The Bad, The Ugly, and The You've-Got-to-be-Kidding Me

It has been a while since I sat down and took the time to write something. Many things have happened in our family. Even though, it has been really exciting and fun to have a multicultural family, the paperwork part of it really slammed us in the face this fall. After waiting for the proper paperwork for my Dominican residency to come from Guatemala, we found out that because of changes in the law, I now was unable to proceed without traveling back to Guatemala to request a residency visa. My stomach sank as I heard the immigration officer explain this to me. I felt like all that we had worked for during the year had been worthless. I felt really stupid. How had we missed this really important fact along the way? We were trying to do things right, why hadn't it paid off? Why this NOW?

As I was processing all of this information, a verse I had learned as a child came to mind, "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him." (Habakkuk 2:20). I was definitely not an immigration expert, but the Lord hadn't stopped being God. Here I was in the middle of something that felt overwhelming, yet there was an invitation to recognize His presence with us in it.

David wanted to wear his "Planes" hat for the flight.

After what seemed a whirlwind of weighing options, we moved a trip we had planned for Christmas to mid September. The whole family was able to go to Guatemala. I was really excited to go to Guatemala with the whole gang.

I was also scared. There was too much turmoil in my heart, and I wasn't sure I was ready to face Guatemala. This is a place where I can no longer shy away from hard things. It never leaves my heart unscathed; in fact, I don't think I can ever be in Guatemala without a shattered heart. I was able to live there for the first twenty-something years of my life pretty oblivious to the hard things around me and within me, but I had the incredible gift of being invited into a community that looked at the hard, the nasty, the broken, the lost, and rejoiced in Christ's presence in all of it.

Guatemala will always have plenty of hard, if you're willing to open your eyes and heart to take it all in. However, I had some additional hard to go into - my brother was battling cancer. He had found out during the summer, and by the time we got there he was getting ready to start his third cycle of chemo. He and I had shared the experience of caring for mom when she went through it. I don't think it had (or it fully has yet) sunk in that this guy under thirty was having to go through that, and I was not there to be with him. The ministry that I had worked with during the years before moving had gone through some really hard times and leadership crisis. All my dear friends were now gone, and hurting.

Getting some ice cream with tio Pablo.

So, we got there. We got there in the middle of all that. Guatemala welcomed us with the news that one of my old club kids and dear friend had been killed in a landslide. He worked scavenging at the city dump. With the heavy rains, every year, a lot of people who work at the dump die buried in landslides. They found his body a couple of days later, miles downstream of a river. His brother was able to ID him because of a tattoo. Toward the end of our trip, a whole mountain side gave in, and an entire community was buried. Over two hundred houses were buried in mud. About three hundred people died and many were never found.

Second day - still not warmed up to tio Joel

I hear the prophet asking, "Who has believed our message... He was despised and rejected... a man of suffering, and familiar with pain." (Isaiah 53:1-3). This is Christ. He is Emmanuel, God with us, in the middle of all of the hard, and terrible. The truly hard. The daily-life hard. Because who can really believe this message? Who can believe that it is not always necessary to run away from the nasty, but that God himself has chosen to walk through it with us?

Last Friday I cried for a long time. I was under the stress of a deadline, our nanny was not here because her daughter was sick, and my backup babysitters were all at the same retreat. And I was mean. I was mean to my sons while I was trying to juggle them and a computer. And I saw myself - the real ugly self, the I am selfish and let my anger have the best of me self - and I was disappointed and felt lonely. I thought of calling my brother, with whom I've learned to not shy away from the ugly, but I was too embarrassed to share that being a mom was too hard right now.

To my surprise, later that afternoon, he called me saying "hey, if I don't call you right now, I never will. How are you doing?" And so, among many things, I told him about my morning. And we had a great conversation about the subject that we cannot skip the hard seasons of life. Jesus' gift to us is not that he can just "make everything better." His gift to us it that He IS with us. Can we believe it? Can we believe the message that even in the midst of the hard, and the pain of our own sin, Christ wants to be with us? Can we dare come before this God who first came to us?

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." Hebrews 4:15-16

Favorite Photos from Summer Outreach Camps 2015

Following are some of our favorite photos from outreach camps at Pico Escondido this year.

 

Camp Five Campers & Leaders

Camp Six campers and leaders

Pool Games

Field Games

More Field Games

What would YL camp be without crazy program characters?

Games at Club

Camp Two Campers & Leaders

Work crew welcoming kids to camp

Fun at our County Fair

Final night bonfire in the amphitheater

 

 

Here's To Less Than Perfect Sabbaths

I have been trying to be really intentional about planning and keeping a day of rest as a family. With changing schedules and little kids, sometimes it feels rather a beautiful illusion, but something that cannot easily be accomplished. So, when yesterday the husband suggested a little hike to the river and a picnic, I got really excited about the idea - what could be better? A hike, time in nature, time as family, rest?

And then, we started getting ready. For the next half hour, I yelled at my kids as I tried to get them to pick up toys and books before we left. I got so angry about noticing the little things that were out of place in my house, and I got frustrated with myself about the fact that I hadn't done this or that before.

Finally, we all got in the car, swimsuits on. The husband thought that we could buy some roasted pork along the way, since that's a Dominican Sunday tradition. Seemed like a great idea to do pork sandwiches, so I packed bread, chips, apples, and water.

And then, we drove and drove. Never found a pork stand along the way. They really are usually every couple of blocks on Sundays, but not a single one to be found. We stopped at a little Colmado (store) along the road, looking for some cheese, and they only had cheese for frying, which the boys won't eat.

Further down the road, it suddenly hit me: I never packed the shoes for the boys. I asked the husband, he didn't either. So, there we were, on our way to a hike, with two barefoot kiddos. As we were driving, I started thinking about all the things that were less than ideal in this situation, but that as frustrated as I was, all these things were not the most important thing - this day was to remember the Lord, and his work, to point each other to Him, and we were together.

I started thinking how this was similar to our life in community as brothers and sisters. Sometimes, being together seems like a very hard task. Sometimes, there is someone who really gets on our nerves, and we cannot do much to avoid their presence. And sometimes, that means we are in this journey with zero excitement, like the toddler here, who got reprimanded for thirty minutes straight before finally being strapped in.

Sometimes, you don't have all the resources you would like to have on your journey together. And it becomes easy to dwell on the things you are missing, and start blaming yourself and others, for lack of planning and foresight, or for someone having been wasteful. But here's the beauty of community - Sometimes, not having all you need, means you get to carry each other.

Although, that may mean that you have to carry the person who drove you crazy all morning, and you have to let the person who was less than patient with you carry you (Note: you don't necessarily have to smile while being carried).

Or, it also means that you have to really do things you dislike, to get to the destination - like my sand-hating kid over here, just taking one step at a time.

And as you continue walking, you may find yourself surprised with the scenery. Something about knowing that you are on your way to fresh river water in the middle of a hot sunny day, helps you keep going. So, no, you don't suddenly find yourself with more things - we still just had bread and chips, but the company and surroundings were more beautiful and fulfilling than what we could have had.

And we found some of our favorite things along the road...

And finally, we got to the long awaited river! We all enjoyed getting in the water and throwing some rocks, and making big splashes.

On the way back, we were surprised by both boys trying to climb a big rock. To us, it seemed something beyond their skill, but the husband only had to spot them and point at places where they could set their feet. They did the work themselves. They cannot do it completely alone, yet. They also would not have had a chance to try out their climbing skills had we not come. And so, it also happens with our journey as followers of the Crucified. We are to strive in the midst of new challenges, and support each other as we do so. If we would choose the easy way of not even trying to go and be together, we would miss these chances of growing together.

Isn't this what we are called to as a body? Are we not to come together as family to the River of Life? Even when it's hard work, even when there is that someone who can get our blood boiling, and we would rather take a time-out from them than go on a hike together, and even when we don't have all the things we may have needed or wanted for the journey. And on our way, let's enjoy the beauty of creation and the beauty of communion and of being together. Because, Christ paid dearly with His life for us to have a chance to become one with each other.

"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting each other, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another - and all the more as you see the Day approaching." - Hebrews 10:24-25

Challenges of Serving in Love

This summer at Pico Escondido was a whirlwind. Summers always are, but this more than most. We completed two major construction projects this spring and summer, including our new pool, which we did in under two months. That, plus lots of work teams and local groups in June and early July meant that by the beginning of outreach camps on July 9th the Pico Escondido team was already worn out. Our local ministry team (Vida Joven) had projected having six camps of about 135 kids and leaders plus 30-35 assigned team and work crew. Sounded great. 

We knew that we would have some new challenges. First, we hosted the first ever Latin America Family Camp for families in the US who wanted to take their kids on an international service experience and learn more about Young Life's ministry in Latin America. This would be sandwiched between two outreach camps, which generally run Thursday to Sunday. We also knew that the sixth outreach camp (one more than last year) instead of occurring at the end of the summer would also be sandwiched between other camps. We had planned for these events. Yet when all was said and done, instead of averaging 135 kids and leaders, we averaged 184. The biggest week we had 260 people in camp. We have 185 permanent beds, so this makes for some operational challenges, especially since we never knew how many kids would show up until a couple of hours before they arrived! And in the end, over 1100 kids and leaders attended camp. This was 60% more than our previous high.

I was generally very proud of how our team took on these challenges. They understand that youth ministry, especially in a culture like the DR, is one of many surprises. More importantly, they understand that we are all part of one body in Christ, striving toward the same goal. That means that Vida Joven's focus is reaching out to and loving kids around the country, regardless of whether the kids are responsible in signing up for camp on time. That means it is very hard to tell a kid he can't go to camp because he is late when you know how badly he needs this camp and to be confronted with the Gospel. It also means that Vida Joven needs people like our camp staff - people who may be less gifted at discipling kids, but who are great at handling the logistics and administrative details of camps. 

In 1 Corinthians 12, it says: "Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body." This is followed up in chapter 13 about different ways we try to serve, recognizing that love is the thing that gives value to all the rest. So for our camp staff, we could have the best camp in the world and we could be amazing organizers and planners, but if we don't bathe it all in love, we are a clanging cymbal. Love never fails. This summer, we were not perfect at loving, but thank you Pico staff and volunteers for having this focus!

Mother's Day

 Ah... mothering; there really is no time where you are off. I type at the same time I have a who-can-stare-the-longest-into-the-other's-eyes standoff with the 16-month-old who just grabbed a phone charger at the same time he whispered "no, no, no..."

I wake up today to an over-excited two-and-a-half year old screaming "Happy mother's day, mama!" Lucky for him, his dad has a cup of coffee already in hand. Smart man I married. The youngest doesn't really know what to say, but he copies his older brother's enthusiasm and screams "mama! mama! mama!"I start getting ready, deciding it's a good day to take the extra time to paint my toenails. So, with both boys on the floor, I start painting my toenails. They watch me, mesmerized. I hear a "mama, do mine too!"

At some point, all of the nail polish bottles are out of the drawer. I decide to choose my battle, and stick to getting job number one done, and then deal with 'what have I said about opening mama's drawer and pulling stuff out?' later. From what I hear and sort of see out of the corner of my eye, a careful lineup of bottles is now decorating the footrest of my bed. It's not until I walk out of the bathroom that I see that the kid has carefully balanced each bottle on its top.

It doesn't take long til bottle number six doesn't quite make it. It tumbles down and shatters as it hits the floor. Glass everywhere, and little brother now has a hand covered in light pink enamel. At least this happened after I finished with my nails, I think; and at least nobody got cut. I hand off the boys to the brother who is visiting. Clean up the mess... There really is no time off.

Motherhood... I have met my match. I have always been a really good apprentice; if I like the subject at hand, I will dive in until I perfect it. In Spanish, the term is dominar - to dominate, to master something. There is no mastering this motherhood thing. You can only live it out, every day. It's pure steadfastness. Constancy. Faithfulness. Even when the previous day left you feeling like you really cannot face tomorrow. Even when the previous day was so good that you feel it can't be duplicated.

Even when it rips your heart. Even when your own kid is dying. I am sitting at my grandmother's table. I have just taken mom to her bed. We've come back from a doctor's appointment. It has been discouraging. Grandma and I sit in silence. We used to sit at this table, the three of us, and share coffee and stories. But now, the two of us sit and eat (and cry) in silence. There's not much to say. Her daughter is dying, and she can't do anything to stop it. She will bury her daughter, and after that will take care of her children after she's gone.

Even when you face the unknown. Even when you are the one getting ready to leave your children behind, sooner than you had expected. I am in mom's hospital room now. It suddenly has become very clear that this is her last day, and despite the thirty years I have had her, it feels awfully short. I am full of questions. I have always assumed she will be there when I get engaged, when I get married, when I have kids, and the realization that she won't hits me hard and fast. My first question is "Why? Why must I be the one without a mom from now on?" She says, "I don't know." And I weep. I weep in my mother's lap. And she runs her fingers through my hair, and she lets me mourn her death.

I hear my mother's voice sometimes. I hear it, as I am rocking an angry wailing boy in full tantrum. She says, "the kid who is hardest to love is the kid who needs it the most." I miss them. I miss these two ladies who loved children. I miss these two teachers of children. Their ideas would sure come in handy now.

After she lets me cry for a while, I wipe my tears, and I figure that if time is short, I might as well ask the questions I've never asked before. So, I say, "What should I do when I have my own children? Who will help me figure it out?" And mom whispers, "Jesus will. That's all there is to it really. Ask Him every day, and He will let you know."

... And He has. And He will.

Teachers of What's Good

A long time ago, I read for the first time the following verses in Titus 2:3-5.

³ Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. ⁴ Then they can urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, ⁵ to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God.

My initial reaction as a young woman myself was of contempt. I thought, 'here goes another verse people will use to say women are just trouble, some excuse to keep us under control, right?' Is that what older women have to put up with, a preaching about drinking and talking? How original. And was my future, as a young woman, cut out for me? Was I to look forward to the task of loving husband and children, and be self-controlled, pure and the more offensive to me, busy at home? Over the years, I would from time to time stumble upon the verse, and I would still roll my eyes. 

Then I started hanging out with teenagers. It was through those friendships that I started to open my eyes and heart to those verses. I saw the pain, suffering, brokenness that the lack of role models described above brought to the lives of the kids I was hanging out with. I thought about this verse again this past month, after meeting yet another young girl who at fourteen was having to figure out life on her own.

I'm not saying fathers are off the hook here and that women are to blame for all teenagers in need, but the girls that I hang out with have been seriously affected by the lack of a healthy mother figure. Some of my friends have grown up abandoned by alcoholic or drug addict mothers. Most of my friends find it hard to live in places where slandering and backstabbing by the older women of their community is the daily bread (sometimes to the point of costing somebody their life). And some of my friends have found themselves about to be mothers in their teenage years.

In the midst of all that mess, I have met some courageous women who have decided to walk with teenage girls and love them, and become teachers of what is good. Some of these women have decided to walk alongside teen moms. Most of them are ladies who have raised children of their own and understand that you can't do it alone, that the nights are long, and that you need role models of good to teach you how to do this thing called motherhood. Others are single women who have a heart of teenage girls and can see how hard it is to be a teen and a mom as well.

My courageous friends are both in Costa Rica and in Guatemala. They go with girls to pregnancy checkups. They go check them out of the hospital when no other family member will. They have enlisted their husbands, children, siblings as drivers and babysitters. They teach their teenage friends how to help their babies breastfeed. They go to birthday parties. They also get to be there for some of life's deepest pains - a baby who dies, a custody battle that is lost. 

YoungLives mentors in Guatemala City

YoungLives mentors in Costa Rica

They also invite their friends to know Christ and start a journey of faith, that will not only impact the girls' lives but also the lives of their children. Tomorrow, there will be 27 Costa Rican girls going to a YoungLives camp, to have the best weekend of their lives, and to hear about Jesus' love for them. There will also be 28 babies and toddlers, and a fearless crew of 17 childcare workers among the team who are so excited that their friends get to have this time away and hear the Good News. So, join me in praying for this crowd.

Girls and leaders at their 2014 Christmas party. Most of them will go to camp tomorrow

Time goes by, and now I find myself a woman with husband and children, responsible for keeping a home. And now, I know... It is hard to be self-controlled. It is hard to be kind. It is hard to not indulge in things that bring comfort. It is hard to not be critical of other women. And I am ever so grateful for those teachers of good things who gave me so much over the years and who continue helping me along the way. I would be ill equipped without them. I realize how crucial it is to have someone older and wiser walk through life with you. So, if you are a young woman, I encourage you to find a mentor. If you are a more mature woman, I encourage you to find someone to mentor. If you would like to learn more about YoungLives, click here.
 

Our Most Recent Trip to Costa Rica

Daniel watching planes at the Panama airport

It is a Wednesday afternoon, and I am packed and ready to drive to get on a plane with my 14-month-old. It is our first trip of the year, fifth work trip together. Expert in traveling with a toddler that I am, I am very proud of my ability to fit all of his junk and all of my junk in a carry-on. I even have my flat iron to do my hair (because since I never use it at home, somehow I am convinced that at someone else's house, in between work sessions, I will magically find the time to finally get my unruly mane under control). I am planning on checking the bag, nonetheless, because I still haven't figured out how to pull a suitcase and push a stroller.

We get checked-in, and I kiss the husband goodbye. For some reason, it looks like things have changed. Usually, they let us women with babies go first, but not this time. I have to wait in line like all the other mortals, pushing the baby. Finally we made it to the window where I have to pay my exit tax. I pay, not without almost passing out because the fee has tripled since my last trip. I finally make it to the security checkpoint. And then, I start the process. With the baby in the stroller, I pull my computer out and place it in a bin. Then, I take shoes off and whatever else I must put on the other bin. I then place the baby on the belt, fold the stroller, and place my bag. It is at this point that the security guard tells me, "m'am, you can't be on this end... you must move to the other line." Contrary to wisdom, instead of just complying with what an airport security agent tells me, the cumulative stress and frustration of two years of dealing with baby stuff, comes out and I just reply. "NO I WON'T". And he says "you must go through the other line. " And I reply, "I'M NOT MOVING ALL MY STUFF." We argue for a couple minutes, and I find out they have one line for men and one for women, because there is only one woman security agent that could check me. So, I leave all my stuff there, and walk through the other gate.

Daniel being pampered at the tia abuela's house

All hassle aside, we made it to the plane and arrived in San Jose at almost midnight our time. I stayed at my cousin's house, and got to spend the next day with family. I got to meet the newest member of that clan, baby Sofi, and I had a lot of fun chatting it up after dinner with my aunt and cousins. This is one of the perks of traveling to a city where I have family. I have been going to Costa Rica for the last two years, about twice a year, and it has been amazing to be able to have a little family time. I love that the boys have gotten a little abuelita love from my aunt there.

The next morning, we drove up to the regional director's house for meetings for the next three days. It was a time of sharing what miracles we had seen God do during 2014. It was a time of sharing about how ministry is going in each country. It was a time to start praying about the future and how do we move forward with the mission of reaching teenagers. We got to go to a local club one night, and then the next night we got to be part of a day camp that the Camp on Wheels had set up for one of the communities. What an exciting thing to see hundreds of teenagers having fun with their friends and getting a chance to hear the gospel.

Dreaming and planning

We left at 1:45 am on Monday morning, to catch our 4:30 flight. I was not looking forward to spending four hours at the airport with a baby, but we made it. Our flight home was delayed an hour, since they had to do some repairs, but both baby and mom were so tired, that I think we did not notice and slept the whole time. At last, we were home and we spent last week settling back in, retaking our routine, and planning for the next adventure that comes in two weeks! So, stayed tuned for the next trip.

The Theologian, My Friend

Almost two weeks ago, I learned that Dr. Emilio Antonio Nuñez, had passed away. If you are not familiar with the name, Dr. Nuñez was a Salvadorian theologian and pastor. He was a pioneer and a key influence in the development of Evangelical theology in Latin America. Born in 1923, he dedicated his life to ministry as a professor, pastor, and writer. 


It was not long before a series of posts and comments began pouring through social media. It was obvious he had made a profound impact on his students and the different congregations where he had preached. It was also the first time that I read about all his work. Looking at all those different achievements summarized in different ways, I realized what an important man for his generation he had been. Because, I had no idea. I guess I sort of knew he was like a big deal, but I really did not know.

I have yet to read one of the books he wrote. I never took any of his classes. I may have heard one of his lectures at some point, not sure. So, my experience with him comes from a different place. I probably first met him as an infant, because my parents had attended SETECA (Central America Theological Seminary) in Guatemala, which he helped found, later becoming the president and afterward a professor. I remember visiting el viejito, as mom liked to call him, and his first wife, doña Sarita, on numerous occasions as a little girl. Later, I remember running into him at the hallway in SETECA, where mom worked. Our encounters were mostly brief, usually a simple exchange, where I would say, "Don Emilio." "Rebe," he would respond. Sometimes we would hug. Mostly we just nodded at each other.

As brief and fleeting most of those times were, I remember very vividly the day he told me about how he got married. I must have been thirteen or fourteen. He had this pragmatic and matter of fact way of telling the story, and I don't remember all the details, perhaps because I was trying so hard to conceal the fact that my mouth was wide open. He was twenty; she was thirty, and she pretty much proposed. (What?) And just when I thought this viejito had shattered all my stereotypes, he went on to talk about how she was always ready to clip the wings of his ministry pride, at which point she chuckled - she was sitting right next to him, holding his hand, all that time.

When I graduated from high school, I got a gift from them. When I first opened it, I must confess I felt a little disappointed. It was a Bible. I loved them, and I was grateful they had thought about me on this joyous occasion, but someone needed to update them on coolness. It had a dedication, and together with the "congratulations...best wishes," it just read Psalm 37:3,4. So, I looked it up, and the words just blew me away. "Trust in the Lord... Delight yourself in the Lord." This had been a time when people had either praised my parents for their great work or me for my hard work. And there was this man, cutting to the chase. The heart of the matter is always a matter of the heart. Subtly and quietly, I got one of the most powerful invitations of my life. I am thirty-four. That has been the Bible I have used half of my life.

After his wife passed away, he came to eat lunch to our house very often. I wasn't around much, because I was away for college, but in one of those visits, he inadvertently made another powerful invitation. He was sharing how he loved learning about Latin American culture, how he made a point of every year reading the new and most read authors in the continent, so he could keep up with what was happening, what people were thinking. I could see this man did not just happen to live in Latin America; he lived Latin America. And that made a dent in my heart at a season when I was starting to see our culture's broken raw beauty. He invited me to love this land and ache for it.

But the Requiem of this friendship is that as I look back at the times of my life where he left a mark, I realize I was not part of his central ministry. I was not a student. I was not a professor. I was not a colleague. I was not even an adult. He had no reason to give me the time of day. I was one of the least of these for him. I think, in the end, his lauded wisdom and intellect sprung out of a quiet life of true love for Christ and for those around him - even those who wouldn't read his work; specially those who wouldn't read his work. So, my friend invites me once again to yet another challenge. As I look at myself busy with ministry that seems to be ever so important and pressing, as I strive to fulfill this calling and serve my generation, I am challenged to live life as an open invitation... and to give the time of day to those around me - especially the ones who don't know (and couldn't care less) about who the heck I am.

Driveway Moments

The last couple of weeks have felt a little bit crazier than usual. I have been feeling spent and trying to keep up the pace with all the different things that keep falling on my plate - none of them the piece of cake I have been craving all along! Because that is what I have been imagining during those stressful moments. Every evening, I find myself wanting to sit down and enjoy something sweet - brownies, or some sort of pie, maybe a cake. It is not just a sweet tooth antojo. I don't just want  to be able to enjoy a delicious piece of dessert; I have also been craving the energy-giving and soothing experience that baking is to me.

It hasn't always been that way.  Growing up, I had a love-hate relationship with the kitchen. My mom was the baker. She made some room for me early on as a helper, but when I reached my teenage years, I started to feel more like Daisy from Downton Abbey in Mrs. Patmore's kitchen. I wanted freedom to create! So, one Christmas season, I was given the freedom. I was in charge of making the sugar cookies. I don't remember exactly how things escalated, but I have this very vivid memory of my brothers sitting around the table, waiting for me to roll the dough, cookie cutters in hand, and me taking the dough, and just smashing that ball of goo on the floor screaming "this is (bleep)! Nothing (bleep) works out! we're gonna eat (bleep) because that's what this (bleep) is!" Mrs. Patmore walked in. The brothers gasped and gave me the is-this-good-bye-forever-sis? look. Mom picked up the dough, and said I was suspended from kitchen access for the day.

I would like to say that this was the only frustrating time in the kitchen, but things only got worse. Eventually, I was banned from all cooking at my house, only allowed in the kitchen to do my daily shift of dishes. It wasn't until I was away from home for college that I started venturing out and trying a few things here and a few things there. And then, after trying and failing, came trying and succeeding, and then doing and enjoying. Baking has become a place I go to when stressed out, when too tired, and when I have the extra time just for fun. I like being able to see something done, start to finish, and enjoy the final product.

I have been wanting to bake for the last ten days. The other day, I was busy cleaning the kitchen, hoping that once I was done I would be able to finally get to work, while listening to NPR. Between shows, there was a commercial where a soothing woman's voice (I wanted her voice, because mine sounds a lot like a frayed mom's voice) asked something like, "have you ever reached your destination and stayed in your car to finish listening to one of our shows? Have you waited five, ten, fifteen minutes before getting out of your car?... (I smiled, thinking guilty as charged). We call these driveway moments (clever, I thought), and we work hard to produce programing that makes you stop in your tracks."  And with that last phrase, I suddenly became aware of a truth deep within my heart.

When was the last time Christ stopped me in my tracks? When was the last time I just sat, enjoying a little bit more of a sermon, or just a little bit more of a verse, or just a little bit more of His creation? Because I am very good at many things, but being still in His presence is something that does not come naturally. There I was, standing rag in hand, trying to make some room for what? The comfort of my expertise. The comfort of something tried and true. The relief of some closure, something I can manage and control start to finish.

I work hard and harder at the things I do best. Because if I am succeeding at something, I don't have to pay attention to how tired I am. I don't have to see how isolated and homesick I feel. I don't have to see how afraid I am about raising two sons. I don't have to deal with the feelings of frustration, or envy, or contempt that I have for those around me. And often times, like Martha in the story, I wallow, and ask for help... ask Him for help, yet miss out on the best part of all.

I finished cleaning, but a baby cried. I have not yet found the time to bake this week, but tomorrow is the husband's birthday, so I will get around to it. I have been thinking about what do driveway moments look like for me, though. Can I linger five, ten, or fifteen more minutes when He shows me something, instead of frantically running to the next thing?