Invite Him In

When creating and serving a signature dish, a chef will sometimes say, "That's me on the plate." Artists will say the same thing, "That's who I am, on the canvass." I'm a wannabe chef and writer and often I will put my heart out there via food and words...but every now and then I read what someone else wrote and resonate with it so deeply, that it feels like they took my heart and put it into words far more cogent and eloquent than I ever could. I read such writing this morning and had to post it here.

It's my heart...on the screen...via John and Stasi Eldredge. I share it with you with much love, and prayers that we will invite Him in, and continue to do so for the rest of our days.

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There is a famous passage of Scripture which many people have heard in the context of an invitation to know Christ as Savior. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in…" (Rev 3:20). He does not force himself upon us. He knocks, and waits for us to ask him in. There is an initial step, the first step of this which we call salvation. We hear Christ knocking and we open our hearts to him as Savior. It is the first turning. But the principle of this "knocking and waiting for permission to come in" remains true well into our Christian life.

You see, we all pretty much handle our brokenness in the same way - we mishandle it. It hurts too much to go there. So we shut the door to that room in our heart and we throw away the key - much like Lord Craven locks the Secret Garden upon the death of his wife, and buries the key. But that does not bring healing. Not at all. It might bring relief - for awhile. But never healing. Usually it orphans the little girl in that room, leaves her to fend for herself. The best thing we can do is to let Jesus come in, open the door and invite him in to find us in those hurting places.

It might come as a surprise that Christ asks our permission to come in and heal, but he is kind, and the door is shut from the inside, and healing never comes against our will. In order to experience his healing we must also give him permission to come in to the places we have so long shut to anyone. Will you let me heal you? He knocks through our loneliness. He knocks through our sorrows. He knocks through events that feel too close to what happened to us when we were young - a betrayal, a rejection, a word is spoken, a relationship is lost. He knocks through many things, waiting for us to give him permission to enter in.

Perfect Autumn Dessert

Haven't blogged in awhile. Many things stirring in my soul but nothing I can write about just yet. In the meantime, let me share this delicious recipe; I made it last night for a gathering and it was a big hit. It's perfect for an autumn evening...enjoy!

Apple, Pear, and Dried-Cherry Crumble

1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons plus 1-1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, divided
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
4 large Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, cut into 1/4” slices
2 large pears, peeled, cored, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
1 cup dried cherries (or dried cranberries...I used some of each!)
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
3/4 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons finely grated lemon peel
Vanilla and/or caramel ice cream

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Butter 13x9x2- inch oval ceramic baking dish. Mix sugar, 3 tablespoons flour, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, and nutmeg in large bowl. Add apples, pears, and dried cherries to bowl; sprinkle with lemon juice and toss to coat. Transfer to prepared dish.

Using fingertips, mix butter, brown sugar, lemon peel, remaining 1 1/2 cups flour, and remaining 1 teaspoon cinnamon in medium bowl until moist clumps form. Crumble butter mixture over fruit.

Bake until fruit bubbles at edges and crumble is crisp and beginning to brown on top, about 1 hour. Cool about 20 minutes.

Spoon crumble into bowls and serve with ice cream.

from Bon Appetit magazine

Bittersweet

"Desire is the source of our most noble aspirations and our deepest sorrows. The pleasure and the pain go together; indeed, they emanate from the same region in our hearts." -- John Eldredge

Today was fun, it really was.

Glenn threw a party for my 50th birthday. "Ninapalooza!" :) I was surrounded by family and friends who are near and dear to me. We laughed a lot. We ate yummy grilled meat and an amazing chocolate and lemon layer cake with lemon curd and chocolate ganache (thanks Debbie!). We all enjoyed the sunshine and cool breeze of Alameda, right next to the bay. I was given some wonderful gifts, hand-picked with care. I felt loved. Very loved.

And yet...

...there was a twinge of pain I couldn't shake. The ache of missing loved ones who could not be here today for various reasons -- relatives and dear friends who live too far away; family from whom I'm estranged; a close-as-a-brother friend who died many years ago; a friend who recently bid me a painful farewell. I carry them all in my heart along with the longings -- wishing I could have afforded to fly everyone out here; wondering if there will ever be reconciliation; wishing he hadn't died; wanting a different ending.

Maybe this explains why I love the combination of lemon and chocolate so much.

As the cake was cut today, I was struck by the beauty in the contrast of the yellow and brown layers; the interplay of light and dark. A bite of everything together brought an amazing taste sensation of sweet and sour and bitter; it was far more complex than a "just chocolate" or "just lemon" cake would have been. Just as my mouth savors the complexities of flavors, my heart savors the rich experience of emotional complexities.

So today I embrace the love and the loss, the joy and the pain, the laughter and the tears, the pleasure of what is and the longing for what could be. Not a bad way to usher in the next half-century of my life, eh?

P.S. I'm sure glad there's leftover cake!

Patient Trust

Had to share this; the first line completely grabbed me and I was riveted to the very end.

Patient Trust

by Pierre Teilhard De Chardin

Above all, trust in the slow work of God

We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of progress
that it is made by passing through
some states of instability ---
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually --- let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that His hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Transition

Goodbye, hello.

Hello, goodbye.

He Loves Me (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

^{It's been a bad month.}

I had started taking care of my health -- physical, spiritual and mental -- and it all seemed to vaporize. I was finding it hard to even leave the house. Here I was in this lovely town about which I had waxed so poetic on this blog, and I would go days without going outside, spending time in my chair, watching DVDs and eating poorly. Why? What happened to my "resolve" to eat right, take walks, breathe deeply, soak up the sun, spend time with Jesus and read the Bible (aka soaking up the Son)...where did it all go?

Today a verse came to mind that illuminated things for me:

I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,

and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind

and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed...

That's from Lamentations, chapter 3. It hit me today that I have been in a perpetual state of lament which has been consuming me. And while I am a huge believer in lamenting, it is clearly not what is to consume us. I have allowed many emotions to consume my heart and soul and they have crowded out the truth that I know...the truth that is the bedrock of my life: I am the beloved of God. No matter what is going on, no matter how deep the pain, His love goes deeper. Somewhere along the way, I allowed other things to rule and reign in me. I was consumed.

Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.

How easily my soul can get entangled by other things instead of staying open to receive the deep, high, long and wide love of God. Yeah, yeah, yeah. How easily I can take for granted that the Creator of the Universe loves me with a love so great that He would sacrifice His only Son FOR ME. Yeah, yeah, yeah. How easily I can shrug that off and focus on my pain and struggle to the point of not taking care of myself, or even caring about caring. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.

The verse in Lamentations continues this way: Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

It truly is His kindness that leads to repentance. I do not want to be consumed by anything but Him.

So these are my marching orders -- Feel the feelings, but do not allow them to consume me. Get out of the chair. Take a walk. Eat some veggies. Breathe in the air. Go to the cross. Worship. Even if I feel lousy. Even if all I want to do is cry. Do not allow pain to stop me from maintaining some semblance of health.

And most of all, take time to soak in God's goodness, faithfulness and love.

Yes, yes, yes.

The Beauty of Ouch

I have spent the last 20 years (give or take) learning how to express my negative feelings; you know the ones -- anger, hurt, disappointment, fear, intimidation, etc. For someone who grew up in an emotionally abusive home, this has been quite a wild ride. After discovering I had a voice (dammit) I took far too many liberties with it, mostly at my husband and kids, and I did a lot of damage in the name of my healing. *sigh*

While I certainly made some big strides on this journey, the road was long with many a winding turn. About five years ago, I felt the Lord gently say to me, "Just because you CAN say something, doesn't mean you SHOULD." This was in the context of keeping my mouth shut at women's Bible studies where certainly the world would come to an end if I didn't speak up about certain things. (Ah, don't we love it when He points out spiritual pride?) But I soon realized this word applied to all areas of my life. Thus a new adventure began, of understanding I can CHOOSE not to speak and that doesn't mean someone is oppressing or squelching me. It doesn't mean I've lost my voice; it means I'm gaining some wisdom and discipline to know how to use that voice well. I don't think any of us ever gets this right 100% of the time, but since I came from such a deficit it felt a bit like learning how to walk. There have been times when I stayed silent when it became clear down the road that I should have spoken up, and vice-versa...sometimes about trivial things; sometimes about crucial issues. What a journey.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered the beauty of ouch. It's such a small word; I love how it feels in my mouth. Finding one's ouch is an important thing. What causes me to ouch might not cause you to ouch, and so it helps us understand each other more. Ouch doesn't accuse. It doesn't say, "YOU did this and YOU are bad/wrong/unacceptable." It says, "That hurt/stung/bothered ME." It helps to "keep things in the I" as therapists and communication instructors tell us over and over again.

Sometimes we don't know what to do with ouch. Defenses rise up ("I didn't do anything wrong!") or judgments are made ("You're too sensitive!"). I know I haven't always known what to do with someone else's ouch. Now I understand that one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language is, "I'm sorry that hurt you." This is such a gentle way to come alongside the person you care about and let them know you have heard and respected their ouch. (And if you're in the same room, a hug can be nice, too. At least for me.)

I recently had an exchange with a friend; "I need to say ouch," I said. I explained why. They listened and apologized, explaining what had been going on with them. I listened and forgave. It was over in about two minutes. That's a beautiful thing. Two minutes to avoid walls being built. Two minutes to create safety and freedom. It's a risk to do this, though, isn't it? It takes a leap of faith and humility; when I say ouch, I feel unguarded and vulnerable. However, I know one thing for sure (à la Oprah) -- if I *don't* have those conversations, then those two minutes of unspoken hurt/anger/disappointment will add up to days and years of suppressed feelings which damage my soul and build walls between me and others. It's taken a long time but I think I'm finally getting it through my head and heart that the more I do this, the less riskier it feels, especially in relationships where room and respect for our ouches has been established.

I am grateful for the people in my life who have also discovered the beauty of ouch....who take the risk with me, and who care for me when I do the same. You know who you are.

"Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble." - 1Peter 3:8