Routine is for Sissies

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 What are you doing today?  Maybe you are teaching your little boy the letter “d”—just like you did yesterday and the day before, and every day for the past week since he’s looked up at you every morning and gasped with dismay, “I forgot my “d”, Mama!”  Only twenty-two letters to go.  You gird yourself up with the thought. 

Maybe you are doing schoolwork—the story of your life, the same thing you have been doing for the past six months, or the past eleven years, for that matter.  Essays, algebra, and tests.  Repeat.  Trying your hardest not to get an “F”, and stretching towards that Christmas break like a marathon runner towards the finish line. 

Maybe you are peeling apples like I will be doing—just like yesterday and the day before that, juice dribbling everywhere, all but drowning in the stickiness.  Piles of browning peels, a floor glistening with sticky apple juice, arm-deep in it—it’s a glamorous job. 

I could be wrong—perhaps you are actually doing something exotic and exciting today, like elephant-riding or parasailing or dolphin-swimming.  Yes, there is the possibility you are leaving for your European tour today—there is always possibility after all, but it is far more likely that today you are anticipating just another standard, ordinary Friday.  It is far more likely that you are making beds or cramming for that final or practicing for that concert or writing that paper or wiping that baby’s nose for the umpteenth time.  The cacophony of possibilities of what you—people from all ends of the globe—could be doing today mounts into one joyous, rowdy symphony—the symphony of Friday, December 2^nd, 2011. 

And whatever the person next to us is doing today, I am sure it sounds enchanting to us, for that is the sad way of human nature.  But I am equally as sure that the very hum-drum that you are doing sounds equally as enchanting to that other person. 

“Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’ So we may boldly say: ‘The LORD is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?’”-Hebrews 13:5-6

So take a moment, lay your routine out on the table next to mine and that of every other person reading this, scan them, and marvel at how un-routine your hum-drum really is.   Stare open-mouthed at all of the little candles spread across the table in all the corners of the world, and rejoice in how mighty a light these little candles form when they brighten their corners.  Allow yourself to be bowled completely off your feet with the giddy delight of a first-timer at your old hat routine.  Revel with me in the privilege that out of all this world, God hand-picked you for today’s assignment.  Only you.  And God doesn’t do routine assignments—He does pop quizzes, sudden twists, lurking surprises, and extraordinary undertakings, but no routine.  No corner-brightening mission is ever routine. 

Inner discouragement with boring routine means spiritual blindness to God’s eternal goals.  To a casual observer we may just be teaching the letter “d”, doing schoolwork, and working elbow-deep in apples, but God knows and we know that no battlefield is routine. 

Know That Jehovah He is God

Our Thanksgiving was full of festivities, friends, food, and fervent gratefulness for another year of provision and protection. Mama has been dealing with health problems this year--which makes us even more grateful for good health when it is bestowed--so the bulk of the meal was up to Lauren, Melanie, and I to complete. Thanks to Mama's help and advice, and the contributions of our friends and guests, everything came off well and without a problem!

 Since we had to rise early to pick a selection of fresh rosemary, sage, parsley, and oregano from our garden, which we then pulverized with lots of butter and coated all over the turkey, Proverbs 31:15 seems fitting: "She also rises while it is yet night, and provides food for her household, and a portion for her maidservants." ;-)

 Our baking was completed the night before--Old City Tavern Chocolate Pecan pie, which I made using our traditional family recipe from Philadelphia's famous haven for the founding fathers; apple pie, which Lauren carefully covered in pie crust leaves; and chocolate chip cookies, which Susanna made to munch on in the late hours of the evening.

 The centerpiece was also completed, thanks to Lauren's creativity!

And as the morning wore on, we set the table and prepared the food.

 Our guests--two families--arrived just in time!

Top Left: Susanna; Middle Left: Jonah; Bottom Left: Micah; Bottom Right: Mikaela and Lauren

 It is tradition in our household to take five kernels of corn and reflect aloud on five things for which you are thankful. These kernels of corn remind us of the hardships and privations the Pilgrims endured during 1623, when they were sometimes forced to subsist on nothing but a few kernels of corn. It was beautiful to hear everyone's points of gratefulness, and we all wrote them down on index cards which Papa collected for a rememberance.

For dinner, we enjoyed roasted turkey with cranberry sauce, gravy, and sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fresh vegetables, pickled vegetables, green bean casserole, roasted brussel sprouts, and rolls. Delicious! The only thing I passed on--which I do every year, to be consistent--was the sweet potatoes.

After feasting, some of us felt like napping, and Darcy--our new kitty named after Fitzwilliam himself--is not one to deny himself the pleasure of such an event. 

Top Left: Lauren singing, Mikaela on the piano; Top Right: Great-Aunt Bev; Bottom Right: Mama and Papa; Bottom Left: two of our guests.

 We taught everyone a very old hymn which was new to them. After I discovered "Old Hundred" in my ballad book a month or so ago, I suggested that we sing it on Thanksgiving, since it was one of the Pilgrims' most cherished songs. It is set to the tune which we are accustomed to calling the "Doxology." Psalm 100, the basis for this hymn, was the passage the Pilgrims quoted upon reaching the New World and has a very special significance on Thanksgiving.

Make ye a joyful sounding noise
Unto Jehovah, all the earth;
Serve ye Jehovah with gladness
Before his presence come with mirth.

Know that Jehovah he is God;
Who hath us formed it is he
And not ourselves; his own people
And sheep of his pasture are we.

Enter into his gates with praise,
Into his court with thankfulness;
Make ye confession unto him,
And his name reverently bless.

Because Jehovah he is good,
For ever more is his mercy;
And unto generations all

Continue doth his verity.

Then, of course, hours of games ensued. (And yes, that is Melanie's very own bearded dragon on her shoulder.) 

We interrupted our games only to enjoy Chocolate Terrine, Chocolate Pecan Pie, Apple Pie, Pumpkin Pie, and Cranberry Pie with ice cream and whipped cream. Yum! 

Somewhere past ten but before midnight, the newspaper came out and we perused the ads together, laughing at and ridiculing the Black Friday craziness, but still attracted to the deals and sales. You can see Mr. W. on the right playfully covering his wife's eyes--"Don't even look!" he seems to be saying. ;-)

Our Thanksgiving was a wonderful, blessed event--I sincerely hope yours was as well!

And, on the unlikely chance that you still have turkey hanging around in your refrigerator, may I suggest a Turkey Cranberry Wreath, which is an annual post-Thanksgiving tradition, and which we enjoyed immensely for dinner last night?

Turkey Cranberry Wreath

Serves 4-6

• 2 (8 ounce) packages refrigerated crescent dinner rolls
• 1/2 cup mayonnaise
• 2 tablespoons honey Dijon mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
• 2 cups chopped cooked turkey
• 1 cup shredded swiss cheese
• 1/2 cup sliced celery
• 1/2 cup dried cranberries
• 3 tablespoons snipped fresh parsley
• 1/4 cup walnuts, chopped
• 1 egg white, lightly beaten

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 375*F. In bowl, combine the mayonnaise, mustard, and pepper. Add turkey, celery, parsley, cranberries, and cheese and mix well.
2. Unroll the 2 packages of crescent rolls; separate into 16 triangles in a circle on a large pizza pan or stone with wide ends 3 inches from the edge of pizza pan and points towards the outside. Points will extend off the edge of the pan (depending on size). Arrange the remaining triangles in the center of the pan, matching wide ends with triangles already in placed. The points will overlap in center.
3. Using small rolling pin(or small round jar or drinking glass), roll over seams of triangles where wide ends meet, making a smooth surface for filling. Don't seal center triangles.
4. Using an ice cream scoop, scoop filling evenly over the dough in a continuous circle. Sprinkle walnuts over filling.

5. Beginning with the last triangle placed in center of pizza pan, bring point of triangle straight across filling. Next, bring point of the opposite outside triangle diagonally across filling, covering point of previous triangle. The filling will show. 

6. Repeat, overlapping points of inside and outside triangles to form a wreath. Tuck the last end under first.

7. Brush top of wreath with egg white. Bake 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Enjoy!

Eye on the Stop Sign

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Saturday morning, way-too-early AM, circa 2002.  Papa would be on his way upstairs to roll Mikaela and I out of bed.  Grabbing a swig of water, we would stretch up and down and sideways together in the early morning dew, then trot down the driveway side by side, swinging our arms and chatting giddily.  Soon our tennis shoe-clad feet would hit the pavement, my breath would suddenly catch, and the air would eddy around me as my ponytail went flying.  Mikaela and I would run a little over a mile in the beginning—to the culvert—gasping and cherry-faced, while Papa’s long legs would take him past us at some point and on to the end of the road—the stop sign. 

Eventually, on his way back, he would catch up with us and amuse us all by listing off the foods he was dreaming of at the moment: “A big, juicy steak.  Or how about warm, melty chocolate chip cookies!”  Mikaela and I would protest at this exhilarating over food right at the climax of our run, but Papa would jovially persist. 

I clearly remember pondering Papa’s running four miles to Mikaela and my one or two, and dreaming of some hazy day when I would be an adult and would come back with my family for Christmas and go for a run with Papa.  Then—then—my tall, beautiful adult self would be able to run to the stop sign with him.  I’ve smiled at that memory since then, and have thought about it often when I have been running these last few weeks—I’m almost back to that red stop sign again after a spell of laziness! 

But I have also been thinking about that stop sign in terms of my spiritual run.  At the beginning of my spiritual run, I prayed for God to show me the next thing He wanted me to run to, and I remember Him telling me, “Truthfulness.”  At that time, I had several sins of dishonesty on my conscience that I needed to make right, and a cold shiver passed through me when God told me that.  I protested in my heart, “Yes, I know, God, and I’ll get on that soon, but it’s going to take some time.  So while I’m working on that, what do want me to also be doing?”  But this disobedience would be met with silence, and I would realize that if I didn’t run in obedience to this first mile marker of truthfulness, I would not be running in the race at all.  I would be standing still while everyone streamed around me, the sideliners cheering on everybody but me.  And so, slowly, I learned the lesson of victory in truthfulness. 

I have had other mile markers since then.  There was the mile of love that I ran, the mile of submission, and the mile of dying to self.  Each one I have struggled through, but reached still running towards that stop sign. 

This whole year, however, I’ve been stuck at the same mile marker, windmilling my arms and legs, trying to run forward to the next mile marker, but not getting anywhere.  When I asked God what He wanted me to run to this time, He replied, “Give me your whole affections.”  “Okay, Lord, they are Yours!”  “Then that means not setting your heart on worldly possessions, worldly entertainment, worldly thoughts.  That means whatever delights you the most is your god, and  only I should hold that place.”  To be honest, I would give most of my affections to God, but still rationalize a few worldly strongholds.  In truth, I am thick-skulled. 

Through the year, though, God has been stripping my affections down (why do you think He wanted me to read the book of Hosea this year?  J )  And finally, at long last, I learned again the lesson I had learned when I was working on truthfulness—I need to follow God’s steps in God’s order, or I am a cheater in the race.  Proverbs 16:9 says,

“A man's heart plans his way, But the LORD directs his steps.”

If I had succeeded in skipping that mile of truthfulness or the mile of submission or this mile or this mile of whittling affections, then I would be like that person who runs the first mile of the marathon, steals a ride in an air conditioned car to the 25^th mile, and finishes with fist pumps galore.  He received no benefit from the race other than earthly accolades, and his run was pointless.  So would my run be pointless.  I would have skipped the lessons of truthfulness and submisison and loving God alone, and when I reached the stop sign of death, in the eternal life beyond I would find that I had wasted far too much time receiving only earthly rewards and no gold medal would be waiting.   

So as I type this I am running, my eye on the next mile marker, my muscles kindling energy and bulging with the action.  Inexplicably, that crimson stop sign which marks the line of eternal life is still just as far away as it seemed when I was ten, but remains just as tantalizing as ever.  I am running with a spring in my step now, but I know the time will come again when my breath heaves in jagged gasps and I cry, “I can’t do it, Lord!  I can’t!”  But when that time comes I will look up from the asphalt, sight the mile marker with my eyes and gaze in the distance at the cherry stop sign afar off, and I will keep running. 

“Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,  looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.”  -Hebrews 12:1,2a

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Besieged!

If you have yet to read "Kiss, Bed, Sweep, Church," Part I of this tale, click here and read it before you continue--the conclusion will make much more sense that way!

One day, however, everyone’s contentment was abruptly interrupted by an awful revelation—their island had been attacked, and indeed all was lost save their own small village, which was now beseiged. They had had just enough warning to close up the gates and arm the towers thanks to the brave feat of a lad who had traversed rill and river to get to them ahead of the Continent’s troops. The village was in a fit of activity, and all the fathers and sons gathered solemnly to defend the wall.

Thus, their surprise was great, when, instead of a flaming arrow shot to destroy, a pigeon was sent over the wall with a message. The villagers all gathered round, anxious to read the message, but flummoxed by the unfamiliar characters and the foreign words. The call was sent out for someone—anyone—who could translate, and all were about to dismay, ready to call for surrender, when one of the girls of the village remembered Hannah and suggested her.

Hannah was summoned from her cottage, and brought to the square, where she was quite undone by the commotion and crowd. Yet, summoning her wits about her, she slowly worked through the message, until she could confidently read aloud the translation—a call for total surrender with the threat of massacre if they persisted. Instantly, commotion became chaos and then cries of despair.

Timidly, Hannah went up to her father and whispered something in his ear, handing him a roll of paper. Her father glanced at it, then cleared his throat and shouted for silence. In his strong voice, he sang Hannah’s ballad,

Come all ye young men all,

Let this delight you;

Cheer up, ye young men all,

Let nothing fright you.

Never let your courage fail

When you’re brought to trial,

Nor let your fancy move at the first denial [1].

So the men stopped their murmuring and found their manhood again, taking to the walls to defend their families, their country, and their honor. The days stretched into weeks, and while bravery remained steadfast, gardens, larders, and cellars did not. Livestock began to be killed off. Every day, however, Hannah’s mother made an enormous kettle of stew to share with all who had no food—into the stew went the turnips, potatoes, beets, cabbage, squash, and carrots Hannah had so diligently tended. And so the hardy spirit of the villagers was not snuffed out, but continued to burn bright and hot.

Meanwhile, unbenknownst to the villagers, the Continental Army got word that their own country was now under attack from barbarians in the east, and there was little time to spare. One morning, nigh on two months after the siege had commenced, the villagers woke up to find the enemy gone. Great was the rejoicing and jubilation in the town, and though none—not even Hannah herself—realized it, the Providence of God had worked through one small girl to save their lives and fortunes.

After that, all the village girls began to follow Hannah’s example, and soon they were known far beyond the island for their diligent industry and disdain for the idle foolishness so common to their sex. And as for Hannah herself? Her character caught the eye of that brave man who had first brought word of warning to the village, and he asked her father for her hand in marriage. Both father and daughter consented, and Hannah became his wife within the year.

Painting: The Accolade, by Edmund Leighton
[1] The Ballad of the Death of General Wolfe, ca. 1759, author unknown.

My Heart Overflows With Gratitude

What are you giving thanks for right now?