I haven’t been online much in my personal time the last week or so, and I had actually planned to sit down tonight and blog some honest, heartfelt thoughts on a few deep topics I’ve been pondering over.

However.

After a busy day at work, spending a good bit of time in the kitchen tonight teaching J how to make turkey meatballs, then time to eat, then time to clean up, then finally trudging up the stairs with an armful of odds and ends to head for comfy clothes and the laptop, I stepped, barefoot, in something unspeakable one of the cats left behind, and all reflective thoughts were immediately shelved.  I’m sorry, I know that’s gross.  I won’t elaborate, but I needed to express the full extent of my misery.  So after more cleanup which also included an unrelated episode requiring the need to deal a swift death to a spider on my bedroom wall, I’m in no state for deep reflection.

Instead, I’ll accentuate the positive:

• J and I had a lovely long weekend together in Chattanooga; a very pretty city, with lots to see and do (despite the wilting heat).
• I saw a beautiful rainbow on the way to work yesterday.
• I’m starting a new Beth Moore Bible study tomorrow.
• I got to spend a delightful couple of hours Saturday visiting with my cousin and snuggling her new baby girl.
• I made more plans for my upcoming mission trip today.
• It’s the season for one of my all-time favorite salads (made tonight while J cooked).
• I’m down 24.5 pounds.
• After work yesterday I had the sweet serendipity of bumping into my parents in the grocery store.
• God loves me.

Someday soon, I’ll revisit those deep thoughts.  Meanwhile, now that I’ve counted some blessings, I will put this day to bed and move on towards tomorrow.

It’s been a very busy week in the household of H and J, with unexpected after-work obligations and a surprise opportunity for us to pal around for a day in the big city in the midst of it all.  One of those after-work obligations was a visit to the funeral home to support one of my co-workers in her loss.  I’m going to take a sidebar here:  when I say obligation, I mean it in the nicest way.  If I can claim any wisdom with my increasing age, one of things I have come to feel very strongly about is the importance of attending a visitation when someone close to you experiences a loss.  I’ve heard well-meaning people say “I just feel so uncomfortable about going.”  I say this in love: Get. Over. It.  Show up.  Your discomfort is nothing compared to the loss your friend has experienced, and all you have to do is walk in, hug your friend, and say “I’m so sorry.”  It matters, it really does, and I’ll admit in my younger past I’ve sometimes thought it wouldn’t really be noticed if I was there or not.  I’m sorry for that now, because in my own losses I’ve experienced how much it means to see the outpouring of love and respect for the one you’ve lost, even if there are too many faces to keep straight in your grief. And with that, Sidebar closed, but please really.. when the time comes, go.

So, the busy week. It finally wound down to my favorite kind of Saturday; the fluffy-cloud, sunny, no rush, read-a-book, maybe shop a little with Mom kinda day.  I did make another stride in my “Pure Food Pure Home” efforts.  I made my own laundry detergent!  I have been reading about it on the internet and it sounded too easy not to try.  There are two reasons I wanted to do this, first because it’s ridiculously cheap and second because it avoids extra chemicals, dyes, and fragrances that wreak havoc on sensitive skin (and septic tanks!).  If you’d like to try it, here’s your basic ingredients:

• 1 bar of soap.  Cheap-o is fine (I bought Fels Naptha in the laundry aisle, which is large enough to count as 2 bars)
• 1 cup borax (sold by box in laundry aisle)
• 1 cup washing soda (also in box in laundry aisle.  NOT the same as baking soda)

There are two preparation methods, powder or liquid.  I made the powder, primarily in consideration of storage space.  Directions for the liquid version are here if you want them, but all similar instructions I’ve read call for 2 to 5 gallon buckets, and my laundry room is a glorified closet, so I don’t have much floor space in there.  First, grate your bar of soap down to the finest flakes you can produce.  I had excellent success with my micro-plane grater, which also happened to be the same width as the end of the bar of soap.  It may take quite a few minutes to get all the way through the bar, but it’s worth it because the finer the flake, the better the overall consistency.

When you’re done, take the soap flakes and add 1 cup of borax and 1 cup of washing soda.  Because of choosing the large bar of Fels Naptha, I added 2 cups of borax and 2 cups of washing soda to make a double batch.  When it’s all together in the bowl, mix mix mix mix until it’s very well blended and you’re done!  Use about 1 tablespoon per wash load.  If you’re using cold water and are concerned it won’t dissolve, just dissolve your spoonful in a cup of warm water and toss in the washer while it’s filling up. At my current grocery store prices, the Borax is $0.46 per cup, the washing soda is $0.58 per cup, and the Fels Naptha was $1.99 or $1 for half the bar.  That’s $2.04 per batch!!  You could also lessen even that amount drastically by buying a package of several bars of whatever soap you want super-cheap at the dollar store, which several other bloggers have said works perfectly fine.  One batch of homemade detergent is enough to do about 32 loads – the same amount of laundry as that $9 bottle at the store, so that Plink Plink?  That’s the chunk of change dropping into your piggy bank!  I’ve read several comments that suggest adding a scoop of Oxy Clean to the mix, but I’m going to try it without first, since I don’t add that to every load now anyway.

I’m working progressively on going Green where I can (I wonder if it counts that I found the cutest lime green ice bucket with lid at Tuesday Morning that happens to be the perfect size to store my laundry detergent?).  My overall recycling efforts leave a lot to be desired, partly because I don’t have curbside pickup like I do for my trash.  I know, that sounds awfully lazy, but I’m out of town during the day at work, and unless there’s been a change I’m not aware of, the recycling center is closed when I’m home.  However, we do recycle at work, I use my canvas shopping bags whenever I remember to, I recycle any grocery bags for cat litter disposal and other tasks, and I just bought a nifty pen made 89% from recycled water bottles.  We don’t buy cans or soda bottles and we filter our own water, plus as mentioned we’re trying to use more gentle and environmentally friendly products where we can.  Every little bit helps!

All of these changes I (we) have been making are great, but I don’t want to focus on the re(de)fining God is doing in my life just to become a better version of me.  How wasteful!  I want to become less of me, not just physically but also in importance.  Part of the reason I want to be fitter, leaner, and Green-er is so I can have more energy and resources to give away to help others.  My workplace is also astoundingly supportive of those sort of efforts, encouraging us to serve in Christ-centered opportunities and backing that up with the time and resources to make it possible.  So, I am considering an opportunity that has arisen for a mission trip this fall.  More details on that later, but it is overseas and would provide a wonderful opportunity to love on some people who need it.  I’ve heard a person or two say they’d rather help someone in their own town or state who needs it than to travel far away.  I say each one go where opportunity opens up to you.  There are 4.3 million Kentucky residents.  Accounting for elderly and children, if even 50% of us volunteered our time in some way, I think we could cover the state and the world both.  So, I’d appreciate your prayers, and please know you’re in mine!  I don’t know all of you personally, but if you were drawn here to read what God is doing with me, I believe it’s because He’s got fantastic plans for you too.  And please, feel free to share a link to the blog with your friends on Facebook or through email or any other way.  We’ll all encourage one another. Blessings!

The initial six-week kickstart has come to an end. In review:

• Cleaned out pantry to the walls
• Emptied fridge of all contraband
• Restocked pantry with nuts, rice, quinoa, and not much else
• Restocked fridge with a farmer’s market worth of veggies plus a good bit of chicken and turkey, with a package of tofu for good measure
• Ate that way for 6 weeks
• Started going to Zumba, became instantly addicted
• Lost 22 pounds
• Made up several recipes
• Cut out my previous takeout habit
• Saved a LOT of food money
• Reclaimed a little of my stored, formerly too-tight clothes
• Gained a happier body that feels as if fitness is a true possibility

We didn’t start this intending to end after six weeks, but this weekend I did ask J how he felt about continuing.  Since I initiated the changes, I needed to know if the thrill was gone.  He is losing weight as well and, like myself, feels better in his own skin, so he is all in favor.  I can’t express how much that helps.  Conviction is strong, but partnership is essential.

I wrapped up the final weekend with more birthday celebration, which featured all kinds of healthy food plus amazing gourmet cupcakes.  And yep, I ate one (and split another later that night with J).  And it was good, but not good enough to stop eating the way I have been lately.  I’ve often heard the phrase “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”.  Well I’m not close to skinny yet, but I have generally believed that phrase is a bunch of baloney (so to speak).  When you’re eating out of unhappiness, distress, sorrow, tension, celebration, or loneliness, skinny is the last thing you care about.  I will say, though, that I do believe that nothing tastes as good as healthy feels.  And I am only agreeing with that now because eating a “pure food” diet has genuinely re-tuned my taste buds and my cravings.

One of the most motivating parts of the last few weeks, right up there with getting into clothes I haven’t worn for a couple of years, is the encouragement I’ve received from my friends.  It’s nice to feel like you look nice, but what really keeps me going are the conversations where someone expresses they’ve wanted to get healthier too, and we’ve traded tips and support.  Zumba ROCKS, but it’s even better shared with a friend or three.  You probably won’t talk much during the class because you’ll be frantically trying to learn the steps and catch your breath, but there’s still a sense of camaraderie and support..

This whole process has made me more aware of the need for lifting one another up, and then a woman passing me on the sidewalk complimented my shoes today.  I love pretty shoes, and I was flattered that she took the time to compliment my style.  I’ve been working on that myself – how often do we have the impulse to share a kind thought and we’ve stifled it because we were too shy to say it, or we let the moment pass, or worse yet, at the root of it we’d rather not boost her up right now?  Say it.  It’s freeing to celebrate one another!  Say it to yourself, too.  I have been a painfully harsh critic of myself most of my life.  No one’s more aware than I am of how far I still have to go, but I am working on it.  And in the midst of the work, and the discipline, I am growing in grace as I shrink in body.  He makes all things beautiful, in His time.  Including you and me!!

Yesterday, I turned 40.  I am by turns shocked, neutral, slightly dismayed, and a little bemused.  Mentally, I think I’ve been somewhere around 27 since I was… 27.  I think maybe it’s the forceful sound of the word.  “Thirty-nine” has soft edges and can be whispered.  “Forty” seems like more of a bark.  Still, it’s better than the alternative.

The day itself was lovely.  I had to work, but I flipped on the light on my office in the morning to discover it had been “birthday bombed” by my lovely co-workers.   I really didn’t mind the black balloons, but I’m grateful there were colorful ones as well, along with streamers, banners, and confetti.  My parents made the drive up to my work town to take me out to lunch and the gray drizzly day turned out to be spectacularly cool and sunny.  J sent me a spectacular tropical flower arrangement, I Zumba-ed my 40-year-old heart out with friends, and I came home to a healthy delicious dinner cooked by J.  How could I be sad about my age on a day like that?

I’ve already been making so many changes in the last month that I can’t say I did extensive self-assessment yesterday, but I did confirm something I’ve discovered over the last couple of weeks.  Part of my desk decoration included a piece of cake.  It was such a thoughtful touch, and in birthdays past it would have become breakfast.  And this year…. I didn’t want it.  I don’t mean I was ungrateful at all, I mean I didn’t crave it.  I didn’t fixate on it, I didn’t figure out how to balance my day around it.  My friends and co-workers know about my new eating lifestyle (I try not to overshare, but at the same time, it helps explain some changes in my eating behavior when we get together).  They are considerate, to the point of apologizing if they set out doughnuts in the kitchen or eat something in front of me.  I tell them it is fine, as is polite, but it’s also the absolute honest truth.

I’ve mentioned before that this lifestyle is as much spiritual as it is healthful, and with the cake, I have realized something profound.  I am free.  It is a genuine deliverance; former favorite indulgences have no hold on me.  I’m not passing up the rolls at dinner because of rigid stick-to-the-plan determination, I’m passing them up because although I’m fully aware of how good they taste, I’m aware they don’t benefit me, and for the first time in my life, that awareness is enough to simply disregard them.  Friends… this is entirely new territory!  It’s not willpower, because I don’t have enough.  I believe it’s the grace of God and the result of re-tuning my body’s desires by eating foods that satisfy and provide energy in the right way.

The night before last, I told J I wasn’t sure I wanted to turn 40.  He told me that was silly.  He has insisted since we met that I look younger than my age, and I believe he means it.  He also told me that 40 was wonderful, because I have all the wisdom of having lived through those 40 years along with the opportunity ahead of at least 40 more years to live it out.  You can see why I feel like my marriage with him is a gift of God’s grace as well.  So despite my knee that grinds unpleasantly when I go down stairs, the remaining weight I’d like to lose (although 20 pounds down is an encouraging start), the signs of crow’s feet around my eyes, and what I suspect is a grayer-than-blonde eyebrow hair, I will focus on my blessings.  A husband I adore, a family I cherish, a job that fulfills and challenges me, a body beginning to rediscover its original design, a sense of purpose and knowledge of self I didn’t possess even at 30… I’m beginning to think 40 can be delicious.

By the way, so was the cake.  I took it home and split the piece with J, and it was the perfect amount of birthday treat.  And when it was gone, it was out of my mind.  And that is the most delicious thing of all.

Today was one of those perfect May days Kentucky often produces.  Sunny and warm but not hot or muggy, slight breeze, fluffy clouds (and a supermoon tonight!).  J and I had a rare Saturday off together, so we slept in a little and then set off on our errand-running adventures.

First stop was a furniture store auction.  I’ve been intending to redo my home office for quite awhile, but I’m stalled at finding the right desk.  Seeking a bargain, we walked around the store, and not one desk to be found.  Foiled, we headed over to a shopping center instead, me in search of Spring clothes and J being a good sport and entertaining himself in the Dollar store.  I struck out on clothing, but did manage to score a really fabulous pair of shoes.  I thought I could wear them on my birthday next week, perhaps to take a little of the sting out of the number I will now have to write in the “Age” box.  Before meeting J, since my mind was on feeling pretty, I made a last minute detour into the beauty supply store.

Here, a confession: after some experimenting a few months ago, I now wear false eyelashes.  Every. Single. Day.  Once I found the right size and shape for my eye and learned some application skills, I was hooked.  No more searching for the ever elusive perfect mascara. Instead, I stick ’em on every morning and move on through my day with perfect, lovely lashes.  I normally wouldn’t broadcast that, but it’s the key to what happened next. I can find the type I wear at Walmart, where we were heading later, but I can also find them at the beauty supply store.  It was on the way to the car, and they’re right by the door, so I knew it would be a quick grab and no hassle.

I picked up two sets (Rule of Eyelashes:  Always keep a spare set), and made my way to the counter.  There were two ladies ahead of me, shopping together.  They apparently knew the clerk, and were chatting while the one who was paying scrambled through her purse for her discount card.  The scramble wasn’t going that well, and when they apologized to the clerk she breezily told them it was no problem, she wasn’t in any kind of hurry.  Well that’s a plus for customer service and all, but she didn’t bother to ask if *I* was in a hurry, and I was getting nowhere fast.  Here, another confession: I’m impatient.  VERY.  I’ve made some good strides at not showing it on my face, and believe me, I’ve prayed about it, but I am.  So on the inside, I was moving from neutral to aggravated.  Finally, they decided to pause their transaction (still scrambling) and the clerk began to ring me up, when she stopped.  She announced that there was a current deal where I could get a bottle of nail polish free for buying two sets of lashes.  Somewhat mollified, I asked her which colors I could choose from.  As she walked me over to the rack, another customer who had overheard eagerly asked me what I was buying so she could get the same deal.

Still half-listening to the clerk, I quickly said “eyelashes”, and turned to look at the colors.  The customer next to me wasn’t deterred and asked me where the eyelashes were in the store.  Buoyed by the promise of free merchandise, I remembered my manners, and showed her where they were.  She had more questions;  What kind did I like?  How did I choose? What kind of glue did she need?  Before I could even begin answering, she said, “You see, I had cancer, and my eyebrows and eyelashes really haven’t come back much.”  I had glanced at her on the way to the eyelash rack, but now I really looked at her.  She was right, they were sparse.  But her eyes were smiling – she was as excited about a bargain as I was, and as interested in dressing up her eyes as I was, too.  Chastened by my previous hurry, I explained the different ones I had tried and why the style I wore now was my favorite.  I helped her find the best kind of glue and then went back to the nail polishes with her while we talked about our favorite colors.

I chose my shade, and so did she, and she followed me back to the counter.  I paid and gathered my bag and purse to leave.  I wished her luck with the eyelashes and she thanked me for helping her, we shared a genuine smile, and I left.  She was kind, but I should have been thanking her instead.  She had reminded me of how much we all want to feel pretty, no matter what it is we have to work with.  More importantly, my brief encounter with her reminded me to stuff it the next time I start to get impatient.  While vanity is an overdose of devotion to one’s appearance, I think there is a vanity of our time and its importance as well.  Each moment brings chances to smile, to share a moment, to boost someone up.  I doubt circumstances today led me to the beauty supply store instead of Walmart so I could be a small blessing to a stranger.  I think it was so I could be humbled.  I’m thankful for the lesson.

One of the challenges I have taken on this year in addition to revolutionizing our eating and embracing fitness has been to read the Bible in a year.  I’ve read a lot of parts of the Bible over a lot of years of my life, but this is the first time I’ve arrowed straight through.  The challenge is literal – one of the best parts of my company is our charitable giving foundation.  They support some really amazing Christ-centered ministries around the world, and they do a great job of supporting us employees as well.  At the end of last year, an announcement was posted:  if any employee wanted to take on the challenge to read the Bible in the year, we would be provided with a Bible just for that purpose, at no cost.  On top of that, each person who completes the challenge will select a favorite Christian charitable organization to receive a $100 donation.  Amazing, right?

Unlike some popular “chronological” plans, the bible we received is a straight-through, New Living Translation, which I am really enjoying.  I’ve just come to the end of 2 Chronicles, and I have found it fascinating.  It can sometimes be overwhelming to read through so many genealogies, but between them the stories of the kings of Israel and Judah are riveting in their repetition.  That seems like a paradox.  Or is it an oxymoron?  Anyway, from Saul to David to all the many generations beyond, hundreds of years can be categorized in one of two ways.  When the king trusted God and led his country to worship Him alone, king and nation thrived in times of peace, victory, and success.  When the king turned from God to worship pagan deities and relied on military strength, divination, or bribes (often paid with objects belonging to the Temple) instead of His assurances, they failed miserably, were overrun, and often died horribly as a result of their life’s choices.  Over, and over, and over again.

Even Solomon, who built the Temple and fell down in wonder when God’s presence visibly filled it at the dedication ceremony, who was visited directly by God and offered anything he could choose and, choosing wisdom, was also blessed with riches beyond measure… even he failed at the end, allowing and encouraging worship of false gods at the “high places” that God had repeatedly told Israel to get rid of.  I’ve wondered before why there are so many historical records of kings, wars, and successions, but I finally got the “30,000 foot view”.  God keeps his promises!  “If you worship me and keep my laws, I will bless you.”  “Because you put your faith in power when I asked you to put it in Me, the result of your actions will be your own destruction.”  There’s mercy in there too – even kings who turned away from the Lord, when they truly repented, were given grace, often with a physical rescue from their enemy.

All of this is both humbling and reassuring.  If even Solomon, who witnessed God’s power in the most real powerful way we could imagine, could grow complacent enough in his blessings to turn from his passion for God, so can we.  Perhaps it was a literal seduction; he did have an awful lot of women in his life, and much has been lost in history because of relationship blindness.  We aren’t told, but I don’t think we need to be – the reminder is that it would easily be any of us when self  and might is indulged to excess.  The reassuring part is that each time a king decided to break from the pattern of his predecessor and return to God, especially when he restored the Temple, got rid of the foreign altars, and most especially when he got out the Book of Law and actually read it, he and his people enjoyed a time of rich blessings and peace.

It’s easy to see this as punitive – God waiting to punish anyone who doesn’t follow a ritual to the letter, but I don’t believe that’s true at all.  There are certainly plenty of cases where it’s made clear that life is God’s to give or take, I think those histories are instead a case, with plentiful evidence, for cause and effect.  When I am well-versed in His “Book of Law” (the Law now being Love) and spending time with Him, I am nurturing my love for Him.  I am not straining to hear from Him because I am in constant conversation with Him.  Filled with His Spirit, I am free to love my neighbor as myself, free from dependence on outside crutches, free from panic and perpetual distress.  When I start to believe the lie that He is not enough, I am unsure, desperate to surround myself with whatever armor or weapons keeps me alive, constantly at the whim of my human emotions, cheap joys, and temporary calm.  And there’s the other lesson too – while I am not a king, I am mindful that none of us lives in a vacuum.  As lived the king, so lived the people.  Whatever the size of your sphere of influence, what are your constituents witnessing in you?

I shared this quote on Facebook earlier this week, because it really hit me where I lived:

One of the great snares of the Christian worker is to make a fetish of his rare moments. When the Spirit of God gives you a time of inspiration and insight, you say – “Now I will always be like this for God.” No, you will not, God will take care you are not. Those times are the gift of God entirely. You cannot give them to yourself when you choose. If you say you will only be at your best, you become an intolerable drag on God; you will never do anything unless God keeps you consciously inspired. If you make a god of your best moments, you will find that God will fade out of your life and never come back until you do the duty that lies nearest, and have learned not to make a fetish of your rare moments.  — Oswald Chambers

I’ve made so many changes in such a short time, it’s easy to get carried away feeling pretty good about the way things are going. I’m very grateful for where God has taken me in the last couple of months, and even the last couple of years, with everything from a drastic but wonderful career change to turning my pantry upside-down.   It’s been a time of great blessing, but the quote resonated with me because I already know it’s true.  In my home church, we talked about these times as “mountain-top” experiences.  And they are wonderful, but you can’t just hang out up there for the rest of your life.  To grow in faith, you need descents and climbs to strengthen your spiritual muscles.  Fortunately, I’ve never lacked for slopes in my life, some steep and some just slippery enough to remind you of your humanity.

Take today.  I believe everyone has had that kind of morning, when you wake up more rested than usual, you’re feeling pretty positive about getting some good work done today, and you manage to put together an outfit that achieves professionalism, comfort, and Friday style.  You’re wearing a favorite necklace and pretty silver shoes, and to top it off, your pants are getting baggy.  Add your long-cherished charm bracelet for a last splash of style, and it’s out the door and on with the day. It’s Friday!  It’s Payday!  You start knocking out your to-do list, catch a potential problem before it has time to cause trouble, and chug down the water you now drink exclusively.  Which, naturally, leads to an eventual trip to the ladies’ room.

After you wash your hands, mind still humming along thinking about that project you’ll finally be able to tackle today, you check your hair and quickly reach back to make sure the tag of your pants is tucked in, when it happens.  Now it’s very possible that this is the point where the story for “you” rolls right on back to your office and on with the day, but  the story for me was that the one slightly crooked link on my bracelet managed to firmly hook itself into the back waistband of my undergarment, and I stood in front of the mirror, one hand trapped behind my back, panic on my face and the persistent jingling of my bracelet as I frantically tried to free myself.  Too far behind me to see what was going on, too awkward an angle to find the latch with my other hand and at least release the bracelet, and unthinkable to walk back out the door and into any public area of our workplace to find assistance.  After what felt like at least an hour, jingling all the way, I finally managed a last desperate yank and gained my freedom.  And because I’m me, panic dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.  Thanks to the mirror, I had literally faced my own human frailty, a swift and powerful reminder that no matter how pulled together I think I am, I am profoundly imperfect.

Also because I’m me, I couldn’t keep the funny to myself and went to tell a friend (or two).  We all had a good laugh, especially because, as I was demonstrating my earlier panic, I managed to get the bracelet caught AGAIN.  This time on my sweater, and my friend managed to stop laughing long enough to free me.  I went back upstairs to my office, took off the bracelet, and got on with my day.  I really love that bracelet.  I’ve been collecting the charms for more than 30 years, and it’s a lovely memento of many special points of my life.  Today it gained a new, invisible charm, because every time I see it, I’ll be reminded not to be prideful in my confidence!  So if you have mountainside moments, silly or severe, take heart.  There’s another mountaintop down the range.  And another, and another.  You’ll get there.  But in the meantime, in the words of Roseanne Roseannadanna, “It’s always something!”

My lovely, but unusual, vacation has come to its inevitable end.   I say unusual, because I don’t remember the last time we had an entire week off and didn’t go anywhere.  Our budget doesn’t run to the jet-set life, but I am a Priceline devotee and we generally run away somewhere on the cheap, even for just a night or two.  This time, we stayed firmly in residence, giving our house some overdue TLC and sneaking in naps, sports (J) and reading (H) at will.  The bedroom was slightly rearranged, which was the finishing touch on a long-term effort to convert it from a bunker to a serene sanctuary.  The kitchen sparkles, the carpets are freshly shampooed (with only minor trauma to the cats’ sense of entitled serenity), the errands are run, and the sun finally set on the last day of carefree, alarm-free unscheduled mellowness.

And then Monday comes.  I often wonder that if I, say, won the lottery (unlikely, less due to the odds than the fact I don’t buy tickets)… could I successfully live a life where neither of us worked?  I can pull off a very good impression of a cat motionless for hours in a sunny spot, I adore posh hotels (paid for with Priceline-cheap dollars), and the attributes of my dream home far outstrip my prospects (two-story library, anyone?).  But at points of my life, mostly further back than the last few years, I’ve had large amounts of time to do as I pleased, and I have to confess, it’s not very good for me.  A week or two is about right.  Months on end, I fear, would dull me.  Too much indulgence of my own whims tends to make me restless, rather than rested.  I read once, in a “budgeting God’s way” sort of book, that we’ve been wrong as a society to think of a decades long, self-directed retirement as our divine right.  The author counseled that we should work as long as we can possibly work, to be useful to God and society.  I’m not honestly sure I like the idea, although I think he’s mostly right.  Some people do accomplish a lot of unpaid productivity in their retirement, which I admire.  Others manage to make a life of luxury look ohhh so appealing.

At church yesterday, we were spellbound by a visiting pastor from Poland.  Through his translator, and much high-energy gesturing, he shared the most amazing story of freedom gained out of a life bound by addictions at an age too early to fathom.  Of God using him in circumstance after circumstance where he had no answer other than Jesus.  His energy was contagious, his vision was motivational.  He reminded us that there is so much to be done, so many people who need to meet Jesus.  It was a good reminder.  Work for a paycheck is unreliable.  We have a good day, and we feel great about the world.  We have a bad day, and all we see stretched out before us is a repetitious grind.  I think the secret is to see our work, however lofty or lowly, as a mission field.  The question is not how fast can we make money so we can stop dealing with it all and live for self.  It’s how can we glorify God today?  Can you quietly trust Him when another is raised up ahead of you?  Can you model integrity instead of gossiping about its lack in your co-workers?  Can you see each customer (or co-worker) as an opportunity for servanthood? Do you use your high position to lift others up as well?  Are you faithful with the talents He’s given you, or are you marking time, waiting for the “real” thing to come along?  Do you really trust Him to provide the rest you need, when you need it (not necessarily when you want it)?

I confess, I didn’t leap for joy when the alarm went off this morning.  It’s not easy to jump back into the groove, even if you feel rested and rejuvenated.  I can’t guarantee I’ll sing Hallelujah when it goes off tomorrow, either.  But I can commit to continuing this revolution, which is spreading past my kitchen to other rooms of my life.  I will be more consistent to have my clothes selected and prepared the night before, to have lunch made and ready to pack, to eliminate the obstacles that sometimes overwhelm my morning.  I will participate in the opportunities of the day with a grateful heart.  And possibly a square of dark chocolate.  It can’t all be drudgery, you know!

I have had reason this week to reflect on marriage from several angles.  A few days ago, J and I celebrated our seventh anniversary.  The actual day was a dud in terms of festivities, since we both worked late and I had a massive head cold, but we’d had the opportunity to be in Nashville together a couple of days before and had a wonderful romantic dinner (if extremely late at night after a ballgame and a nap, and featuring a constant supply of tissues for the cold) at the Opryland Hotel.  I can’t tell you what the traditional “gift” is for seven years, but I did ponder briefly on the phenomenon of the seven-year itch.  If this is the point where we are supposed to get bored with one another, restless, ready for a change, it’s news to us.

Relationships, even rock-steady ones, require an elasticity because in my experience, they are constantly in a state of change, at least under the surface.  Permanent love is choice-based love.  I think my husband is very handsome, I get the butterflies when I look at him, and I admire many of his qualities.  But if I don’t also choose to actively love him every day, to show him love and grace even when I’m aggravated, to make a conscious effort to lift him up, to make my decisions in light of his best interests as well as my own, I will be nothing but a clanging cymbal (1 Corinthians 13).  I will have all the sound and trappings of love, but chinks will open to let in petty resentments, selfishness, or self-righteousness.  He does the same for me, and the timing of who needs love the most in a moment, and how great or simple the effort to give the love is the recipe for a living breathing marriage.  It’s a lot like watching the reflection of water on a ceiling.  The source is the same, but the sunlight and winds influence a constantly moving reflection.

I’ve heard and read over and over again that “Marriage should be a 50-50 partnership.”  That made a lot of sense, until I got married.  I find there are times when it’s 100-100, because you’ve met up with something that requires total cooperation, effort, and giving from both sides.  Sometimes it’s 50-50 because you divide and conquer a list of tasks, physical or mental.  And sometimes it’s 150-25 because someone’s unwilling or unable for the moment to hold up their end, and the other stands in the gap until things even out a bit.  Those moments come in every marriage, and sometimes they lengthen into many, many moments, and I don’t know how they are survived without the marriage being grounded in God.

The lifestyle changes I’ve been writing about have made some interesting ripples in our marriage.  I had to confess I was not strong enough to do it alone, while avoiding “guilting” my husband into his participation.  He shared that he was willing to do it, but didn’t feel it as a conviction like I did.  I countered that I feel like this is a case where as the wife and the one primarily in charge of food, I believe I’ve been convicted for both of us.  That opens up a whole other area that needs extra exploration, but I do believe I’m right.  So he has been an excellent sport, but I continued to be unsure that if I, say, went on a business trip, he would continue on the path while I was gone.  And then at dinner the other night at my lovely in-laws, we were discussing health.  This was less about our own lifestyle change and more about my father-in-law’s recent open heart surgery.  I suddenly heard my husband explaining the benefits of our eating changes in detail to his parents.  He’s been listening!  And then my jaw dropped open when my former meat and potatoes (or more accurately, McDonalds-on-the-go) husband went on to share several ideas he’d like to cook, including phrases like “served on a bed of spinach.”  The balance is shifting; I’m not carrying a heavier portion of the load any more.

We’re on vacation this week, but instead of traveling, we’re staying at home, tackling some DIY projects around the house.  Our last vacation, while delightful, was with my parents, so it’s been a year since we had this much time together to ourselves.  One of the side effects of taking on so many changes in my life at the same time has been an unfortunate loss of quality time with the man who’s been my best friend for the last ten years, so I must be careful to choose not to bury myself in books every spare minute, as is my tendency left over from a decade as a single adult before we met.  I will give my 100 percent to nurturing this partnership we have going.  Sounds pretty refreshing to me.

The Beth Moore Patriarchs study I’ve been working through with friends came to its conclusion tonight.  In a sense, anyway, because the theme of the video lesson was how God does not “tie it all up” for now, but rather “ties it all in.”  I say Amen to that, sister.  There’s not a one of us that went through the study together that hasn’t been changed by it, and each in quite a different way but all left tonight with a sense of expectancy.  God doesn’t take you down deep to the roots of yourself to come back up and climb into a hammock for a while.  Like Jacob, the more we find ourself wrestling, the more certain we can be that there is a blessing at the end of it.  And I have found that a blessing always brings a requirement that it be used in some way, not hoarded and savored in private.

On the surface of things, I have my Tuesday nights free again.  So I am keeping them free and am trading in Mondays and the occasional Wednesday on Zumba classes instead.  On the surface of things, it looks like a rather flip decision.  “OK, I’ve drunk my fill of the spiritual stuff for now, let’s tone up and have some fun instead.”  That would be tying it all up.  But instead, He’s tying it all in.  I’ve written here before that I believe God has brought people and research into my life over the last year to lead up to a major overhaul in my approach to food in the past weeks.  I also believe my participation in the study, and the deep and sometimes painful struggles I’ve wrestled with were part of God’s design for me to acknowledge my weakness and therefore revel in His strength. My dinner plate has been laid on the same altar as my self-image, my skills, and my hopes and dreams – a release of self and a faith He will fulfill His powerful purpose in me.

So tomorrow, I will lay down my laziness as well.  I don’t expect to suffer too dreadfully; I will be with friends and I anticipate a good amount of giggling.  And I love to dance, although I lack any measurable skill.  But I am a girl of coziness and comfort, and I have only ever seen exercise as something to endure. Because it’s Good For Me.  Which it is, but in ways I am only beginning to understand.  Already after a few weeks of sugar-free, gluten-free, preservative-free diet, I have started to feel that lift in energy.  It’s physical yes, but also spiritual.  I am excited to see where I may end up.  And I am tasting the sweetness of obedience, the freedom of submission.  So while I won’t have my Bible in hand while I step it and shake it, I believe it will be an act of worship.

I look forward to being my ideal weight one day.  I’m excited about feeling stronger, fitter, less self-conscious.  But above all, I believe that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it (Philippians 1:6).  And that good work, for every single one of us, includes being His instrument to share His light and hope and love with others.  That’s an enormous job, a race of true endurance.  I need to be ready.  And I’m on the road, one merengue at a time!