Category: The Chef

stories of my amazing husband, my favorite teacher ever

It Feels Like a Hat Day

On By LisaIn Faith, The Chef3 Comments

I wonder if I can wear a hat in church today? I mean, we no longer hold to fancy dresses and suits, do we still need to adhere to that rule as well? Isn’t it time to reevaluate some customs to see if they are pertinent? Maybe it just takes one person, me, to start the revolution, to wear a very tasteful hat into church today, to not remove it as I enter the sanctuary,to worship with my head covered, sing and pray and give my offering all with my hat on.  I think it is time someone takes up this cause, I feel called to move on it.

On a side note, I got a bit close to the bonfire last night and singed my hair and eyebrows. I didn’t even realize it until Plum and I went inside for s’mores supplies and I brushed my hand across the top of my head and former pieces of my hair fluttered around us like a sudden snow storm. At first I thought it was ashes, then realization hit as more and more “snow” fell and the distinct odor of fried hair filled my nostrils. As I quietly explained the situation to Plum, something along the lines of ,”Oh shit, Plum, I think I burnt my hair,” he shared my fear and concern with fits of laughter. Finally controlling his worry, he looked closer and added that I had also gotten my eyebrows, which led him back to more empathic hilarity.

I struggle to see without my glasses so my hair cut is a bit rough.I went back over it throughout the evening, the scissors ever at the ready when I found a bit that seemed longer than the rest. Have you ever tried to cut the back of your hair while assuring a 6 year old that it will grow back and appearance isn’t everything?  I didn’t talk about eyebrows which I have heard don’t really return as easily. This is actually a scientific experiment for us. Research if you will. We will chart the growth patterns of the fifty-something eyebrow, the ability to regenerate after a devastating loss.

Chef was out of town visiting his mother which is why I got to light the fire in the first place. I didn’t mention our adventure when he called on his way home. We have so many fun times with Plum this one just slipped my mind. Already in bed, huddled fully under the covers when he got here, we didn’t discuss any more about our day. Really who can remember every little detail?  Apparently almost 6 year olds. His first words to me this morning were not,”good morning my wonderful loving gran, who I adore, who makes me hot chocolate and plays battle games for an entire weekend even though she dislikes battling.”  No, he said, “Can I go wake up Grandpa and tell him about your hair?”  He is sometimes not that cute.

Anyway, I have this cute new hat that I am dying to wear and it is getting so chilly out and I need to protect my health and I think it is time to challenge some customs and I just need to figure out how to buy off this kid so he doesn’t go blabbing his mouth to the entire congregation. Also I have to find an eyebrow pencil.  All in all, nothing to write about today.

Wallowing Wednesday Is Over

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

I can’t think of anything more annoying than needing to be at church when I am crabby. Unable to cast off my commitment, I had to show up when I wanted to stay on the couch, under the blanket and watch reruns of the Office. My day started out poorly and went downhill with each passing moment. I was reminded of a favorite children’s book, “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good , Very Bad Day” that I read to my kids and now to Plum when a day has just been rough. Alexander wants to move to Australia, the solution to everything going wrong from the moment he gets out of bed. Australia was looking realy good to me yesterday.

After receiving unwelcome news, I wallowed in self-pity, familiar territory where little was required of me, anger and bitterness could fester.  The dishes stayed dirty, the floor didn’t get swept. I sat and stewed until I finally ran out of time and had to get to church. Loading up my car with all the makings for the evening meal proved Herculean, the pork chops Chef had cut the evening before had leaked all over my fridge, the box stuck to the shelf. One crock pot didn’t ever get turned on, the apples weren’t cooked for the applesauce. At the church, the grill wouldn’t light. A local group was using our site for a meeting all week, they had their stuff in my way. I snuck outside to smoke one last cigarette before beginning, trying to find some peace. The only spot away from everyone was the preschool playground, the enclosed area with only a sliver of shelter from the rain. As I exited the building the door slipped from my grasp and I was locked out, fenced in, smoking on the playground. Royally pissed at the world, myself and even God who clearly had nothing to door with my bad habit, I had to climb the fence and walk around the building to gain entrance again. Maybe that was my chance to come in with a better attitude. I missed it.

One hundred and fifty chops had to be cooked inside with 10 minutes to go before service. I    was frustrated with Chef who had no control over the grill that wouldn’t light. I was irritated by all these people who came in with smiles and words of encouragement. Could they not sense that I was trying to wallow? No, they chose to eat the dinner, forgive the delay, compliment the macaroni and cheese, continue bringing smiles to my frown. What is wrong with these people? This is exactly why I didn’t want to be there. How can I possibly hold on to self-pity, how can I focus on everything that is wrong when these people insist on surrounding me? At the end of our class when we shared prayer concerns, I stated that it had been a rough week. One gentleman suggested I was ready for a blessing. Damnit. Straight to my soul. How could I sit among these people and not acknowledge how blessed I am? Because I AM so very blessed in big and small ways every day, even bad days.

At almost 53, I was still able to climb that fence. The dinner was cooked, the fridge will get cleaned. I have more hurdles ahead, so much unknown. If this group of people accept me on my crabby days, refuse to let go of a sister who is hurting and lashing out, what else do I really need? Maybe if I just keep showing up the rest will become clear. Yesterday was the day the Lord made, I did little rejoicing. Some days are just like that. God gave me a new day, another chance to be glad and work on my attitude. Wallowing Wednesday is over. Thankful Thursday has arrived. I am grateful no one witnessed me trying to climb that fence, that I didn’t rip my jeans. I am thankful Wednesday is behind me. I’m glad I have hot coffee, a warm home, a loving husband, and friends who show me grace. I am not researching ticket prices to Australia just yet.

Choosing When to Battle

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

Insects and spiders are trying to take over my home. I don’t kill, instead I practice a catch and release strategy so it is possible the same damn spider is sneaking back in.  I am considering grabbing one of Plum’s Sharpies to start tagging my catch before placing it back out in the wild. Everyone else in the family shrieks when they see these huge spiders skittering across the floor, I get it, if it were a mouse I would be up on a chair myself. But spiders build intricate webs that I truly find breathtaking, OUTSIDE.  Thus, catch and release.

Earlier in the summer I moaned about the number of flies in our home caused by beasts who open the front door and stand in the space peering out, unable to commit. The flies also were welcomed in by a certain boy who raced out the back door towards the trampoline, a boy who could not be slowed by such a mundane tasks closing the door behind him to ensure our home not become the set for Amittyville Horror. Still, most of the flies are gone or at least slow enough even I can get them. The buzzing sound makes me insane when I am finally laying down to sleep. Okay, I do kill flies.

Unfortunately we have been invaded by a new insect, the stink bug. I wish it were a joke, a pun about Plum after he eats cheese or the beasts when they find feces from another species left in the yard and delight in rolling in it, covering their coat in this fresh new scent. Alas these bugs are real. Their primary defense is to emit a wicked awful smell if they are disturbed. Unlike a sneaky spider, these things fly in like a B-52 bomber, so loud, announcing they are ready to battle. They have confidence, they know they stink. I kill these too. I am not afraid to get a bit smelly to rid my home of fighter pilots who hide among the curtains and wait for me to turn out all the lights except the one by my bed. They rush in, a full squadron, land about my pillow and declare dominance. That may work in other settings but I protect my pillow. Catch and release, right into the toilet, a watery end to a worthy opponent.

Okay, I do kill. But not much. I really am non-violent but I am okay with confronting evil and protecting my family, my home. An inability to manage conflict doesn’t end the conflict. Avoiding problems doesn’t make them disappear any more than letting those bugs hang out in my home. They tell their friends they have a safe place, more come in.  They interrupt my sleep, torment my beasts, nibble on my clothes. Some disagreements must be faced in order to move forward.

The Old Testament is replete with battle stories. God led His people in righteous war, many other fights were not in His name. The challenge for me is to remember to ask God first, before I pick up any weapons.  Paul spoke beautifully about confronting evil, the true weapons I would need. He didn’t list guns or baseball bats, frying pans or even a flyswatter.

A Fight to the Finish

10-12 And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.

13-18 Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out    Ephesians 6:10-18The Message (MSG)

Facing the disruptions in our life with these weapons, we recognize we don’t have to go for the kill. Accepting that it is critical that we confront the wrongs and seek resolution, we must first put on God’s armor. It does get heavy though, we are blessed to have many who hold us up. Some battles are as swift as catching the spider, some last many months, years. Much of life happens in the waiting, joy can be missed if we are only focused on the war at hand. Unable to read before I fall asleep, waiting for the next stink bug to attack, adrenaline interferes with my ability to calm and relax. Once the threat is removed though, I have to choose not to ruminate on the damn bugs who pestered me in the first place. I have to choose peace.  Actively lowering my blood pressure after washing my hands, ridding my body of the stench, it is up to me to let it go, at least for another night.

This season of stink bugs will end. Confronting evil is a constant, warring with insects may well be my preparation. An influx of mice hoping for warmth may well be around the corner. God help us. I will need more than armor for that.

 

Lifting the Anchor

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

My “need to do” list has out-paced my motivation. The yard has grown more forlorn each passing day, my clippers haven’t left the shed. Summer plants are sad, blooms faded and forgotten. Empty pots sit neglected. Inside, a tote of holiday decorations mocks me daily. I ignore it. The rush of energy, the structure to my days is missing.  Too much time to think about the past and ruminate about what might lie ahead paralyzes me. Waiting for answers, seeking direction have stopped forward movement, all progress. Stuck.

Finally, tomorrow we will begin the steps of reconciling our past, putting betrayal behind us and looking fully to the future. The anxiety involved in facing those who have created such unrest is nothing compared to the hope of becoming unstuck, moving towards our future. I can feel the excitement building, the opportunity to begin again. A boat can’t move while anchored yet still is rocked, we have been tied to the past just the same. Truly severing all that held us in place and left us daily hit by waves, means we can chart our own course. Today feels new already, the tote holds promise, the yard not so intimidating. Today I am looking to the future, even knowing the anchor has yet to be raised. I can see it coming up though.  Look out, this ship is getting ready to move.

If you feel so moved, we covet your prayers tomorrow. Moving us out of port will take an entire crew, we are trusting that God is at the helm.

Intruder

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Stella, The Chef, TravelLeave a comment

Drama wanted to come for a visit yesterday. I know this drama, once allowed in, it takes over my home, steals all of my emotional energy, takes my money, separates me from my husband, keeps me from sleeping. This drama knocks on the door, if I don’t answer, it tries to barge right in, uninvited, when my back is turned. I lock the doors, try to reinforce the boundaries, drama can be heard imploring for entrance through the cracks under the door. I call in help, ask for support. I need reminders that I am bigger than this, I don’t have to play host to this intruder.

Disengaging from the choices others make is ultimately a matter of survival for me. I know that I am a rescuer, my instinct is to always give my lifejacket away and then I risk drowning. In the past I have given my preserver to those not even in the water, those taunting from the shore. I was confused, I thought if I just gave more, ever more, we would have reconciliation. We would all swim together. I know differently now. Some people will just never stay in the water with me, not for long anyway. Maybe only long enough for me to think we are all comfortable, we are delighting in the same pool. Drama joins our swim party, the cycle begins again. Except I am just too tired to keep swimming, keep recsuing, keep interacting with drama. I am choosing to try new strategies. I don’t want to risk drowning anymore.

Challenging old patterns, making new choices of how to respond is not without consequences as well. Drama insists on being heard, taking the spotlight. The more I liberate myself, the stronger the pushback. Patterns want to remain. Every next step requires extreme care, considered maneuvering, much as a child’s first steps. I hold onto the wise words of friends, I tread slowly. I stop and ponder how to get back to safety. Yesterday my soul was screaming, “I want to go back to the mountains.” I gave my soul some attention, listened to the voice that was telling me danger lurked ahead. I can’t get on a motorcycle and escape my current situation, how can I regain the lessons from the mountains while still here with drama trying to create unrest?

When I looked at the valleys, the canyons of Colorado, I remembered how small I was and big God is. I was reminded of my little place in the huge picture, flowers grew without me. Water trickled from snow capped mountains to find rivers below. God has a plan that doesn’t require my lifejacket, my involvement in ensuring that all his seeds sprout, that all the snows melt and find their way home. Yes, the mountains, my soul whispered, remember what we learned there. We are a seed also, God showed us how to bloom.

Drama is going to keep knocking, this drama is going to grow. Protecting my fragile heart is my priority, rather than rescuing others from the choices they have made.  I can only pray they someday take their own trip to the mountains. Maybe then we will all swim and truly relish the water together.  For now, I’m focusing on all the pictures of my trip, listening to my soul and keeping my door locked.  Drama, you are not welcome here.

Happy Birthday Chef

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

Almost 20 years ago I walked into the same restaurant I had worked at through college, seeking a job to restart my life. The first place I applied, the first time to check that horrible box on the application that put me in a category, changed who I was, I sought a relatively safe place to begin again. I needed an income fast, two children to support, housing and transportation to secure. I started back where I had been before things had gone so wrong.  Maybe I was looking for a do-over, a chance to make new choices based on the new me. What I found was that second chance, the hiring manager looked carefully over my application and asked about that box. He was clearly puzzled, I didn’t look like the usual applicant for the position and certainly not one who presented with a felony conviction. I told him my story, he checked with HR. He gave me a job, he gave me a lifeline.

I worked my lunch shift as a server then washed dishes in the back for a free lunch, came back for the evening shift on the days the kids were with their father. The manager gave me every extra shift available, I took any chance to make money. Soon he moved me up to an hourly management spot, a shift meal came with that as well. I couldn’t afford to eat otherwise. The business was slow, we had much time to begin knowing each other. His work ethic was exceeded only by his sense of fun, he had such a ready laugh. He attracted people, all ages and genders. I watched him while I worked, wondering how someone could be so light, so easy to be with, seeming not to carry burdens as he lifted those of others. One evening after a shift he asked me if I wanted to go for a drink. Thus began the end of that job and the beginning of the rest of my life.

We are opposites politically, he likes red wine, I only drink white. He backs the state school to the South, I will never abandon my Boilers. A smile is his most natural facial expression, mine is resting bitch face. He craves social time, I don’t think I ever have. A proud carnivore, he knows I prefer veggies. He doesn’t eat fruit, my mainstay. His entertainment is visual, I hate watching movies and need books like I need air, he doesn’t read. Ice cream is his favorite treat, I am lactose intolerant. How could we possibly be together? Married now for 16 years, we have weathered too many storms to recite. Low points take me back to that day when I walked into the restaurant and wonder if his life wouldn’t have been so much easier had I chosen the one down the street. Left wondering just what he could gain from a union with me, I know that God chose him as my partner.

Chef rounds me out, pulls me up from dark moods and too much introspection. He reminds of the playful world available, if only I choose to engage. He has modeled what a father can be, in the sometimes impossible position as step-father. His love never stopped, his generosity never quit, even as frustration boiled over. He carried the worries of troubled children, he insisted on respect for me when I was willing to allow unacceptable behavior, he made fun breakfasts. Through it all he kept working, working working 60, 70 plus hours each week, securing the future of our family which now includes our grandson. Demonstrating what God wants from men, not perfection but striving with integrity to be leaders in the church, home and community, he brings redemption to his brotherhood. He taught me to give other men a chance, to allow for friendships and small group interaction with that other gender who had before only meant danger. He opened the world to me.

My Chef has been pruned these last few months, a cutting so painful to watch I often can barely contain my rage.  He deserves much more, has sacrificed too deeply for this to be his daily reality. Yet this season is bringing him into his own rounding out, plumbing the depths to discover what else he truly wants, who else he is called to be. I see his more, all those around see it. Finally he has time to explore his own reflection. I know that the man God led me to is now truly leading him. Scary as it is to not see the road ahead, when you trust the One who paved it, the One who sends the Light, traveling only requires a next step and then a next until finally you realize you have arrived.

Today my Chef turns a year older, maybe a day he will reflect that he is not where he wants to be if measured by bank account statements or employment status. Yet I know he is right where God intends, on a new path, one I am so blessed to walk with him. Today I celebrate not just my Chef but a God who led me into a restaurant 20 years ago to rebuild my life, a life now restarting together with God at the center.  Faith, family friends and then work, balance restored. Through it all, I am so very proud to call this man my husband, to affirm those vows taken long ago. God knew our individual strengths would be called on to lift us rather than separate us, a strong union to face the future only He could see. Hand in hand we take this journey, following God, discovering the next adventure.  Happy birthday to my Chef, I contentedly stay in your shadow, remain your sous chef, allow your light to warm me. We are right where God wants us.

 

Financial Advice from Plum

On By LisaIn Faith, Plum, The ChefLeave a comment

Plum wanted to download a new game on my iPad, I said no. He said please, I said no. I  explained that he already has many games to play, they cost money which is in short supply right now, I saw no reason to add one. His pleas continued as he touted the supreme advantages of this one, the ultimate game. He offered to delete other ones. Finally I told him that if he wanted to spend his money on it that would be fine. I was not spending any more of mine on games. That usually settles the discussion. He never wants to spend his money, his piggy bank only accepts deposits. In fact a spare coin laying around the house doesn’t lay neglected long if Plum is here. Birthday money goes in, chore money, all pushed through the little slot.

I have used a fining system to curb some behavior, charging a nickel for each time he hollered, “FINE” at me. I don’t enjoy being yelled at, espousing the philosophy that the only time you should holler in your home is if there is a fire.  Once I added a financial value to his sassy mouth, it ended.  I value respect, he values his nickels. The little business man in him decided to charge me for inappropriate behavior, 3 nickels since I am an adult and should know better. I have to be careful what I teach this child. Fortunately I have only had to pay up once.

I thought asking him to dig into his riches would be enough to stop the conversation, instead he asked me to look to see how much the game costs. $4.99, a fortune for a child who doesn’t want to give up $.05. Aha, I won, I reveled in my wisdom, my amazing handling of this situation. Those rare moments of getting it right with a child, the orchestra strikes up, standing on the stage of the 1,000 seat theater, all the lights trained on me as I accept the award for Outstanding Parent. Oh it felt great. The sound of little feet  racing up the stairs broke through my dreaming. He was already gone and back, waving a fiver at me, before I could catch my breath. Nothing left to do but download the game as the band slunk away, the lights snapped off, the award ripped from my grasp.

Later during bath time, some of our best chatting time, I asked if he thought the game was a good investment. He stood by his purchase. He said he saves his money for things he really wants, not all the things that tug at his brain.  He ignores those. He is a wise child. I could hear the band playing, this boy gets the award for financial responsibility at almost 6, one he could teach many adults. The game is a battling one, it insults my peace seeking soul. As he regaled me in tales of all his exploits, I inquired whether he wouldn’t be more successful if he just made friends with all the villagers, the creatures? Shaking his head, with the voice of an old soul, he chuckled and replied “Oh gran, why do you have such a sweet heart?”

We learn from each other, this child and I. The lessons I think I am teaching bear fruit later, rarely in the moment. I am smart enough to grab the nuggets of his knowledge as they appear. He is the ultimate award, his sweet voice the only music I ever need. He brings light, he brings joy, he sneaks coins. This round goes to Plum, thank goodness we don’t keep score. As a grandma I have to restrain myself from sneaking the fiver back into his bank. As his most trusted adult, I know I can’t. Anyway, his birthday is just around the corner. Grandmas always give birthday cards containing a five dollar bill, right?

Waiting by the Water

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Stella, The Chef2 Comments

The only thing tougher than sitting in my own wasteland is watching someone I love sit in theirs. I have wandered the deserts, been stuck in the sand, covered in grit, thirsting for water that was just out of reach. Paralyzed, lost, no longer trusting my instincts, the oasis ahead could be just another mirage. Staying in the desert is sure death, I have been close before. Sweaty, exhausted, unable to wander another step, I stopped, just stopped. This is when the river appeared, the goodness of cool refreshing water washing over me, the force of the stream removing grains of sand from my eyes, from my ears. Carried along by the current, I could rest. Glorious blue water, life sustaining moisture, now I could see life again, feel hope as I bobbed along. Croaking frogs, skittering insects, luscious green grass, surrounded by living, I was no longer searching for my own life. Out of the wasteland, found, rescued, washed free, renewed, I vow to never go again towards those sandy places. Still, I sometimes find myself a bit too far from the river, I can hear the wind howling as it blows the dunes. I know to turn around, danger lurks there. What to do then when my loved ones can’t find their way out?

I hate seeing my family struggle when I can so clearly see the way out. I see the water, call to them from the riverbank. My guidance ignored, unheard, sand is consuming them. Left watching from the shore, a witness to their struggle, I cannot share my water until they reach for it. Frustration mounts, it is so easy, just turn this way, hear me, stop choosing the desert, come to the water. I forget though exactly how hard it is to ignore my own will to wander, to ruminate, to wallow in my nothingness, searching for answers in all the wrong places. I walk until exhaustion forces me to kneel. Why do would it be easier for my family? They can’t learn from my journey any more than I have learned from the 40 years my ancestors spent wandering. How painful it must have been for my Father to watch.

Time in the desert hurts. I don’t want my family to hurt, I want them to feel refreshed, to play in the cool water, listen to giggles as they splashing about. I want to rush ahead to joy, they are still in sorrow, aching in the emptiness of the after, not believing it is really a time of before. Hurry, hurry, over here to the river, I find myself shouting encouragingly. I think it sounds more like impatience, criticism that they can no longer find their own way, to their granule encrusted ears. I kick my feet in the water, splashes demonstrating how rejuvenating it is over here on the river edge. They hear me mocking them, judging their struggle. The desert changes my words, distorts my message. I long for them to come and play, to drink deeply, to know the water is so close. They have to discover for themselves.

Watching, waiting, lonely without them to frolic in the spray, I can’t save them, I also have to be careful not to get too close, pulled back into the desert myself. The distance between us feels likes forever, how long before the crescendo  f waterfalls guides them to me? I yearn for shared joy, laughter filling the air, delight as the sun warms us but doesn’t burn.

Unable to speed the wanderings, the seeking, of those I love, my soul waits, begs the One who guided me home to show the way. “Now, quickly, please, I miss them so, ” I plead. “Look around child, you don’t swim alone. The river is brimming with others.”  Yes, now I see friends also in the river, some seeming to have just arrived, particles of sand still  evident as they emerge from the first immersion, dunking under again, again, drinking in the glory. Others have been here longer, contentedly floating along. I notice also that wives are here without husbands, children are playing without parents. I don’t see whole families playing, parents keep looking over their shoulders, just as I do. I see now we are all waiting for someone to join us.

Water poured out in the heat of the desert quickly evaporates. I realize the truth, each has to accept the offer, has to stop to drink slowly, carefully, give in to the Guide who holds the canteen.  I will  play in the river today, celebrate joys, laugh with the family around me. One day soon we will splash together.

Coffee With Mercy

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

I spend a great deal of time thinking about grace. I never consider mercy. Chef has been bringing this word into our home more and more lately, I quickly shut the door on it, do not extend the welcome mat. Somehow this word, used so often in conjunction with grace, makes me uncomfortable. It seems to ask more of me, lets me know I am holding out. This little word seems to hang around, just outside, uninvited, carrying big connotations. Grace feels like a soft blanket on a cold day, mercy reminds me why I am cold in the first place. I’m not sure why these concepts are so divided for me, where in the storytelling and early learning about God I missed some important message. Maybe I really know and am choosing my guest list carefully. Today while no one is looking, I start the coffee and hesitantly crack open the door, I issue my own invitation to Mercy.

I get settled on the comfy couch under my softest blanket, a large cup of coffee for courage  and my faithful beast cuddled next to me,  I notice Mercy drift in. I ignore Her and do some research. Gotquestions.org explains the difference this way: mercy is God not punishing us as our sins deserve, and grace is God blessing us despite the fact that we do not deserve it. Mercy is deliverance from judgment. Grace is extending kindness to the unworthy.  No wonder I prefer the sweetness of grace, I like kindness, I like blessings. I have a sign by the front door that says, “Be Nice or Leave.” (I may have mentioned before this is how we keep the bears away, as I have explained to Plum, who is afraid of big hairy creatures with sharp claws, not including our beasts.) I get grace, literally, thank you God.  I understand and see grace in my everyday. I write almost daily about meeting up with grace, friends and creatures alike who show me the kindness of God, show me the love I yearn for. I count those blessings, having been on the short side too many times, I take nothing for granted. Grace has a standing invitation, the door is always open. Mercy has been knocking, I have pretended to be asleep.

Yes, I went back to Grace where the warm blanket is. I see that. Why would I want to venture into the cold, though?  “Mercy, sit down, stop hovering, you make me nervous. Please, sit over there, on the other couch. I let you in, let’s not rush this.” My beast takes no notice of this intruder, begins to snore. I feel betrayed, try to focus on his lack of protection but Mercy draws my attention back, a rather demanding guest. Where is Grace? I need more coffee, I don’t really want to visit with Mercy.

Judgement, sins, these are not feel-good words. I am honest enough to share my sins, to expose my brokenness. but am I working on the big one that God really wants me to attack? Avoiding Mercy is my way of not acknowledging what has been given to me so that I can stay under my blanket, do my counts and not be forced to let go of some judging. I have forgiving to do and I don’t want to. “There Mercy, I said it, are You content? ” Mercy smiles but not in the way I expected when I finally dared raise my eyes to Her. I didn’t see the condemnation I was expecting, the ‘Uh huh, I knew it! smirk”. Hmm, maybe this isn’t so bad.

I have hurts, scabs I keep picking at to ensure the wounds don’t heal. I secretly want gum to stick to the bottom of a couple folk’s shoes, I want their toilets to get stopped up, I want their favorite shirt to get stained. I’m afraid to look over at Mercy, expecting to see Her getting up from my couch right now, heading towards the door, disgusted with me. A weird thing has happened though, a bit of peace has descended, I feel less judged in holding in the secret of my judging. I think Mercy already knew. “Tell me more child,” whispers Mercy.

In the silence of my living room, I explain that these people really hurt me. I don’t wish big hurts on them, I just can’t find forgiveness. I talk about my pesky pastor who keeps preaching about forgiveness and how when I hear him I say ,”La la la la” in my head as I look attentively at him from the front row. Mercy keeps listening. I offer some of my blanket, we get closer. This is a mistake as I begin to think of all the people I have hurt. I deserve huge wads of gum on all of my favorite Tom’s, I really should carry a travel sized plunger with me at all times. I want Mercy to go sit on the other couch but it is too late. I want to hold on to my hurt but it rose like the steam from my coffee, cooled now. I can’t get back that “first cup in the morning” heat. Damn Mercy is good.

I can’t say I have fully forgiven, I think Mercy and I will need a full pot of coffee, a few more mornings together. I have more to share, Mercy said She will listen. She likes my blanket, prefers to sit with me, snuggled close. I’m not so twitchy now. After we get to know each other better, we can invite Grace in for some scones, for now I need to sit with Her and let the steam rise. It occurs to me that most of my favorite shirts are stained. I wonder if anyone else might want to invite Mercy in for a cup of coffee.  She is free after 6 most mornings.

Waiting on the Leaves

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, The ChefLeave a comment

All of our leaves are still green, I am searching for color. The flowers around the yard are mostly gone, lone sunflower stalks self planted as the seeds slide from bird feeders are our only reminders of summer. Yet fall hasn’t actually arrived with glory either. I look for those reds, bright oranges and yellows. I crave the smell of bonfires and the sound of crunchy leaves under foot. Crisp apples, warm cider in mugs, orange pumpkins on the porch, a new season. We are in the in-between, the waiting. Transition time is rarely beautiful, rarely easy on the eyes.

Mama is carrying a new baby, due in just over 3 months. She calls me several times daily, I make the 5 minute trek to her apartment at least 3 times a week. She asks for help setting up the nursery, organizing clothes. We already set up her kitchen when she first moved in to this new apartment, one much closer to our home. We already set up Plum’s room, organized Lego totes and attached Minecraft posters to the wall. We set up the pantry and the built shelves. Trip after trip taking benches, chairs, metal racks, end tables, from our home to hers, transitioning her and Plum into a home not just an apartment. Long chats throughout our tasking, mama talks and asks and owns her past mistakes. Two years ago I would never have imagined helping her again like this, somehow I knew we always would. It was an ugly transition time. We are on the other side, bright colors of forgiveness and maturity, of grace and love, yes, love. In spite of myself I love this woman-child.

A year ago we picked up our Arrow from prison, full of hope for a fresh start. We brought him home, fed him, clothed him, gave him a job. We gave him access to a car. We didn’t give him adulthood. He had to leave to find that. He is coming back into our lives on his own terms, on our terms too, but as a man, not just as our child. He calls, always some excuse because still he cannot just say he wants to talk to his mom. He visits his son, a lifeline for Arrow. I don’t know his day to day, where he lives, who his friends are. This is good. Arrow and I can get too close, then we get unhealthy. I worry, try to save him, forget he has to save himself. Our horrible transition several months ago was heartbreaking, now he is transitioning back in a way that doesn’t hurt any of us. I am beginning to find patches of light with my Arrow, when he shows me what he works on, when he eats lunch at my table, takes home plastic bowls of left-overs. He is grateful again. I feel touches of pride. Slowly we are making our way back, allowing hurt from the past to fade as the colors of now take over.

I wish I knew what this waiting time means for Chef and I. Dragging on, fear and anger begin to rise again. The mortgage lender doesn’t want to hear that we are trusting in God’s timing. We celebrated having so much time together, now we get on each other’s nerves. Colors are fading, the leaves aren’t turning yet. This transition doesn’t feel like movement, it feels like stuck. Remembering past waiting times reminds me that something incredibly better was coming, something I couldn’t foresee. I just have to keep doing the thing in front of me, the next thing that is right and good. The fog will lift, brilliant colors will explode before my eyes. I will tell a story of waiting and the joy that came after.

Today I see green leaves and long for red and yellow. I long for apple cider and security and bills caught up. I long for brilliant yellow and health insurance. Today I am waiting, tomorrow the leaves may begin to turn.