Return to love...

It's happened again. One of those moments where all you know of the world you live in, the path you walk on and the purpose of life set before you, is shattered to pieces.  A moment where revelation happens, and a new understanding of everything takes the place of the old.  And it fits so beautifully.  So much so, that you wonder why you ever thought differently in the first place.  Then, there is a bubble of something so profoundly good and true and joyous, that bursts forth in your spirit and a peace like you have never known floods in.  

As I have mentioned in previous posts, this past month has been a very trying time, full of conviction, growth, heartbreak and truth.  During this time, when people asked me how I was doing so often my answer would be something along the lines of "Well, this week has been hard. One of those weeks that change everything... you know... a top ten moment in my walk with the Lord." In a previous post I said that "The past month or so has been one of the most significant of my 22 years on this earth.  No exaggeration." And now, while I look back on those conversations and the answers I gave, I see sincerity and truth... but I also laugh at how different I feel now.  Actually laugh.  Those who know me well know that me laughing at a time when it seems awkward to do so is pretty normal.  Very common in fact.  But to be honest, I love that at times, with love and patience,  the Lord makes made me laugh.  Because really...What do I know of Holy?  What do I know of salvation?  All I know with utmost certainty is that apart from Christ I know nothing.  And because I can be absolutely certain of Christ, I am graciously uncertain of everything else.  But I digress...

This new moment that I have just recently experienced, last night in my car in fact, is what I want to tell you about.  For the past couple months I have been trying so hard to change.  Not necessarily let Christ change me, but instead, by my own power, make myself worthy of His love.  It hasn't gone well.  The fact that I am sinful, and human, has dramatically affected my progress... as you could probably guess.  For so long I have been feeling things like heartache, conviction, weightiness, responsibility and pain.  Wanting it to cease, attempting to step out in faith and let God move... and messing it up every time.  I kept thinking to myself "Its already been two weeks... I know I'll figure this out... Everything will change.... One more day and I'll take that first step."  Yesterday, a friend challenged me with a new perspective.  That this step forward I want to take, this big change I desire to take place in my life... it is not going to happen over night.  In fact, it is not going to happen in a day or a week or maybe even a year.  And then it dawned on me... 

This is what my whole life should look like. 

Now hold on and let me explain before you go "Well duh Liz."  What I mean by this is, yes... someday I will take that step in full surrender and faith.  And later I might step back, so I'll take it again. And then I'll take another. And another.  But these feelings of conviction, responsibility, weightiness, and pain I feel may never go away.  And that's okay.  Because I think, for the first time... I understand what it means live the "Christian walk."  Why would I ever NOT want to feel the weight of my sin?  Or the pull of conviction?  Or the pain of living outside of Christ?  It is in those feeling that I acknowledge my great need for a Savior.  And I run back to Him.  I will struggle with sin everyday.  I'll deal with conviction everyday.  And as a result of those feelings, when I run back to Christ,  I will know the what it feels to be loved so completely by One so much greater than I.  And with that... I find that I'm not afraid anymore.  There is a turmoil that exists in my heart and spirit, and it will not go away.  But that's okay.  In fact, I don't want it to.  It is a righteous turmoil.  One not of shame, but of beautiful conviction.  One that calls me to live more completely in intimacy with Christ.  For if I can feel pain, then I know even more certainly that I can feel love.  

Does that make sense?  Did I explain it okay?  I very much hope I did, because it's implications are astounding.  I guess what I am trying to say is that all that I've experienced, all that I've felt and gone through ... that is life.  Life as it is lived out in the reality of Christ and His love, mercy and grace.  And I don't want that to change.  I pray that I never become so dead and unfeeling that I can't acknowledge heartbreak and pain... much less redeeming love.  Because really, one cannot happen without the other.  God did His greatest work on this earth with a broken heart, as He offered up His son in the place of sinners.  And so, like Oswald Chambers challenges us, "Why should I not thank Him for breaking mine?"   

I am not my own.

Truth.  Often hard to hear, and even harder to live by.
Have you ever been faced with truth in your life and been absolutely afraid of it?  Anxious to the point that you don't even want to hear it, because you know the implications it will have on your life will be so deeply significant? I have.  This past week has been another for the record books.  And by that I mean those unforgettable times in my life where the Lord has blown my heart and mind away.  So much so, that I can't walk away the same.

I sat down to write this blog hoping to pour out into words the journey I have been on as I've processed what the Lord has been showing me this week.  And now I find that I can't.  I want to share with others the miraculous work of the Lord in my life, but at this moment... words fail.  To confine such experiences to a blog seems impossible to me.  But I so badly want others to know.  Not for my sake, but for theirs.  To hear that the Lord is mighty.  That He is loving and faithful.  That He is good.  So instead of a moment by moment narrative, I'll try a list.  I list of the essentials.  Of truth.

These things I know:

I am not my own. [1 Cor. 6:19]
 - In persecution, in blessings, in hardship and in goodness... all I am is Christ's.  I am to "commend myself in every way..." [2 Cor. 6:4]  To entrust myself fully to His purpose and plan.  No fear.  No worry. Just submission to One far greater than I.

My purpose is too obey. [John 14:15]
 - It may not be about me.  It may not even make sense. But obedience will always produce... and behind it "is the reality of the Almighty God." For His glory.  For His name.  

I have been crucified with Christ, it is I who no longer live... [Galations 2:20]
  - How can I read this and not be changed?  The life-shattering truth is... I can't.

Three simple points.  Three nuggets of truth.  Three things that have changed everything. I've read it it. I've written about it. I've wept over it. Now... will I live it?  Will I allow God to change me? No fear. No anxiety. Only trust and promise and truth.  The powerful reality of Christ in front of me; the sin of my past behind. The calling of Christ on my life. This calling is not to a person, or a place, or a even a profession.  Those are just facets of such a call... He has called me to Himself.  To be fully enveloped by His heart, His love, His purpose and grace.  My calling is to Christ.

I apologize for the sporadic awkwardness of this post.  By my hope is that you will not let format and flow keep you from seeing the bigger picture...the glorious reality of a love so great and so pure that is threatening - if we allow it - to consume our lives. To use us. To leave us forever changed.

Will you let it?

Fall Ramblings.

Have you ever had a moment where you had lots to say but absolutely no ability to do so?  I don’t mean a “Oh, this is amazing, I’m speechless” moment…. More like a “I’m so tired that all ability to write witty prose has completely escaped me.”  I would love to update the 7 people that read this blog about what madness and lunacy has occurred in my life thus far this fall, but I’m going to warn you now… I hope you’re okay with bullet points.  It’s almost comical to me how much in one’s life can change so quickly.  As an enormous fan of fall, I’m in love with watching the leaves change color – but I’ll tell you this, my life has changed a lot faster than those stinking leaves in the last few weeks.  So much revealed.  So much accomplished.  A different me at the end of it. 

Teaching…Did I mention I teach now?  I just finished the first half of my social studies methods class and am one quad closer to starting my student teaching.  I’ve been living out the educator persona a short drive north of the Twin Cities at Coon Rapids Middle School, in an 8^th grade geography class; five of them to be exact - interacting with about 150 students a day.  Wearing fancy clothes, pointed flats or heeled oxfords, and going by Miss Blinn two days a week has definitely been more fun than I thought.  And who knew I liked geography so much.  I have a fantastic cooperating teacher who is very generous with the time he allows me to teach his class instead of observing, like a an ornithologist watches birds, from the back of the room.  And the best part is... I love it.  I can’t wait to teach.  The kids are definitely the best part, because let’s be real – geography isn’t THAT cool.  At the end of the day it’s nice to know that I am a huge fan of middle schoolers.  I like knowing that working with them is what my purpose is.  I never though  my life would come to a place where 12, 13 and 14-year-olds would be the focus of my day.  I'm absolutely thrilled.    

Work … The other three days of the week, when I am not teaching middle schoolers under the guise of Miss Blinn, I work at an after school program in New Brighton.  There I am simply Liz… or the weird girl.  Here I get to plan activities, help with homework, and learn how to do some balla dance moves from some pretty outstanding kids.  Needless to say I am a pro at “The Reject.”  Recently for my job, I got to chaperone a middle school dance at one of the schools in the area.  BEST TIME EVER.  Hahaha I’ve learned that as lame as middle schoolers would like you to think you are, they are totally faking it.  That’s what I love about that age… they think you are pretty fly, they just refuse to admit it. What a treat. 

Thrifting… I can’t stop.  Over the past month or so I have made it my job to locate and explore uncharted thrift stores, and I have yet to leave one empty handed.  My newest fashion-related addiction has been anything that says “I love the outdoors and all the creatures in it.” Particularly if it comes in forest green.  And is fishing-themed.  Just yesterday I added a purple, walleye-adorned sweatshirt to my collection.  Yahtzee. 

The serious stuff… This fall has also brought more to my life than the changing of the leaves.  I’ve changed.  The past month or so has been one of the most significant of my 22 years on this earth.  No exaggeration.  Like gold being refined in the fire, I myself have passed through flames. And found Christ on the other side. My life is a declaration of his redeeming love, and breathtaking glory.  I’ll leave it at that.  This blog is not big enough to support all the details.  Or to accurately convey the depth of my heart.  Ask me about it.  I’d love to share my story with you...

So there you have it.  Pieces of my fall.  Do you care?  Maybe not.  But today I feel like such things are worth sharing.  I have so much to be thankful for.  And I don’t know about you, but in the spirit of Veggie Tales,  “A thankful heart is happy heart…” and this one just can’t keep quiet.  

Cooking and Harry Potter.

The man himself.

I feel like Harry Potter.  

Now, obviously not in a “I have a lightning bolt scar on my forehead, I can do magic with a stick and my destiny is to beat an evil wizard and save the world” sort of likeness, but I can relate.  For those unfortunate folk who have never opened the pages of a Harry Potter book, seriously, I pity you and you and your deprived imagination, I will give you some background.  At 11-years-old, as an ill-treated orphan, Harry  discovers that he is a wizard.  This revelation opens a door to a whole new world full of uplifting possibilities, very literally, considering his hasty acquisition of a broom.  As Harry finds his place in this new magical reality, he begins his adventures at Hogwarts, a school of the wizarding kind.  It is there he finally finds himself a home.  Now, after reading this glimpse into the enthralling life of Harry Potter you are not motivated  to go buy, and then quickly read all seven of the books, you may as well quit reading because there is no hope for you.  Just kidding… but seriously.

Glancing back at the opening sentence of my post, you are probably still curious as to how I feel my life relates to that of such an impressive fictional character.  Well, like Harry’s discovery of his wizarding heritage at age 11, I at 21 have discovered something as dramatically life-altering… I am a cook.  Armed not with a wand, but instead a swiftly growing arsenal of wooden spoons, I have discovered my own Hogwarts.  A place where all sorts of magic happens.  Here is a bit of my story:

My Hogwarts.

Currently, I am a senior at Northwestern College finishing up a degree in Social Studies Education, and brimming with determination to be the next Miss Frizzle [though that is definitely a topic for another blog].  For the last three years I have lived in what could be considered my own version of Harry’s cupboard under the stairs… the dorms.  Now I have to admit, that the dorms at NWC are far less cupboard-like compared to those at other schools, but for the sake of the argument I’m going to go with “They’re really small.”  For three years I have made do with a mini kitchen, equipped with miniscule appliances.  I knew nothing else.  My culinary abilities were limited, as was the space in which to work with such mediocre talents, so I kept it easy. This past summer myself and three others moved into our first apartment, officially making ourselves commuters.  And then the miraculous happened.  “My owl-post letter arrived,” so to speak.  I had a kitchen.  A practical, fully equipped with life-size appliances, wonderful nook of a kitchen.  The possibilities were now endless.

At Hogwarts, like any other school, Harry and his friends spend much of their time in classes learning different magical topics like Charms, Herbology, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Similarly, I have found my own source of endless knowledge.. Foodgawker.com.  I could hands down spend an entire afternoon on this site perusing recipes and collecting ideas for my own. And the photos are incredible… though word of advice – Do not look if hungry! Bad news bears. 

Now you might be thinking, “Who is this girl and what’s so snazzy about cooking?”  My defense is this – what is a means to life for some…is magic for me.

I went from barely having the space, much less the motivation, to prepare adequate meals.  Now, I currently have bread dough rising on the counter and homemade tortellini soup stewing on the stove.  And, I haven’t even begun to tell you about home much I love cookware!  Who knew one could have such great love for their Pampered Chef garlic press! If I were to look in the Mirror of Erised, a magic looking glass that shows what your heart most desires, I would not see my long lost family like Harry Potter.  I would see myself holding a mandolin slicer, pasta crank and pizza stone, with a Kitchen Aid stand-mixer whirling in the background.  As far as what house I would be in at home in my own  Hogwarts - well it would obviously be Gryffindor... because, you know...I'm brave and stuff.  However, I will admit, as much as I am a huge fan of Harry Potter and his wizarding world, I would not want to cook in it.  Spells and wand waving would seem like cheating to me.  The magic would be gone.  Instead, I choose to explore uncharted counter-space armed with wooden spoons, rubber spatulas and an unstoppable zeal to take every recipe I encounter head on. 

Here at the end, if you are a fan of cooking and Harry Potter, separately or together, my hope is that you were entertained by my witty combination of the two.  Now, if you don’t like Harry Potter and have never read them, or you don’t like cooking and find no interest in the subject, lets reflect… why did you read a blog titled “Cooking and Harry Potter” in the first place? However, if you looked beyond your personal preferences of both hobbies and literature, and are simply reading this because you think I’m funny, well lets be real… that’s the truth.    

Simple truth.

If you know nothing else about me, know this:

I love my friends.  

This truth has my heart overflowing  today.

And such beauty is worth writing down.  

Happiness.

I read a lot.  Avidly, some would say.  I won’t go into too much detail about the titles and genres I prefer to get lost in at this time, as it would give the people in my life  lots of new reasons to tease me. However, the scrambled thoughts behind this post are not to discuss books and my love for juvenile fantasy – whoops, there it is – but how curious it is that a book of that nature could challenge me so much.  As I recently re-read one of my favorite titles this summer, the words of the main character near the end of the story stood out to me more than in previous reads.  She says something along the lines of “You can never go back to a moment when you were truly happy.” Now, despite my love for the story as a whole, I find myself frustrated at how often I believe this thought to be true.  That my happiness is circumstantially defined and once a happy moment, or day, or weekend has passed, I can’t go back and feel it again.  And it makes me sad.  Too often do I walk away from those moments feeling hopeless instead of  delight.  Feeling gloom, instead of tenacious joy.  

Often when I have conversations with others regarding happiness, they always end up leading to discussions comparing it joy – all coming to a version of the conclusion that one feeling is a gift and the other a choice. Now, I recognize the need to choose joy at times when it may be difficult, and that doing so would change my attitude when faced with sadness. But that is not my focus here. It is in those fleeting, happy moments that I have found a challenge; one that manifests itself in the choice I have to see past the moment itself.  To look beyond towards the greater whole. 

As I’ve processed this over the last few weeks, a new understanding of  this  “greater whole” has begun to take shape in my mind.  When I reminisce of happy moments passed I should not focus on the reality that they ended, but that they were a taste of what is yet to come.  That such moments are only a glimpse, a snapshot if you will, of a great love taking hold of our lives.  The love of a Creator.

C.S. Lewis wrote in his work Till We Have Faces, "It was when I was happiest that I longed most...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from."  I find myself drawn in by such a longing.  A desire to see and to know the source of all things good.  

My hope for myself and my challenge for you is that we will heed such a call.  That when we experience great moments of pure, unadulterated happiness we will recognize the beckon to something greater, and journey forward in hope seeking the One who called.  That such moments will not taste bittersweet in our mouths, but instead fill our lips with that tenacious joy I mentioned earlier.  For happy moments alone can not sustain us.  Only Christ can.  And He has many more snapshots to show us, and many more empty album pages to fill...

The Great Pie Adventure...

Today I have made a life-changing discovery… the short ,and rather catchy phrase “it’s as easy as pie” is a an absolute falsehood. That’s right - total bogus.  Pie is anything but easy.  In fact, pies suck.  Okay okay, so I may be letting my emotions get the best of me and warp my true feelings on the subject.  So really, all I can say honestly is that baking my first pie was definitely an adventure…

One would think that a delicious pocket of baked fruity goodness would be any easy and charming process. Not true. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself, so I will start at the beginning of amusing tale…  

[and if you are not getting a certain impression of me, yet I’ll make it very easy for you… I tend to exaggerate.]

The day started early, the sun’s light radiating great promise that the morning would be a grand one.  And it was.  Accompanied by friends and armed with  cash, we made our way to the Minneapolis Farmers Market – just north of 94 on Lyndale.  Our first plan of action was breakfast.  We quickly put our plan into motion by each purchasing a cinnamon roll the size of our face, and realized very quickly that eating your weight in frosting is not the classiest, nor the most comfortable way to begin your day. Though I will say, the free coffee I received from the gracious employee who informed me he was “getting so hammered tonight,” was definitely appreciated.  It was exceptionally good coffee.  Next, it was time to shop.  We had written out our lists of produce desires before our arrival, but that did not stop us from covering every inch of the market.  An hour later, we found ourselves laden down with numerous plastic bags containing everything from summer squash and purple carrots, to heirloom tomatoes and bundles of basil.  Among the other wonders of the farmers market, we also discovered a 54lb watermelon.  WHAAT?!  The owner of this monstrosity of a fruit informed us that his family had already consumed an even larger one earlier in the week.  Yikes.  Moving on past the ridiculously-large fruit tangent, our quest to the farmer's market ended well.  On the trek back to the car we eagerly discussed the rest of the days plans, and what we would create using our many new purchases. 

The Market Goers 

So here it is, the part of the story I know you have all been waiting to here about... the pie.  Among many other things, I purchased some lovely strawberries, peaches and rhubarb on the trip to the market.  I had very specific plans to use them to create a pie based on a recipe I found a few months ago.  Now when I say "based on" I do mean that quite literally, for the recipe I used for my pie adventure was more of my own creation - using ideas and measurements from a number of others.  Basically I winged it.  Anyway, after returning home from the market, I spent the rest of the morning prepping the kitchen and getting my wonderful fruit ready to fulfill their pie-filling destiny.  I then moved on to making the pie crust, and finally the crumble topping that would complete the picturesque pastry image forming in my mind.  As the crust chilled, I went to work on the filling, and it was there that my problems began.  Now, when it comes to baking, and you have decided to "wing it," things can get very janky very fast.  First my filling was to thin.  Then as I thickened it, by pre-cooking it on the stove, it was burning.  When it came time to pour it in the crust I had way less than I had planned.  Shoot.  And the crust was a challenge too.  As a college student with limited options, a fork became my pastry cutter and a plastic cup my rolling pin. And it kept falling apart! Gah. Now, none of these things may sound that bad to you.  You may even think I'm crazy.  And though you may be mostly right, I speak for all first-time pie bakers... it is SO much harder than it looks!  

Now despite the drama and unexpected twists to my baking adventure, there were definitely some highlights.  One of the redeeming factors, and also my favorite part of my pie took shape in foliage.  No lie.  I took half the dough I made and crafted it into individual pie-crust leaves, which I used to snazz-up the outer edge of the pie.  All the greatness is in the details.  

And here it is.  The finished product.  Full of blood, sweat and tears [though obviously not literally... yuck.]  

Ta-da!

As the Great Pie Adventure comes to an end, please take time to reflect and realize that the beginning of this story was much better than the end. Haha. Oh well. It's almost midnight and I am tired. Though I will finish with this...

...it was delicious.

My latest source of delight.

A record player.

Who would of thought that such an old and out of date machine could bring me so much joy?  This beautiful little trinket is the most recent find of one of my many garage sale adventures embarked on this summer.  The twenty-five greenbacks burning a hole in my pocket was a small price to pay for a door to hundreds of new [or rather old] musical possibilities.  In a wonderful vintage blue, accented by off-white tweed, this beauty has already found a home in my newly painted apartment [notice the breathtaking yellow background] , and is even roommate approved.

Records.  My new addiction.  Seriously though, I can't stop buying them.  My first purchases were simply based on cover-art and used to snazz-up my bedroom wall.  Now, as I have acquired the means with which to listen to them, I just can't seem to suppress the urge to buy more.  And now my roommates have caught the fever.  Our collection grows by the week, and having never paid more than $1 a record, I can't say any of us mind.  Though often times my purchases are still based on cover art, as I do not pretend to be any sort of music expert, the laughter that ensues while listening to the random records absolutely lessens the blow of my musical ignorance.  It's usually hilarious haha.  From Bob Dylan, to Ella Fitzgerald, to boot-stomping square dancing tunes, I never run out of things to listen to.  One of my personal favorites thus far is George Melachrino's Under Western Skies, an orchestral album for cowboys.  Complete with the clip-clopping sound of coconut horse hooves and the most beautiful arrangement of "Home on the Range" I've ever heard, it is guaranteed to transport you back to the wild west. Close your eyes while listening to this record, and it is much easier than one might expect to imagine oneself as Annie Oakley in another life.  I absolutely speak from experience haha.

Something new.

Here it is.  Post number one.  I have joined the ranks of thousands of other bloggers around the globe.  Bloggers who are motivated by the idea of dazzling their readers with eloquent prose, mouthwatering recipes and other tidbits of goodness they can't help but tell everyone about.  Now, I can't guarantee that the contents of my blog will overwhelm you with greatness.  I can't even guarantee that they will be grammatically correct.  Nonetheless, I'm going to press on and share with the general public things that I believe are worth knowing about.  If they catch your attention, great!  If they don't... agree to disagree.