River, but one of the most wonderful things about living in Tyler is Brookshires.
Three brief stories to prove my point. We moved here with a 4, 2, and 2 week old. Chaotic at best. I hardly knew a soul here, and my days were filled with nursing, picking up toys, and just trying to keep order. I made my first trip to Brookshires alone, thank goodness, so this won't be the crazy-mom-with three-kids-pulling-stuff-off-the-shelves-poor-pitiful-me-story. That will be my third one. But I first went to the Flagship Brookshires off of Rice Road accompanied only my purse.
I walked in, and at least three guys stocking fresh produce greeted me. First of all, I never saw anyone putting anything fresh out at Walmart. So this was immediately "refreshing," not to mention, their greeting me as I walked in. Being the new girl on the block, I didn't know where anything was, so I slowly wandered around to get my bearings. Lots of great specialty items, great looking fish (also not at Walmart), a real kitchen for visiting chefs to offer a class or two, fresh Boarshead turkey by the pound, and a good-looking bakery. I was impressed.
After filling my cart with lots of the necessities, I realized that I had missed one thing. Refrigerated pasta. Where was the refrigerated pasta? Well, before I had time to blink, another kind employee approached me and asked if I was looking for something in particular. She had seen my inquistive look. I asked about the pasta and she replied simply, "Oh, I'll go get it for you." She returned (seconds later) with two or three packages of each variety of ravioli that I had requested. "Which of these would you like?" I couldn't believe it. Was she some kind of grocery angel or something? She actually went and got the pasta for me instead of looking at me like I was an idiot or pointing in some general ballpark direction. I almost pinched myself.
And to top it off, as I entered the check out line, two efficient and very competent employees removed and bagged my groceries, rang me up, and one walked me to my car to load them. I offered a tip like my mom had years ago, and the bagger refused claiming that Brookshires did not accept tips. I smiled the whole way home.
The second story is probably what truly won me over to my local grocer. So six months into our move here, I had had another hard day. Hadn't left the house. The kids were so very needy, and I was still getting up in the night to nurse. One tired and grumpy mama. Greg kicked me out of the house, and I told him that I'd make the much-needed trip to the grocery store.
After making my rounds again at Brookshires, I entered the check out line. The familiar checker ran my "Thank You Card" (a frequent buyers discount card), and I waited. After a few minutes, the lady looked at me and said, "Oh, congratulations! You have won a roaster!" What? My sleepy, grumpy self looked at her like she was crazy. She told me to hang on a minute and came back carrying a brand new boxed roasting pan with lid. I did not own a roasting pan. Nor did I own a lid. I stood there stunned, asked her why I had won, and she claimed that I had spent a certain amount of money at Brookshires showing that I was a loyal customer and that I had won a roaster. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Still don't. But I did laugh hysterically all the way home thanking God for comic relief, for my roaster, and that He had chosen to bring us to such a wonderful town. Six months later I won luggage.
The third story happened two days ago. Not quite as funny, but amazing enough to put on paper. This time I had all three kids - 2, 5, and 6 year olds (definitely not funny). They know Brookshires well now and are past the extremely difficult phase grabbing things off the shelf or taking a bite out of the apples, but that day I did have alot of groceries and all of our patience was wearing thin.
It was about that time that Nathan fell, bumped his head, and started screaming. I tried to calm him down, feeling like, of course, the whole store was staring at the cart packed with my food and family. Within thirty seconds (maybe), the florist (did I mention the great floral department?) ran over and asked each kid about their favorite color. Minutes later she returned with three helium balloons in each color, and I had three smiling faces. But that was not all. Not surprisingly, as we were checking out, Nathan let go of the balloon and it flew to the top of the warehouse ceiling. We practiced saying "Bye-Bye Balloon," and I didn't give it much thought. But then the manager walked by and realized that my little guy (who isn't really that upset about it) was missing his balloon. He left and returned with one of those long poles that some of you may use for your gigantic closets - to pull down clothes on your second tier of summer shirts. He worked at it awhile, and was heriocally able to rescue that little blue balloon. Amazing. Surely he had something better to do with his time?
Now I am a natural cynic and very little impresses me. But really friends, are there any stores that you could think of with this kind of customer service? In my former grocery store experience, it was difficult to find an employee, let alone one that speaks to you, looks at you close enough to realize that you have a need, and is eager to help. And if that is not enough, Brookshires actually rewards your loyalty to them. Isn't that amazing?
Not sure how to end this...I don't have a jingle to sing or a sentimental picture to leave you with. Just wanted to share a positive customer service experience...they seem so rare....maybe if I print this out, and take it up there, I'll become Brookshire's poster child....I don't know...but regardless, I'll probably win a bird feeder or something next month.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Immediately
About three weeks ago, I frantically dialed those three dreaded numbers for the first time. It was a "school day" and I had been reading in Ben's room with all three kids. Nathan was on his third day, fifty-second hour, of throwing up and a trash can waited by Ben's twin bed where our sick little guy tried to rest. The dreaded stomach virus had attacked, and it still haunts me every time someone in my family so much as coughs.
We were reading our Roman mystery aloud and as I said, Nathan lay listless on the bed. I looked at him briefly because he started moving around restlessly. Ben and Lauren were coloring and building with some Legos (a special treat sometimes when we are reading). Then, in the blink of an eye, Nathan's body froze. He had been on all fours like a little puppy, and just like that, he tipped over. He lay still (in an all-fours position) and his eyes got really wide. He was slightly trembling, unconscious and stiff as a board. I ran to him, grabbed him, tried to pry his arms out of their locked position, and then started screaming....He began to spit up a bit...
I ran to the phone and dialed 911. Obviously trained to respond to hysterical women who think that their 2 year olds are having seizures, the lady who answered talked me through Nathan's unidentified "episode". I think that it lasted a mere thrity seconds before he was sound asleep in my arms, his body limp like linguini.
After the ambulance ride, an IV of fluids, and a doctor's visit, we were home in about four hours. A morning I would like to forget. Doctors believe that our little guy had a "vasovagul" episode due to dehydration from the virus, but I'm not sure that we will ever be sure. It is simply an educated guess. He is fine now and doesn't remember it.
So after the reality of something like this is over, and tears and fears have been replaced by a return to diapers, books, and extracurriculars, it is interesting to look at the whole thing again. Not to relive it, of course, but to think about it.
My most acute response and concern lies with Nathan...is he epileptic? Was this really just a viral response? I won't have that answer until it happens again.
But, as for myself, it is interesting to think back on my response to the "emergency". I certainly think that I did the right thing at the time by calling 911. And I think that it was a normal response for a mother of three little ones who had never witnessed anything like that before. But I have been reading the gospel of Mark this month and it has been interesting to revisit "sick people's" responses to their illnesses. Gentile women, Roman soldiers, disciples at many levels, are described as going "immediately" to Jesus with their aches and pains (I counted about 12 immediatelys in the first 6 chapters). Many of the episodes read as though the ailing one (or family member of the sick) makes a B-line directly to him, probably stumbling over the crowds of His followers trailing his robe.
Of course in that day, there was no 911. No Tylenol. No Benadryl. But when I read Mark, broken man and women from all over, with lots of different "theologies" so earnestly fled to this Great Physician, this Son of Man who walked gently with them. Who wept. Who was thirsty too. But whose powerful hand could heal the blind, the mute, and the demon-possessed.
And what amazes me more is that they didn't even know exactly who He was! They couldn't know that the resurrection was coming. They didn't know of that this healing power was a glimpse of a power that was to come.
I envy them. I long for that same faith. For that immediate disaster response when even so much as a headache flusters me. Would I dare, Lord, flee to you with the smallest headache? Do I turn to you first when I think my son is seizing? Do I run like an Olympic champion to you with all of my fears about the future? I know that Paul liked to say that we are running a long, grueling marathon to heaven. We must stay the course with much endurance. This is true. But I sure would like to win a few sprints....if it meant that He was at the finish line.
We were reading our Roman mystery aloud and as I said, Nathan lay listless on the bed. I looked at him briefly because he started moving around restlessly. Ben and Lauren were coloring and building with some Legos (a special treat sometimes when we are reading). Then, in the blink of an eye, Nathan's body froze. He had been on all fours like a little puppy, and just like that, he tipped over. He lay still (in an all-fours position) and his eyes got really wide. He was slightly trembling, unconscious and stiff as a board. I ran to him, grabbed him, tried to pry his arms out of their locked position, and then started screaming....He began to spit up a bit...
I ran to the phone and dialed 911. Obviously trained to respond to hysterical women who think that their 2 year olds are having seizures, the lady who answered talked me through Nathan's unidentified "episode". I think that it lasted a mere thrity seconds before he was sound asleep in my arms, his body limp like linguini.
After the ambulance ride, an IV of fluids, and a doctor's visit, we were home in about four hours. A morning I would like to forget. Doctors believe that our little guy had a "vasovagul" episode due to dehydration from the virus, but I'm not sure that we will ever be sure. It is simply an educated guess. He is fine now and doesn't remember it.
So after the reality of something like this is over, and tears and fears have been replaced by a return to diapers, books, and extracurriculars, it is interesting to look at the whole thing again. Not to relive it, of course, but to think about it.
My most acute response and concern lies with Nathan...is he epileptic? Was this really just a viral response? I won't have that answer until it happens again.
But, as for myself, it is interesting to think back on my response to the "emergency". I certainly think that I did the right thing at the time by calling 911. And I think that it was a normal response for a mother of three little ones who had never witnessed anything like that before. But I have been reading the gospel of Mark this month and it has been interesting to revisit "sick people's" responses to their illnesses. Gentile women, Roman soldiers, disciples at many levels, are described as going "immediately" to Jesus with their aches and pains (I counted about 12 immediatelys in the first 6 chapters). Many of the episodes read as though the ailing one (or family member of the sick) makes a B-line directly to him, probably stumbling over the crowds of His followers trailing his robe.
Of course in that day, there was no 911. No Tylenol. No Benadryl. But when I read Mark, broken man and women from all over, with lots of different "theologies" so earnestly fled to this Great Physician, this Son of Man who walked gently with them. Who wept. Who was thirsty too. But whose powerful hand could heal the blind, the mute, and the demon-possessed.
And what amazes me more is that they didn't even know exactly who He was! They couldn't know that the resurrection was coming. They didn't know of that this healing power was a glimpse of a power that was to come.
I envy them. I long for that same faith. For that immediate disaster response when even so much as a headache flusters me. Would I dare, Lord, flee to you with the smallest headache? Do I turn to you first when I think my son is seizing? Do I run like an Olympic champion to you with all of my fears about the future? I know that Paul liked to say that we are running a long, grueling marathon to heaven. We must stay the course with much endurance. This is true. But I sure would like to win a few sprints....if it meant that He was at the finish line.
Friday, January 29, 2010
It is finished
Finding time to write has been like finding time to redo my toenails. It hasn't been a priority (I don't wear flip-flops in the winter), and I really don't want pull up all of the yucky stuff today anyway. And for me, as with toenails, you kind of have to finish what you have started. Who wants three red toenails? Likewise, I'm not one to start a blog entry and not really finish, at least within two or three days. I know this is a gift that the great writers possess, to mull over passages of genius before pushing the "save" button, but I'm not one of them. I like to have a finished product fairly quickly. And, most often, it is definitely at the expense of the product.
This is true in most areas of my life. Just ask my husband. I like knitting projects, dishes, sweeping, to-do lists, registration forms, meals, lesson plans and deadlines COMPLETED. I can rest quietly at the end of a day only if what I was supposed to finish that day is DONE. And, yes, I confess, I'm a little obsessive about it. Thus, there are many sleepless nights and many lists lying around our house waiting to be crossed-off and thrown into the abyss of completeness.
Our family loves hymns. There is an old hymn in our Trinity Hymnal called "Hark! the Voice of Love and Mercy". It sat unnoticed among the worn pages of our family hymnal until just this past year. My family purchased a copy of Red Mountain Church's (Birmingham, Alabama) redone hymns. There have produced several fantastic CDs (I recommend them all),but the one entitled "Help my Unbelief" is one of our favorites. It has some great acoustic interpretations of beautiful hymns, most unknown to the contemporary world. Song #4 (as my children call it) is called "It is Finished" (otherwise known as "Hark! the Voice of Love and Mercy" on page #259 in our hymnal).
In my college days I had a 25 minute commute to my favorite local church in Franklin, Tennessee. With windows rolled down, my left leg propped up on the side of the driver's seat, music flying out of the windows of my Honda, my soul sang with the poets of our days and those of long ago (I loved hymns even then). I sang loudly. But now I rarely sing with gusto, or with pleasure, or with tears; most of my time in the car is spent driving three kids to ballet or to the grocery store - hardly time to emotionally let go and enjoy those five minute trips that let you listen to music freely. I might have time for one song in the car, but the kids usually get to choose first. And if you have kids, you know why. Occasionally when I have a little drive to Dallas by myself or when I'm driving to an evening coffee date, I might turn up some tunes, but usually it is Coffeehouse or something like old Dave Matthews. Nothing to rock my soul like those hymns.
But the other day, Song #4 came on while racing to basketball practice. Much had been left undone at home, including laundry, unlocked doors, and the scattering of toys in the driveway. Something struck me as the song began and I sang. I sang loudly. I sang with pleasure. And I sang with tears. I even smiled. Let me share a brief excerpt from the updated version. I think you can find the tune on www.redmountainmusic.com.
Hark! the voice of love and mercy
Sounds aloud from Calvary:
See, it rends the rocks asunder,
Shakes the earth and veils the sky
It is finished! It is finished! Hear the dying Savior cry.
It is finished! It is finished! Hear the dying Savior cry.
Finished all the types and shadows of the ceremonial law;
Finished all that God had promised; death and hell no more shall awe;
It is finished! It is finished! Saints from hence your comfort draw;
It is finished! It is finished! Saints from hence your comfort draw.
Dear friends (I'm preaching now), this is a song to turn up and belt out. Amidst all of my unfinished blogs, amidst all of the lingering chores, amidst all of the toys left on the ground, amidst all of the unresolved conflicts, amidst all of the feelings of being imcomplete, my GOD, my LORD, has finished His business. He has finished all that matters. He has finished our salvation. He has finished our glorification. He has finished the brokenness in me and in my world. He has defeated the enemy. He has finished all that He started on that first day. And my guess is that those toys on the ground don't matter quite so much....
He has finished.
It is finished.
So, dear Saints, from hence your comfort draw.
This is true in most areas of my life. Just ask my husband. I like knitting projects, dishes, sweeping, to-do lists, registration forms, meals, lesson plans and deadlines COMPLETED. I can rest quietly at the end of a day only if what I was supposed to finish that day is DONE. And, yes, I confess, I'm a little obsessive about it. Thus, there are many sleepless nights and many lists lying around our house waiting to be crossed-off and thrown into the abyss of completeness.
Our family loves hymns. There is an old hymn in our Trinity Hymnal called "Hark! the Voice of Love and Mercy". It sat unnoticed among the worn pages of our family hymnal until just this past year. My family purchased a copy of Red Mountain Church's (Birmingham, Alabama) redone hymns. There have produced several fantastic CDs (I recommend them all),but the one entitled "Help my Unbelief" is one of our favorites. It has some great acoustic interpretations of beautiful hymns, most unknown to the contemporary world. Song #4 (as my children call it) is called "It is Finished" (otherwise known as "Hark! the Voice of Love and Mercy" on page #259 in our hymnal).
In my college days I had a 25 minute commute to my favorite local church in Franklin, Tennessee. With windows rolled down, my left leg propped up on the side of the driver's seat, music flying out of the windows of my Honda, my soul sang with the poets of our days and those of long ago (I loved hymns even then). I sang loudly. But now I rarely sing with gusto, or with pleasure, or with tears; most of my time in the car is spent driving three kids to ballet or to the grocery store - hardly time to emotionally let go and enjoy those five minute trips that let you listen to music freely. I might have time for one song in the car, but the kids usually get to choose first. And if you have kids, you know why. Occasionally when I have a little drive to Dallas by myself or when I'm driving to an evening coffee date, I might turn up some tunes, but usually it is Coffeehouse or something like old Dave Matthews. Nothing to rock my soul like those hymns.
But the other day, Song #4 came on while racing to basketball practice. Much had been left undone at home, including laundry, unlocked doors, and the scattering of toys in the driveway. Something struck me as the song began and I sang. I sang loudly. I sang with pleasure. And I sang with tears. I even smiled. Let me share a brief excerpt from the updated version. I think you can find the tune on www.redmountainmusic.com.
Hark! the voice of love and mercy
Sounds aloud from Calvary:
See, it rends the rocks asunder,
Shakes the earth and veils the sky
It is finished! It is finished! Hear the dying Savior cry.
It is finished! It is finished! Hear the dying Savior cry.
Finished all the types and shadows of the ceremonial law;
Finished all that God had promised; death and hell no more shall awe;
It is finished! It is finished! Saints from hence your comfort draw;
It is finished! It is finished! Saints from hence your comfort draw.
Dear friends (I'm preaching now), this is a song to turn up and belt out. Amidst all of my unfinished blogs, amidst all of the lingering chores, amidst all of the toys left on the ground, amidst all of the unresolved conflicts, amidst all of the feelings of being imcomplete, my GOD, my LORD, has finished His business. He has finished all that matters. He has finished our salvation. He has finished our glorification. He has finished the brokenness in me and in my world. He has defeated the enemy. He has finished all that He started on that first day. And my guess is that those toys on the ground don't matter quite so much....
He has finished.
It is finished.
So, dear Saints, from hence your comfort draw.
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