I Won’t Forgive

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I don’t think I normally have a lot of trouble forgiving people and moving on with life. I know people make mistakes and I make mistakes and you just have to deal with it and let go. Lately though, something that happened years ago has kept coming to the forefront of my mind. Every time I think about it, I think I will never forgive that person, I will never love them, I will never let go. I know bitterness destroys people. I know refusing to forgive hurts me more than it will ever hurt the other person because it will eat away at me without them ever knowing. Still I felt what this person did was unforgivable and I also felt very strongly that forgiving meant letting what they did be okay. It meant letting them off the hook and acting like nothing ever happened. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay and just go on with life like nothing ever happened.

Then earlier this week I read a blog post by Don Miller that got me thinking. Miller talked about playing the victim and using unforgiveness to control and hurt people. Miller’s words made me realize I was telling myself that if I just keep this anger hot and fresh inside of me then that person will never be able to get close enough to hurt me again. If I keep this wound open then I will always remember why this person is unforgivable and so deserving of my anger. Miller’s post bothered me but it didn’t bother me enough to make me change anything; it just got me thinking in the right direction.

Then today I was reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis and the chapter I opened up to was called “Forgiveness.” Great. The chapter after that was called “The Great Sin” (referring to pride). Fantastic. And finally the next chapter was called “Charity” (referring to love of course). Super. There I was snuggled up on the couch with a big mug of hot tea ready for an afternoon of encouraging words from one of my favorite authors–that is not what I got. What I got was a heart and soul on fire with conviction. What a got were hard answers to the hard questions I have been asking God (How can I forgive this person? Followed by I will not forgive this person. How can I love this person? Followed by I will not love this person). I have noticed lately when I ask God a question that I think doesn’t have an answer, he answers me anyway whether I like or not.

In the chapter about forgiveness, Lewis says the following: “‘Forgive us our sins as we forgive those that sin against us.’ There is no slightest suggestion that we are offered forgiveness on any other terms. It is made perfectly clear that if we do not forgive we shall not be forgiven (Mere Christianity, p.116). These words shook me up a little bit. It bothered me to think that if I can’t get past this anger inside of me then God is by no means obligated to forgive my sins either.

Lewis goes on to say: “We might try to understand exactly what loving your neighbour as yourself means. I have to love him as I love myself. Well, how exactly do I love myself? Now that I come to think of it, I have not exactly got a feeling of fondness or affection for myself, and I do not even always enjoy my own society. So apparently ‘Love your neighbour’ does not mean ‘feel fond of him’ or ‘find him attractive’. …So loving my enemies does not apparently mean thinking them nice either. That is an enormous relief. For a good many people imagine that forgiving your enemies means making out that they are really not such bad fellows after all, when it is quite plain that they are. Go a step further. In my most clear-sighted moments not only do I not think myself a nice man, but I know that I am a very nasty one. I can look at some of the things I have done with horror and loathing. So apparently I am allowed to loathe and hate some of the things my enemies do. … For a long time I used to think this was a silly, straw-splitting distinction: how could you hate what a man did and not hate the man? But years later it occurred to me that there was one man to whom I had been doing this all my life–namely myself. However much I might dislike my own cowardice or conceit or greed, I went on loving myself. … In fact the very reason why I hated the things was that I loved the man. Just because I loved myself, I was sorry to find that I was the sort of man who did those things. Consequently, Christianity does not want us to reduce by one atom the hatred we feel for cruelty and treachery. We ought to hate them. Not one word of what we have said need be unsaid. But it does want us to hate them in the same way in which we hate things in ourselves: being sorry that the man should have done such things, and hoping, if it possible, that somehow, sometime, somewhere he can be cured and made human again. …Now a step further. Does loving your enemy mean not punishing him? No, for loving myself does not mean that I ought not to subject myself to punishment–even to death. If you had committed a murder, the right Christian thing to do would be to give yourself up to the police and be hanged. We may kill if necessary, but we must not hate and enjoy hating. We may punish if necessary, but we must not enjoy it. In other words, something inside us, the feeling of resentment, the feeling that wants to get one’s own back, must be simply killed. I do not mean that anyone can decide this moment that he will never feel it any more. That is not how things happen. I mean that every time it bobs its head up, day after day, year after year, all our lives long, we must hit it on the head. It is hard work, but the attempt is not impossible. … That is what is meant in the Bible by loving him: wishing his good, not feeling fond of him nor saying he is nice when he is not” (Mere Christianity, pp. 116-118 & 120, italics mine).

As I said before, my big hang-up with forgiving this particular person was the idea of pretending what they did was okay and acting like I’m just going to forget about it. What they did will never be okay, and unfortunately, I’ll never be able to forget about it either. But Lewis made me realize forgetting and pretending everything is perfectly fine is not what God is asking me to do; that is not forgiveness. When I realized forgiveness is wanting good for the other person, well, that is still hard to do, but it doesn’t feel like a lie–it doesn’t feel impossible. When I was telling God I wouldn’t forgive this person, I kept telling him I wanted to but it just wasn’t possible. I told God he would have to forgive this person for me because I couldn’t do it or he would just have to forgive me for my own unforgiveness–I genuinely felt there was no other answer, no other way to solve the problem. I realize now there is a way but it required I first understand what forgiveness really is and what I must do to offer this forgiveness. I am so relieved to know that this anger, even though it will rear its head again, does not have to hang over and control me forever.

I am so thankful God not only forgives me but patiently teaches me how to offer that same forgiveness to others in the darkest hour.

The Chasm Within

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When Darren and I bought our home, we bought it knowing (or hoping at least) that we would only live here for three years. Two of those three years have come and gone in a blink and now we are trying to determine where to go next. We would love to buy land in the country and build a house or maybe remodel an old farmhouse in need of some love. Darren spends the evenings perusing real estate websites looking for land and houses and then we spend the weekends driving around looking at what he’s found.

Since we’ve always planned on moving out of this house, I’ve never really put my roots down. I’ve been too busy counting the days until we move on to the next thing and then, I tell myself, I’ll really relax and settle in.

I say all this about buying houses and moving and always looking for the next best thing because I’ve started noticing a pattern in my life. I’m not just always ready to move into a better house on a prettier hillside, I’m always looking for something bigger and better in every part of my life. As soon as I get one thing that I thought I just had to have and knew would make me happy, there are five more things on the list of stuff I must have. I must have that outfit, that bag, that car, that job, that friend, that attention, that haircut, that vacation, and on and on it goes. It’s like I’m using all my life energy to dump water into a bucket riddled with holes; I fill and fill and fill and yet the bucket is always empty and I’m always thirsty for more.

I see too that way leads onto way, that is, when I finally get the bigger nicer house I wanted I must now fill it with bigger nicer possessions because the old stuff just won’t do. When I get a new dress, well I need new boots and a scarf and a bag to go with it because I just don’t have anything to wear otherwise. The more I get the more I want. Nothing satisfies. Nothing fulfills. I know this is true because I basically got everything I thought I could ever want for Christmas last year–and yet I already have a whole new list of stuff I want for Christmas this year–stuff I hadn’t even thought of needing until I got all that other stuff that now needs this and that to make it perfect. My heart is a greedy little monster and I will never give so much that it says, “Enough, there is nothing more I want. I am satisfied and content.” No, my heart will always say “give me more, give me now.”

C.S. Lewis said, “If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” There is a reason why all this stuff, however coveted, can never fully satisfy me; there is within me a void only God can fill.

There is nothing wrong with having nice things but nothing (not even everything) can ever fill me up and leave me happy–Hollywood is proof enough of that.

Someday Darren and I are going to find the right house or the right piece of land–but it isn’t going to make me happy. If I’m not happy right now today with God himself then I’ll never be happy tomorrow with God plus the perfect house. There is no room for God plus whatever–there is only room for God because God is the only “thing” that can fill the void within. I can be happy today or I can grasp for tomorrow–and tomorrow will come as empty and void as today.

The Day Is Not Your Own

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Yesterday was not exactly an ideal day for me. Nothing really bad happened but nothing went quite right either. By the end of the day I was tired and frustrated and a complete savage to be around. I was griping and grumbling to myself and thought “this is just not my day.” That’s when I felt a prick in my conscience like a splinter being removed from my soul and the thought occurred to me “no, it’s not your day; this is the day the Lord made and you’re supposed to rejoice and be glad in it.” Ouch. The verse I’m referring to (Ps. 118:24) does not say “if your day is going well then be sure to rejoice.” No, it just says rejoice and be glad–no matter what. This is God’s day; he made it—it’s his. So no matter what happens today, God help me to rejoice and be glad in your day.

“I think we all sin by needlessly disobeying the apostolic injunction to “rejoice” as much as by anything else” C.S. Lewis

“This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24, ESV)

What Do I Do Now?

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“There is a Power, whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—

The desert and illimitable air

Lone wandering, but not lost.”
I first studied the poetry of William Cullen Bryant in a college literature course. I didn’t care much for poetry in college because I thought it was hard to read and understand. But even in college I loved this one stanza from Bryant’s poem To A Waterfowl; I especially love the last line of the stanza– “Lone wondering, but not lost.” That is how I sometimes feel–like I’m wondering alone through life lost and confused. It’s good to be reminded that even when I am lonely, I am not truly alone and even when I feel lost, “There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast.” Life can certainly feel like a pathless coast. What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing? What do I do next? What does God want–what is his “will”?
Knowing the will of God is something you hear a lot about but many of the answers you receive are vague and confusing. Some people think God’s will (or plan for your life) is mystical and rooted in some kind of feeling that God is leading you to one thing or the other. Others think God’s will is very precise and concrete and that there are very specific and definite things you should be doing.  Personally, I believe God’s will is very practical and is very  step by step and day by day. I don’t believe I can tell you exactly what God’s will is for me for the rest of my life but I do believe I know what it is for today. For today God’s will is the practical things before me–going to work and doing my best, taking care of our home, being financially responsible so we are able to move forward with our goals and plans, being faithful and obedient to the truth, and so on. I don’t believe God is trying to trick me or hide his plans from me. I believe that as I walk in daily obedience God will daily make my path straight and will show  me what I should be doing little by little.
Today is not the hard part for me–tomorrow is. Tomorrow is hard because I don’t like waiting and I want to know what’s next. Tomorrow is hard because Darren and I are thinking through some big decisions that will change all of our tomorrows and it’s not easy not knowing exactly what is best and which path we should take.  One decision could affect all of the others and may possibly change the course we’re on forever–that’s scary and it’s a big responsibility. When I’m struggling with knowing what to do next and worried about making a mistake, the last stanza of Bryant’s poem comforts me:
“He, who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must trace alone,
Will lead my steps aright” (Italics mine).
Sometimes decisions are hard to make and it’s not easy knowing what to do next, but in these moments I believe God simply wants me  to look to him and trust that he “Will lead my steps alright.” I need to pray, obey, do the best that I know how to every day one step at a time–and trust that God will take care of the rest.
Here’s the complete poem that I have been referring to:
To A Waterfowl

Whither, ‘midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
          Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek’st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chaféd ocean side?
There is a Power, whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—
The desert and illimitable air
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest.
Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form, yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He, who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must trace alone,
Will lead my steps aright.”

Be Nice

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I read an article yesterday about the dumb, insensitive things people say to large families .

The article gave all kinds of clever and sharp responses to the invasive and inappropriate questions people ask. I got a real kick out of it especially since I grew up in a large family myself and remember some of the ignorant comments people made to my parents about having soooo many kids.

Even though I enjoyed the article, it also got me thinking about the way I respond to people when they ask me questions or make comments that I think are dumb or intrusive. At this point in my life, most of the questions and comments I find irritating pertain to a) not having children and b) what I do all day (since I don’t have children and only work part-time outside of the home).

As far as I’m concerned, it’s nobody’s business why we don’t have children and Darren and I joke about the inappropriate and sarcastic things we could say to people to let them know it’s none of their business. Usually we’re perfectly polite and tell people we’re just not ready to have kids–this generally leads to a torrent of unwanted admonishment and advice:

  • “You’ll never have enough money to start a family so you’ve just got to go for it!” (I never said I don’t have enough money or am waiting for enough money).
  • “Kids are such a joy and add so much to your life–you won’t regret it!” (I never said children are kill-joys or that I’m not looking forward to all they will add to life).
  • “You’re running out of time.” (I’m 26, I mean really?).
  • Oh, and my personal favorite said repeatedly by my father–“I’ll be dead before you have children and then I’ll never get to enjoy my grandkids.” (Dad, you are a young thing–let’s all just breathe shall we?).

I could go on and on but what I’m starting to realize and think about is this: All the annoying things people say and all the ignorant questions they ask are very likely said with the best of intentions. For the most part, I don’t think anyone who has said these kinds of things to me is trying to be mean, irritating, or intrusive. Most likely they’re just trying to encourage me and let me know that they’re interested in my life and are excited about the day when I start a family (what’s more exciting than a brand new baby after all?). And considering that most people aren’t actually trying to hurt me, is it really fair that my response to them be sharp, sarcastic, or unkind? After all, I’ve asked some pretty dumb questions myself.

There are so many opportunities in life to ask ignorant questions. For example:

  • When kids are graduating from high school or college everyone (including me) wants to know what they’re doing next. It’s a pretty harmless question but I remember being the kid graduating and getting asked that question 15,0000000 times and not having an answer and it really drags on you until you’re ready to verbally assault the next person who wants to know “what next?”
  • When you’re single, everyone (including me) wants to know if there’s anyone special in your life or if you would like to meet their second cousin’s uncle Fred who’s a really nice guy. When you’re single, the last thing you want to talk about with near strangers is why you’re single and how long you plan on being that way as if there is something wrong with you or something wrong with being single.
  • When you get married, as I already said, everyone (including me) wants to know when a baby will be coming.
  • When you are pregnant everyone will point out to you that you are pregnant and man you are soooooo big!
  • Once you have baby number one, everyone wants to know when you’re having baby number two.
  • When you have baby number two everyone wants to know if you know what causes all these babies and when you’re going to stop.
  • Regardless of who you are or where you are in life, at some point everyone (including me) is just going to want to know what’s wrong with you and why would you do whatever it is you are doing.

But here’s the thing about all these stupid, annoying questions–they are usually innocent. Yes they can be ignorant and insensitive but they really aren’t meant to harass or hurt you; they are meant to show interest and curiosity. They are meant, in their own odd way, to show love. I can’t even imagine how many dumb hurtful things I’ve said to people over the years but I can be sure that I almost never meant to hurt or to intrude. So the next time someone says something to you that is reeeeeaaaaally really none of their business, just try to remember that you have (or will) ask the same dumb questions at some point and the people asking the questions are just trying to have a conversation not an inquisition (well, most people that is).

Let’s be nice to each other shall we? :]

The Importance of Being Important

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Lord, I’ll do whatever you want (as long as it’s important).

When I was in high school I really thought I would end up going on the mission field. I thought I would move overseas and take the world by storm. I often prayed and told the Lord that I would go anywhere and do anything (except stay in America and help in a boring local church). I wanted to do big things for God. But that was just the problem–I only wanted to do big things. I wanted to do important, life-changing work…not just sit in the pew of a local church and help with the nursery or children’s church or other unexciting, “unimportant” stuff like that.

It’s kind of ironic, but it was much harder for me to be willing to stay in America and live a quiet comfortable life just working and doing normal things than it ever was to surrender to foreign missions and all the dangers and inconveniences that missions entail. Looking back, I see that my desire to do big things for God wasn’t even about God–it was about me. It was about me feeling important and me getting attention and fulfillment. The test was not whether I was willing to give my life to missions; it was whether I was willing to give my life to the quiet, unnoticed work before me. Will I be willing to work a normal job and take care of our home? Will I be satisfied and content if my life’s work is making dinner and doing behind the scenes work at a small local church? If I’m not satisfied with the small, unnoticed tasks before me, then I’m not doing any task for the right reason. If my motivation is to get attention or to feel important, then I’m not really serving God even if I am noticed.

The same is true with my writing. I often think that if my writing doesn’t get attention then it’s worthless. But is that really what it’s about? WordPress has this handy little stat bar that lets you see when someone visits your site or clicks on something you wrote. This bar is a great help in gaging what topics interest people and such but I can get obsessed with the silly little thing. After I’ve published something, I’m bad about coming back to the computer every few minutes to see if my stats have gone up and to see if anyone is commenting on or liking what I’ve written. I get carried away with the numbers–the attention and the sense of importance. If I’m writing what’s on my heart with the intention of glorifying God and encouraging others, then stats shouldn’t matter one bit. If something I write encourages just one person and no one else even looks at it then I should be satisfied to know that God has accomplished what he intended and it doesn’t matter how popular I do or don’t get in the process.

The truth is, no matter what the stats look like on a little bar, I will never really know the impact of my life or my writing–and it doesn’t matter. My job is simply to be faithful in doing what’s before me. The impact of what I do is fully in the hands of God. If God wants to use me, he can–but he certainly doesn’t have to. Truth be told, God doesn’t need our help in accomplishing his work. It is a gift to us that God ever chooses to use us. So if God gives me a small, seemingly unimportant task, I should do it happily, faithfully, and with a sense of honor. Who am I to complain about importance when it really should be such a humbling honor that God ever chooses to include me in his creative work?

Editing Your Life

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Today I decided to add a more detailed “About Me” section to the blog and while doing so started thinking about the interesting ways we edit our lives for people. When I share something here on the blog or on Facebook I only share what I want people to see and know–the funny stories, the deep thoughts, the best pictures. I don’t tell people the stuff about me and my life that I don’t want them to know. I don’t post the pictures that are unflattering, or heaven forbid me without makeup. Nope, it’s just the good stuff. If my life were just the stuff I present here on the blog and on Facebook, then it would appear that life is pretty perfect. I mean, I have this great husband, I live in this beautiful place, we go do fun exciting things together, I have a great job and lots of independence–life is perfect–or is it?

I really can’t complain about life, that much is true, but it’s certainly not all quiet dates and exciting adventures; most of the time it’s doing the laundry and sitting in an office working. It’s dotted with excitement and the dots are the parts you see. You don’t see me when I roll out of bed in the morning looking like a sea monster, you don’t see me when I’m having a bad attitude because I didn’t get what I wanted or because I’m just in a bad mood. I never make my Facebook status something like, “Just said something hurtful to the husband because I’m self-absorbed and don’t care if I hurt him” even though that’s exactly the truth far too often.

What I tell you about myself is true but it’s not all the truth; it’s the edited version–the version I want you to see.

I think with all the social networking we do these days, it’s more important than ever to remember just how much our lives are edited. If we don’t remember this then we might look at other people’s lives and envy how perfect it all seems. We might think someone else’s life is so beautiful and happy and full of excitement and mine is full of dirty dishes, crying babies, or long days at the office. Instead of seeing the simple beauty of my own life and realizing that all I have is a gift from God, I might start wanting what someone else has–and never even realize that what they have is only a small part of the story–the part of the story they let me see and nothing of the hurt, sadness, or monotony that is kept tidy and quiet away from the world of Facebook.

There is a girl in my life that intimidates the heck out of me. She is beautiful and charming and everyone loves being around her. I look at her sometimes and feel like a complete loser. I feel like I will never be as put together and wonderful as she is. I’ll never curl my hair every day or always show up in high heels looking amazing like amazing just follows me around. Nope, I’ll be the dorky girl with the ponytail and boat shoes because that is the extent of my fashion ambition. My inner monologue is horrifying when I’m around her. But then on days like today I remind myself that I’ve only seen her in public when all is well and she is in her best clothes. I haven’t seen her when she’s only with the people who know her best and she feels safe letting her guard down. I haven’t seen her flaws because she isn’t showing them to me. If she doesn’t have any flaws then I will poke my eyes out but for now I’m just going to assume that she is actually as imperfect as the rest of us and is just good at editing the bad stuff out in public. I can’t be her–and truth be told, if I saw the whole picture, I probably wouldn’t want to be.

Life is What You Make It

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Lately, I have felt that I have nothing to say–at least nothing that matters that is. I’ve been wondering why I fool with a blog and why I think I need to say anything at all because who really cares or has time to read about my unimportant thoughts? This morning, I opened my blog and sat down to write…and sat, and stared at the screen, and decided I had nothing worthwhile to share with the world so I closed my page and went on with life. I did the normal stuff I do every day when I’m home from work–I sorted, washed, dried, folded and put away the laundry; I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, cleaned the bathrooms, swept and swiffered the floors, vacuumed, dusted, wiped down the counters, uncovered the bedroom floor buried in clothing, made the bed, prepped dinner for cooking later, etc. These things that I do are not very important, I thought–they must be done, but they aren’t important and I have nothing to share with the world.

I didn’t know what to make for dinner so I decided to poke around on The Pioneer Woman’s blog and peruse her many amazingly enticing recipes and finally had to get a donut and some Pringles to snack on while I looked at all the delicious meals and pictures on her site. I know the Pioneer Woman is famous. I knew her recipes are known and loved by the whole gigantic world and she’s been on TV and everyone knows her name because she’s awesome and amazing. What I didn’t know (since I had never actually been to her blog before) is that she’s a normal person. And by normal I mean she does stuff that sounds normal/boring–she lives on a cattle ranch in Oklahoma (normal/boring), she has four kids and is a stay-at-home wife and mother (normal/boring), she homeschools (normal/boring), she cooks, gardens, decorates, takes pictures, blah blah blah–normal boring stuff, right?

But she’s not boring. She’s hilarious and inspiring. She takes stunning photographs. She cooks food that I believe may very well be served beyond the gates of splendor and after looking through just a small part of her recipes, I don’t think I’ll ever look anywhere else for meal ideas. She’s a normal wife, mother, and homemaker but she has captured so much beauty and interest in her normal life and activities.

After looking at the Pioneer Woman’s blog, I wanted to be just like her. I thought if I could be super cool like the Pioneer Woman then everyone would love me and they would have to build a separate internet just to accommodate the traffic on my blog because everyone would come and check out my coolness and people would write books about me and life would be beautiful–if I were the Pioneer Woman. But I’m not. I’m just me without any important thoughts to share on my scarcely viewed blog so I sighed and went back to my housework. I was folding some laundry (see picture below) when it occurred to me that the Pioneer Woman’s life isn’t beautiful and exciting because of what she does (cooking, homeschooling, etc.), her life is beautiful and inspiring because she has made it that way–she has turned ordinary activities into funny stories and yummy recipes and happy children and a world filled with fans that love coming to her blog and seeing what she’s up to that day. It occurred to me that my life is what I make it out to be. If I view my life and self as boring and unimportant, then it probably will be boring and unimportant. But if I value the life I have, as normal as it may be, then it’s something worth having and sharing. I don’t need lots of profoundly important things to say, I just need to say what I have to say and share what it is I’ve been given. Life is as beautiful and stunning as you make and see it.

I can’t and don’t need to be the Pioneer Woman and she can’t be me. She’s doing what she was meant to do and I just need to be me and do what I’m supposed to…even if they don’t need to build a second internet to accommodate my traffic (bummer).

Simplifying

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A bird sings quietly in the trees outside my house. The sky is a vain shade of cobalt blue and without a cloud or sigh of winter. I have all this technology at my fingertips—a computer with high-speed internet, an IPod filled with my favorite music and apps, a TV with my favorite shows, a camera to take pictures, Facebook to share my life with family and friends…and yet a bird’s song outdoes them all. No song on my IPod is as lovely as that bird’s song, no picture I take with my camera can compare to the blue sky beauty just outside my window, no interaction on Facebook or text can compare to an interaction with nature—a walk in the woods, a swim in the ocean, or a gaze at the stars. Technology clutters my life; nature feeds my soul.

Henry David Thoreau was wiser 150 years ago than we are today. “Men have become the tools of their tools” (Walden p. 33), he said–and he said so before all the technology of today. What have we become? Technology serves its purpose, of course; I could not share these thoughts with you in this way were it not for computers and internet. But too often I lose my way and let my interactions with technology replace my interactions with God, man, and nature. Thoreau said, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and to see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived” (Walden p. 74). What could I learn about God, myself, and the people around me if I were to wake up from the stupor of technology and live deliberately?

de•lib•er•ate (adv., de•lib’er•ate•ly)

v. 1.To consider carefully and at length. 2. To take counsel together so as to reach a decision. 3. To think about or consider carefully; weigh. adj. 1. Carefully thought out; intentional. 2. Slow and cautious in determining or deciding. 3. Leisurely in movement or manner; unhurried; slow.

Syn. 1. Deliberate, ponder, reflect, meditate, and muse mean to think deeply, usually in silence (As defined by the Funk & Wagnalls Standard College Dictionary).

How much more could I enjoy this quiet little life I’ve been given were I to step out of the bonds of technology and into the sanctuary of nature—if I were to deliberate, ponder, reflect, meditate, and even muse upon the stunning beauty of the world around me? Today I read for the first time William Cullen Bryant’s A Forest Hymn–it is stunning. I would love to share the whole poem but it’s rather long so I omitted lines here and there:

“The groves were God’s first temples. …

Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down,

And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks

And supplication. …

Ah, why

Should we, in the world’s riper years, neglect God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore

Only among the crowd, and under roofs

That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,

Here, in the shallow of this aged wood,

Offer one hymn …

Father, thy hand

Hath reared these venerable columns, thou

Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down

Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose

All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun,

Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,

And shot toward heaven.

…

till, at last, they stood,

As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,

Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold

Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults,

These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride

Report not. No fantastic carving show

The boast of our vain race to change the form

Of thy fair works. But thou art here—thou fill’st

The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds

That run along the summit of these trees

In music; thou art in the cooler breath

That from the inmost darkness of the place

Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,

The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee.

Here is continual worship;—Nature, here,

In the tranquility that thou dost love,

Enjoys the presence. Noiselessly

…

Thou hast not left

Thyself without a witness, in the shades,

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace

Are here to speak of thee.

…

My heart is awed within when I think

Of the great miracle that goes on,

In silence, round me—the perpetual work

Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed

Forever. Written on thy works I read

The lesson of thy own eternity.

…

let us [not] need the wrath

Of the mad unchained elements to teach

Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,

In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,

And to the beautiful order of thy works

Learn to conform the order of our lives.”

How stunning would it be to step away from our loud, busy worlds and see creation the way Bryant did? Get me to the woods.

Baking and Other Bad Ideas

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Birthday presents all wrapped and ready

Darren’s birthday was this week and he requested a cake with a creamy not-too-sweet frosting on top. To achieve said frosting I thought I would just utilize my mad bad cooking skills and bake the man a cake all by my onesie–bahaha–bad, dumb idea, Kari Ann.

It started like this: I bought two boxes of chocolate cake mix and planned on making two 9″ round cakes to stack one on top of the other–no problem. I read the instructions carefully and even called Darren to verify our altitude to make sure I didn’t need to use the higher altitude instructions. The instructions said to divide one box of cake mix between two 9″ pans so that is exactly what I did–but the pans didn’t look full enough to me. So I, even though I have apparently never baked a cake before, decided to take the instructions into my own hands and poured the whole box of batter into one pan and mixed the second box for a second pan–perfect.

Both pans were filled almost to the top and I popped them in the oven with the timer set for 30 minutes then left the room. Soon, I could smell the cake cooking and it smelled so yummy and I started thinking about Facebook statuses like, “Just made the best cake ever–sooooo good!” Then I started smelling smoke.

I went to the kitchen to check on my perfect cakes and smoke was billowing from the back of the oven. You know how when some people freak out they spring into action and fix the problem on a rush of adrenalin? Ya, I’m not one of those people. I’m one of those people who completely freeze and lose all ability to think or function. So, when smoke is billowing out of the oven and my cakes are most likely on fire I stand frozen in the kitchen with my hands over my mouth trying to think. of. something.

I finally found my legs and opened the kitchen window to let the smoke out before the fire alarm starting blasting and opened the oven to find that my two cakes were both bubbling over and pouring a lava-like flow of cake batter all over the interior of the oven. There was so much cake batter on the bottom of the oven that it looked like I was cooking four cakes–two in pans and two on the oven floor. The cakes were bubbling over so badly I didn’t even know how to get them out of the oven. I finally maneuvered some baking sheets under the cakes and pulled them out one at a time. The batter on the oven floor was burning into blackened charcoal and filling the house with smoke so I had to get it all cleaned out before I could even think of putting the cakes back in. I scrubbed and scrubbed until it was all cleaned up and then emptied some of the extra batter from each of the pans before putting them back in to finish cooking. I had to keep opening the oven like I was burping it to let all the smoke out that kept building up. Once the cakes were finally done, I trimmed all the excess off and laid them face-down so you couldn’t tell how incredibly ugly they were then I piled them high with that special frosting that started this whole adventure. In the end, the cake didn’t look too bad and it tasted fine (I was sure it would taste like smoke).

When Darren finally got home from work we had a nice steak dinner together, opened presents, and enjoyed the cake of doom. Next year when Darren asks for a special cake, I going to march right down to the bakery and buy him one. I hate cooking. I hate baking. Most of all, I hate the smell of burnt cake batter.

The final result