What Jesus and Mr. Miyagi Have in Common

The kids are down for the night.

It's kind of early, and it wasn't a struggle to get any of them to sleep.

This is a beautiful, rare gift and my mind races ahead to which of the countless tasks to attend to.

I want to write. 

This feeling has been burning in me for days. I wake up thinking about writing, and I go to sleep still wishing I could scratch down these thoughts that only find their way out through long wandering roads of time.

But I walk downstairs knowing the dishes need to be done, the table really should be cleared and wiped off if tomorrow's school day is to begin smoothly, and that peace lily bowing lower is just begging to finally be watered.

I stop in front of the table piled high with the results of imagination and meals and wonder how I am going to find the emotional strength to find the surface of this thing. Again.

What I really want to do is run out the door and hole up in a beautiful, quiet space somewhere and just write my heart out for about two months. I've got the kind of passion that doesn't want to be bothered by even stopping to eat. But even if I could convince myself the husband, and seven year old and two year old would be fine... I can't get around that the nursing baby needs me here. A lot. My "work" hours are pretty much from 7 a.m. until 9:30 p.m. I think they'd notice.

Then He spoke into my spirit, my loving, hilarious God said something I never expected Him to say. And I couldn't see Him, but I know He was smiling.

"Wax on, wax off."

And laughter is a good medicine and I took it and began cleaning things up, one by one.

I'm glad You're here with me. I thought to Him. I haven't thought of that movie in a long time. 

I could still feel Him smiling.

I smiled back, now wiping big circles on the table, teasing Him at the cheesiness of it all "wax on, wax off. "

So that's it, then? I asked Him. You are preparing me for the fight? 

I think He was nodding. In ways you are not always going to understand.

And as He talked to me, about the repetitive movements of my life that can seem mundane, painfully pointless, unrelated... but that I really needed to strengthen specific spiritual muscles to be able to fight the good fight.... I just wanted to cry.

Because... His presence is the reward. 

His comment is what I long for.

Walking with Him is the goal.

Glorifying Him... Investing my time and talents well for Him... that can happen now.

That can always, only, happen now. 

I tell Him I long to be the kind of woman He can entrust big things to. I agree that I need much, much preparation and I will wax on, wax off as long as He says to and then I will try to remember to trust when He says "now paint the fence." Then the house.

(I realize a reader who has not seen The Karate Kid has no idea what I'm referring to. I'm sorry. If you watch it you'll understand)

I worked and I prayed to learn the great strength it takes to bend low and wait on the Lord, and wait as long as He says wait...

And I told Him I've thought about the parable of the talents a lot. And I've always felt like I'm so weak and afraid and unsure about what to do with what He gives me that I must be like the one He gave one talent to... and I've got to try to figure out how to not bury it. I've got to figure out how to invest it so I can hear what I ache for... "well done, good and faithful servant!...".  And... just maybe... someday be entrusted with more?

And Jesus surprised me because He stopped my scrubbing and cupped my face and made spirit-eye-contact and said: "three eternal souls that you have a major role in sculpting is not chump change."

Why do I forget that? 

Lord, forgive me. 

And I don't know why He talks to me. I don't know why He loves me so. But I can barely see the screen to type these words that you need to know that:

He. Loves. You. 

And if He is preparing you for serving Him in some other way in the future I encourage you to not minimize or neglect what He is entrusting to you in this moment.  

There is no greater reward than being in His presence. 

Lord, I am so in love with You.

I just wanted this to be a public, heart-bawling-whisper "thank You."

Dark Chocolate Cake with Cream Cheese Icing **Tutorial!**

Yes, this cake is as delicious as it sounds!

What could possibly make it better?

Adding strawberries. Or chocolate chips. Or coconut.






I'm going to tell you how to do all three.

And it's sooooooooooo easy!!!! Just try it. You'll see.

I'm not a professional cake-maker and I'm sure there are many bakers out there who could vastly improve upon the icing technique(I have none), or photographers would could make this look prettier (thank you iPhone!). So for all you amazing mamas who know how to really bake and ice and photograph... let me know if you make this and send me your tips and tricks!

The best part for me? There is no sugar in this. None. Not even in the delicious cream cheese icing. The only sweetener is organic maple syrup.

If you'd like to have a double layer cake as shown in the pictures, simply double the recipe and use round cake pans.

Ready?

You'll need:














Variations?

For Dairy-Free: sub coconut milk and coconut oil for the milk and butter.

For a Chocolate Coconut Cake? Add 1 teaspoon of coconut extract. Use coconut milk and coconut oil instead of milk and butter. And instead of the cream cheese icing, melt down semi-sweet chocolate chips and use them as an icing, and sprinkle coconut shavings alllllllll over. Yum!!

Bursting Beauty and His Witnessing Bride

They are here, and gone, and I chase the last moments of summer and hold the laughter long.


















His beauty bursts in them, and bodies bloom at wondrous speed to contain their blossoming souls.







Who can know a Father's delight in His children?















What a blessed gift to be the witnessing bride.

Help Wanted! Editors? Pray-ers? Cheerleaders?

I love books.





I love how God has used words, His word, and Himself as The Word to renew my mind and carve my heart into something that looks more like His.

I love Him so much I can't stop talking/thinking/sharing/writing about Him.


So ....

(deep breath)

... I am writing a book.

Really.

And...

(deep breath)

... I'm going to attempt to go the traditional publishing route.

And I'm not going to stop halfway through. I'm not going to quit when unforeseen crises pop up(they always have, most likely will).

But here's the thing... I've got the stories, I've got the content, I've got the passion to see this through...

... but I am horrible at grammar. And spelling. And sometimes I don't fill in enough and assume my readers understand what's "between the lines".

Help. Me. Please.

Say a prayer for me to PRAY FIRST, SEEK HIM FIRST, LISTEN FIRST... Then write?

Send me a quick email or comment on a random day if God brings me to mind to say something like "don't give up!!!"? Because I am by far my toughest critic. And this isn't about me. It's about HIM.

But I'm going to need help remembering that.

Aaaaaand if you happen to be amazing at the using the English language properly... would you like to read excerpts/chapters of my book and give me help and honest feedback?



I'm so grateful for you all!

You are lovely, kind, encouraging friends and I thank God for you!

Pinterest-Sharing Beauty

So I did it.

I joined Pinterest.

The point?

Sharing Beauty.

Check it out!

How to Keep From Going Insane

Jesus.

He's the only Way.

To allow anything,

Or anyone,

Including oneself,

To keep us from fully accepting His gift

Of an embrace

That comforts, purifies, refines,

Is to refuse the deep breath of His Spirit

Which is our only hope for a sound mind.



"God has given us a spirit of power, of love, and of a sound mind."
~2 Timothy 1:7

When You Feel Desperate, Like ALL You're Doing is Failing...

Her expression is flat, bored, distracted. Her seven year old frame slumps over the little wooden play table, which is used as her school desk, like mush slopped out and melting down. Her head-supporting hand pushes her cheek up so high her right eye is a mere slit of squished eyelashes.

Her mouth hangs open and barely mumbles out the words of these well-known verses we recite before beginning the school day, "...being strengthened with all power, according to His glorious might..."

I can't keep from smiling the next words as I take a deep breath and preach to myself "... so that you may have great endurance and patience."

I pause. She stops droning the words but doesn't seem to notice, her eyes following the toddler-sister running about the room.

I break into her daze with a gentle "Selah?".

She looks my direction with her one-eye and I can't help but be flooded with love for her. I smile empathy at her pathetic exhaustion.

She's only been up about an hour, but truly just needs to go back to sleep. Nearly the entire hour has been full of gentle correction, discipline, love, and talks encouraging a good start to this rough Monday morning. Her attitude has been progressively negative and despairing. She's had a long weekend and some tiredness just takes a couple of days to recuperate from. I understand this.

"Selah, why don't you just take a little rest on your loft bed for about fifteen minutes, then we'll try again?"

She climbs each rung with heavy steps and heavier thoughts and she wails high despair at the top of the ladder, flopping herself down onto her pillow, "I just can't do anything right, I'm getting B's in everything, I even got all of my verses wrong!! Ohhhhh ohhh oooooohhhhhhhh....." She sobs exhaustion.

I reach out to her gently, gently, gently because her sensitivity is a gift, one the can be lost easily in this harsh world with this too-easily harsh Mama, and I soothe her with truth.

"Selah, this rest is not a punishment. I am not upset with you. But you need to be intentional about not speaking things that aren't true, because you are working yourself up by being dramatic. I know you feel like you aren't doing anything right, but you are. First, you haven't gotten B's on anything because we haven't even done a single subject yet, and second, answer me truthfully... did you really get all of your verses wrong?"

She looks at me through blurred vision, hair strewn wild across damp cheeks. I can see the struggle behind her eyes. Her feelings scream "YES! I am a failure!", but she knows she said many of them correctly. Her chin quivers and she blubbers out a willed "no."

"That's true." I affirm. "You did not get them all wrong... you did very well!! I know you are very tired, so I just wanted to give you a little break to rest your body, and pray again, and ask God to help you through this school day with a good attitude, and then we'll try again, okay?"

She bursts out with an edge of anger, which is really frustration coming from the desire to do right and well, " but I did pray already, and it didn't help! It didn't help at all!! Ohhhhh...."

Sometimes crying is the most cleansing thing, and she has a torrent that's rushing out, so before leaving her alone with Him I offer her this  hope, encouraging her to not let herself drown, and to not drown herself. "Just because you're struggling this morning doesn't mean it didn't help to pray before, sometimes it takes many times of praying the same thing, turning to God again and again, to be able to do it. I have still have to do this, too. "

She hears my admission of imperfection, weakness even, and through her waterfall and manages a surprised "You do?"

I nod, smile into her sweet spirit, and encourage again through her tears "It's not an easy thing to have the right attitude or right perspective when you're exhausted. I still struggle with this, and pray through this, very often... Now I'll be back in just a few minutes... Remember not to let your thoughts run away with you!"

I softly close the door, and hear her sobbing escalate, though now with a different sound. Clearer, purer, more straightforward boo-hooing, somehow. This is good. Getting it all out.

When I come back into the room she's calm, and she watches as I carry armloads of pillows and blankets to our reading spot on the floor. She smiles as the fluff stacks layers deep and says "Ooooo Mom, that looks comfy!"

I smile and plop down, wave to her to come and open my arms wide. She rushes down the ladder and snuggles close, breathes deep. I kiss her curly mop and speak about what I am still learning and practicing every day. This not speaking feelings as absolute truth. This not giving up on prayer when it's not a first-time fix. 

"When I am teaching you, do I tell you how to spell a word that's difficult for you only one time, and then expect you to repeat it perfectly? Like the word "influence", "i-n-f-l-u-e-n-c-e",  can you spell that?"

She smiles timid into my face, hoping I'm not really asking her to spell it. "Um, noooo...."

"That's okay. It doesn't mean you aren't doing well. It doesn't mean you're not smart. It doesn't mean you can't learn it. It just takes practice to learn new things. And it takes lots of practice to learn difficult things."

She is hearing and I keep hugging and unpacking this truth the Spirit daily encourages me with " it's the same with difficult spiritual things, like being mature even when you're exhausted and still doing what you need to do with a good attitude even when you are so tired... developing your spiritual muscles is something we all grow into only with practice and repetition and prayer--God's help."

"And God is patient with us. He is understanding when we don't get it right the first time. But that doesn't mean our prayers are pointless. Some things we just need to persevere in prayer about... we need to keep praying the same thing because we need help with the same thing."

"When I was first teaching you to read, we had to start with "A" says "a". Then after you learned the basic sounds, you learned how to spell things like "cat", and now you are learning much more difficult words! But you had to grow into that. Do I expect Alexa to be able to do the same things as you?"

She grins at the idea of her tornado-toddler sister being required to do her 2nd grade lessons, shakes her head. "Of course not, she's only two. But she will get older and learn the things you are learning now if she wants to. It is the same with spiritual development, we don't learn by simply getting older. It isn't age that matures us. It is a willingness to try again, and repeat truth until we know it in our hearts and minds, and to persevere through prayer."

"When we pray to God for help with our struggles, and then we flail and fail, that isn't a reflection of His weakness or inability, but of ours. And while we may be tempted to give up and not pray because we feel like it doesn't 'help'... the exact opposite it true. 

He is THE source of Strength that we need. 

He is the only One who can save us from ourselves.

That's why our enemy wants to keep us from turning back to Him as Teacher. That's why we must not give in to discouragement.

God hears us. He will patiently and humbly and kindly teach us. He is compassionate towards us in our exhaustion."

She is relaxed in my arms, listening and so eager to do well.

And this last thing, could she learn this as a child and keep it close as an adult? "And remember that rest is a loving gift from God. Sometimes we just need to rest. God even goes so far as to command us to rest. Rest is a gift of love from God."

And she nods peaceful, resting in arms of love.

When You Need Specific Directions

I was a too-young 20, overwhelmed by the past few months of single motherhood... overwhelmed by myself. And I was definitely, completely, totally lost.

Dad was calm and direct, his voice trying to soothe through the phone, repeating a simple refrain that he hoped would ease my building hysteria.

"What do the signs say? Can you tell me where you are?"

I tried to shove down deep the wailing desperation, but it was clawing its way up my dry throat. It was getting darker. The fuel line was way below the E. The baby would be waking to nurse any minute. I was in a downtown maze of one way streets and no gas stations anywhere.

I couldn't hold it in. I screeched in a fit of emotionally exhausted fear and frustration: "There are no. signs. ANYWHERE!!"

I was looking, as best I could, straining and searching and where are those signs?? but I had to keep driving because of others behind me and around me and the pressure from panicking about the fact that I was about to run out of gas. Any moment. And I was all alone. With a baby.

This was not a good place to stop.

Whose says 18 makes you a mature adult? Or parenthood for that matter? I wanted my Dad. I wanted help. I wanted out of the situation. NOW. 

"Elise, just pull over." His command was gentle.

"I can't!" My eyes wildly darted from gas gauge to cross streets. "I don't see any place to stop!"

Again, firmly, tenderly "Elise, just look around, and find someplace to safely pull over."

I stopped looking for street signs and gas stations and at the gauge and in my rear view mirror and focused solely on a safe resting place. I found an empty lot, well lit, and pulled in. I turned my car off, sure it wouldn't restart.

"Okay... I stopped..."

Still and out of the motion of the ceaseless current flowing, pushing... I could fully take it in, look around, and describe where I was. It wasn't pretty, but it was accurate enough. 

And it was lonely, and it got dark, but the help came to me.  

And it's a good thing, too. Because I was right in that I wouldn't have made it much further, I didn't have enough fuel to go on. But I got filled up, and to my great relief all I had to do was follow the way home.



And seven years later, this is still the way I make it safely home. 

This is still the way I get specific directions to where I need to go, what I need to do.

This is still how I get filled up.

It always begins with fully stopping. Jumping out of the pressured driving on, looking around until I can read the signs.

Then I tell Him where I am. And I ask for His help, I ask what I should do, as specifically as I can.

Because when I finally stop wailing and complaining and screaming frustration about being lost, but instead see my specific requests being responded to and answered... My panic fades in the beautiful relief of understanding that He really does hear me, and he answers me and He is not far off, but draws near to my flailing heart. 

My specific questions and requests are not a test of His goodness, but of my understanding His will for me. When I lay my specific requests before Him, I wait in expectation, and now joy, knowing He will answer... and that I will understand.

As with Gideon requesting two specific confirmations before war,  or as Jonathan trusting God with specific words before entering a fight,  I believe the LORD when He told me it is an honoring childlike faith that asks, and believes the Father has the answer. 

"Ask the LORD your God for a sign, whether in the deepest depths or in the highest heights." ~Isaiah 7:11

 And the Father who knows my entire, winding, breathe of a road, and sees it all so clearly in the palm of His hand... He always comes to me. He fills me up.

Then I just have to follow Him out... follow Him home.