Serendipity

I love antique shops, which probably means that I'm getting old. I love digging through old junk that at one time had been important to someone, junk that can only hope to be important to you so that it won't sit in a musty old shop for ages and ages or end up in a landfill. I like the smell of old books even though it makes me sneeze.I like pilfering through those old books until I find one that's rare, beautiful or an absolute must-read. I love finding something unique and whimsical to add to my decor or jewelry collection. Okay, I really dig antique shops. You get the picture.

So, when dad asked if Brandon and I would like to do some antique shopping on the way home from Ponca, Arkansas a couple of Fridays ago, I couldn't help but follow. We drove the winding, always sickening road from Ponca to the little town of Jasper, nestled neatly on both sides of the Buffalo River. By the time we stopped, I was wondering if anything we could find would be worth the nausea I felt. I stumbled out of Brandon's giant GMC truck into the mild Ozark heat, and crossed the street to join my parents. Brandon brought Micah, and together we entered a little shop with a very promising title, "Emma's Museum of Junk." That title is promising for three reasons. One, I've always liked the name Emma, and if I ever have a little girl, she may very well bear the name. Two, that is one of Jane Austen's best books. And three, the sign says "junk," which means we should be safe from the outlandish prices of more pretentious old junk stores. No "Emma's Fine Antiques" here. We found a junk museum. Right on, Dad.



One step over the threshold, and I immediately liked the place. The inside looked like a general store from the turn of the century.(That would be the 20th century.) The walls, ceiling and floor were all made from beautiful, grooved wood given character by time and business. The merchandise was in organized disarray. The faint smell of must delivered by the books and antique clothing and the sound of classical music set the perfect tone as I shopped. It also helped to settle my stomach. I was right. The prices were good. There was a lot to look at, and I took my time. I found a lovely necklace made from silver beads and a newer copy of the The Secret Life of Bees. As I continued thumbing through the stacks of books and magazines, the music changed.

A voice I had never heard, but had always wanted to hear drifted out of the speakers. The voice was perfect--clear, pure, poignant and beautiful. The songs were from several different genres, but all comfortable and familiar even if I didn't really know them. I found myself looking over the store's contents again so that I could listen to more of the music. I wasn't the only one who noticed and appreciated the beauty of the voice. Others in our group were whispering, "Is that Sarah McLachlan?" I answered them, "Definitely not."

When it was obvious that my group was finished shopping and wanted to leave, I approached the register to make my purchases. Behind the counter stood a woman who obviously enjoyed her work. She was talking with a man who was likely a local friend. He stood on my side of the counter. They both had an aura about them that whispered, "mountain hippy." I liked them both immediately. I've always liked hippies. Before I even handed her my items, I spat out, "Who is the singer?" She grinned at me, and shot a knowing look to her friend.

"Her name is Eva Cassidy," she said, "and everyone asks about her."

She told me a little about the singer. After my own research, I must say here that much of her information was inaccurate, but the part I took away with me was that Cassidy had died in her early 30's of cancer, and she never "made it" before her death. Her music has been promoted posthumously by her family. That information cut at me because here was my idea of the perfect voice, and she would never know on this earth how much it could have been appreciated. I branded the singer's name to my memory, mentally vowed I would buy the album I had heard in the store and paid for my finds which now seemed minuscule in light of my musical find. The man, the owner's friend, said to me, "It's rare when someone young like you appreciates good music." I smiled and said, "I'm not that young. I turned 26 yesterday. But I have been trained to appreciate good music." He invited me to his son's music gig later that night. I had to decline as I was leaving town. I smiled at both of them and took my leave.

As soon as I was home, I researched the singer. I discovered that she had done several recordings, but did not promote them because she never cared for fame. Eva Cassidy is described as having been introverted. She would play for family, friends and small gatherings, but did not have the makings of the international star her voice could have helped her become. She died at the age of 33 of melanoma, and sang her final song in public only weeks before her death.

I wax overly philosophical now because I listened to her album, "Songbird," last night while I cooked fajitas. It's weird to say an album has the power to change a life, but if it's possible, this album has changed mine. It's that good. I wept as I chopped last night, and it wasn't the onions. It's because of her knack for selecting good music to sing, her stirring interpretations of familiar songs and the passion laced into her vocals. So, I had to write about it and let you all know about this treasure that I found in a junk museum. You may laugh, but I believe that destiny led me to this singer. Those of you who know me, know that I believe that the Lord Jesus Christ is the Father of all destiny.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow or turning." James 1:17

As I mentioned, my birthday was the day before I found out about this great singer. Because I had also been given enough Itunes gift cards to buy all of her albums, this ordained discovery is truly a gift that will keep on giving.

And I call that serendipity.

10 Things I Learned Today

1. I don't really have much of a case against the officer discussed in this post.

2. To file a lawsuit against an officer, I must either be physically assaulted or witness some kind of criminal behavior.

3. My case is a case of ethics and morals, not law.

4. Sterlington is more corrupt than I thought. There are many dirty cops on the squad and they do questionable, amoral and unethical things all the time. There is no accountability for their behavior.

5. The officer would have had every right under law to haul me off to jail if I had in fact had been carelessly operating the vehicle. Tickets are apparently niceties. Any officer can put any driver who commits a moving traffic violation in jail. The ticket is a favor. Most officers don't view tickets in this manner, but the Sterlington police know what they are allowed to do by law, and have no qualms with unethical behavior. I was lucky. And frankly, I think he is, too. Many people would have been very upset had I been put in jail for a violation I did not commit.

6. My lawyer is awesome. He is honest, honorable, blunt, well-connected, well-educated, motivated, smart and has an IPhone that he knows how to operate. What more could I ask of him?

7. Time and money saved are not reason enough for me to drive through Sterlington anymore.

8. The first course of action is to get my ticket toned down or to disappear. The second course of action is to seek to put this incidence on the officer's already long list of bad reports.

9. My attorney (and/or I) will go through the following channels in the following order: town prosecutor, presiding judge (a fair man who does not live in Sterlington, but drives there from Grant parish), D.A., Attorney General. I hope the prosecutor takes care of it. (My lawyer is asking her to reduce the ticket to a seat belt violation.) If not, I will go as far as the D.A., and probably stop there. I don't want to pay my ticket three times over in legal fees.

10. This world is truly an awful, corrupt place. It is ruled by sin, and my outlook would be very bleak indeed if I did not trust that my God is a righteous God, the Judge of all and the Defender of the weak. As I reflected on the rather disappointing news I received this morning, I thought about what a great opportunity this is for some character modification. I am required to be patient. I am required to believe that justice will be served whether I see it served or not. I am required to trust that God is everything He says He is. I am required to follow this thing through even though I may not get the outcome for which I hope. I am required to love this man in spite of what he did to me. To pray for him. To hope for him. Honestly, my pride is a little wounded when I see my condition in the harsh light of the truth. I have no power to help or defend myself. But there is a greater Power that will supply me with the strength I need for all that is required of me. So, I'm a little heartsick (Proverbs 13:12), but never has my pride received a blow from which I have not benefited. Number ten is really this--No matter what happens, I'm going to be okay. I rest in the palm of a Mighty God.

Good cop. Bad cop.

I was raised in a home in which I was taught to respect police officers and consider them my friends and protectors. I have always viewed our men in uniform in this way, but last night I had an encounter that has shaken my good opinion of policemen to the core.

I left my home last night at 8:25pm to pick up my friend, Madonna Gil, in Monroe, and bring her back for an overnight visit. I arrived at her home at 9:00, and I immediately began driving home, heading north on Hwy. 165. As always, I was minding my speed, my distance between vehicles, traffic lights and traffic signals. I am an excellent driver with a clean record for almost 10 years. As I approached the intersection where you turn off to go to Sterlington High School, I slowed to the appropriate speed, but I noticed some cars preparing to turn right into Frenchman's Bend. I ventured into the left lane to pass them. Because my left turn onto Hwy. 2 was quickly approaching and because I was still traveling faster than the traffic in the right hand lane (my speed was approximately 63 mph), I remained in the left lane. My reasons to be in the left lane are completely legal.

Between the high school and the Mer Rouge Warehouse on the right side of the highway, I noticed a large vehicle quickly approaching. I was unable to get out of his way at the moment, but he continued to gain on my vehicle. He came so close that his headlights were bearing down on me, reflecting in my rear view mirror, and impeding my vision. This startled me, and I became more startled when I could no longer see his headlights due to his close proximity to my vehicle. I was able to recall my Driver’s Education course from several years ago. I remembered that if a vehicle is following too close, the proper course of action is to tap the brakes or slow down to let them pass. I was unable to move, he was unable to pass, so I chose to tap my brakes. At that moment, he turned on his police lights, signaling me to pull over. Before this instance, I was given no indication that was he was a policeman, that I was in his way or impeding police business. Had he signaled me, I would have pulled over into the median out of respect for him and his work.

After allowing traffic to pass, I pulled over onto the right lane shoulder, and waited for the officer to approach my car. I noticed that when he approached my window that his body language was very angry and agitated. At this point, I was unaware that I had done anything wrong or offensive, so I was baffled.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, miss?” he asked briskly.

“No, sir,” I answered respectfully.

“Do you want to know?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“You were driving in the left hand lane, which is illegal, but when you hit your brakes like that,” he raised his voice at the last part, and failed to complete his sentence.

I said, “I was in the left hand lane in order to pass.”

He replied, “You were passing way back.” This was actually not the case, and Madonna told me later that she remembered that I could not get over into the right hand lane.
I began to say something else, but out of respect, I kept my mouth closed.

In anticipation, he pointed at me and said, “That’s right. You better just stop talking!” I thought that strange as I did not say anything.

He took my license and registration, and was gone for a couple of minutes. I thought he would momentarily return with my ticket, but I was wrong.

“Mrs. Keaster, please step out of the vehicle,” I heard from behind.

At this point, I was frightened. I was a woman, pulled over by an angry policeman at night on a dark highway. I had complied with everything, and could not see a reason for me to get out of my car. But out of respect, I did what he asked. I was unprepared for what he said next.

“Have you ever been to jail, Mrs. Keaster?” he huffed.

“No, sir,” I replied, a warning buzzing in my head.

“Do you want to go to jail?”

I thought that was a ridiculous question, but out of respect, I answered it. “No.”
“Do you know what a bullet is capable of?” he asked.

At this point, I became truly frightened. Rape had already crossed my mind more than once. I was truly afraid that this man made crazy by irrational and misplaced anger would indeed take me to jail for driving safely (even though he was the one to make the traffic violation). But now, I began to wonder if he would try to harm me. He certainly seemed angry enough to do it.

I couldn’t answer.

“You car is like an 1100 pound bullet. Do you know how much a bullet weighs?” he asked.

“No,” I answered again.

“Do you want to see one?” he asked, gesturing to his firearm.

I felt threatened at this point, frightened beyond any fear I had ever felt for myself.

“No,” I answered. “Why are we having this conversation?” I thought my question was reasonable. I had never encountered a policeman that behaved anything like this before.

“Because I am trying to decide whether to take you to jail or not,” he answered.
I couldn’t imagine what reason he would have to produce to do so, but I believed he would do it. He was very angry.

“Can you please just write my ticket, let me get in my car, call my husband and go home?” I asked.

He actually stomped. “Fine. Get back in the car,” he answered.

I was so relieved, I couldn’t even begin to feel angry yet.

I got back in the car, and cried to Madonna, “He’s threatening to take me to jail. Call Brandon.”

She couldn’t figure out how to use my phone, so I tried, but I was shaking so severely that it was physically impossible to dial. She called him on her phone, and relayed what was going on. I spoke to him briefly.

The officer came back to my window, and went through protocol. He explained the ticket, citing me for driving in the left hand lane and careless operation of the vehicle. He showed me my court date, the phone number to call if I had questions and asked me to sign.

Then, he said, “If you had just listened back there, I wouldn’t have written the ticket.”

I felt angry then. Why was I called to back of the vehicle if I wasn’t going to be written a ticket? Why did he intentionally frighten me with jail threats if he hadn’t even truly intended to write a ticket? Was it to get a better look at my body? Was it to just have a little fun with a scared woman late at night? Was it because he had a bad day and was taking it out on me? I felt that I had been bullied because of my sex, and I lost my respect for him with that statement.

I said to him, “Well, you were scaring me.”

“I scared you, huh?” he asked with an amused smirk, apparently very satisfied with himself.

“And I think you did it on purpose,” I finished.

At that point, he handed me my ticket, and walked back to his vehicle. I rolled up my window, got back on the road, and cried all the way home.

Allergies, Sensitivities, and Auto-Immune Diseases, Oh My! Part Two

I've recently had a few scary, accidental run-ins with wheat and nuts. I'm finding more and more that eating out or at social gatherings is hazardous. Thus, I'm finding myself more and more in the kitchen. I am really not that great of a cook, but I can proudly say that I have graduated from the George Foreman burgers, grilled chicken strips, frozen dinners and cinnamon toast stage, where I began almost 6 years ago after marrying Brandon.

All that to say, I have some new recipes I'd like to post. These are extremely user friendly as I think "normal" people could enjoy them, too. They are also healthy, balanced and inexpensive to make.

Red Lentil Soup (the soup for which Esau is said to have sold his birthright)

1 bag red lentils (green will work, but the soup will look more like . . . poop)
1 small onion
2 T. butter
1 small can tomato paste
2 cups+ water
salt and pepper to taste

Saute onions in butter. Add tomato paste, lentils and water. Simmer 20-30 minutes. Add water as needed.
Season to taste. Blend and serve.

Pizza Soup

2 t. olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups chicken broth (i make my own)
1/2 t. salt
3 (14.5oz) cans diced tomatoes
fresh or dried basil, or italian seasoning

Heat oil and add garlic. Cook 30 seconds. Add broth, salt and tomatoes, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes. Blend.

Optional:
While soup simmers, saute 1/4 onion in butter. Add frozen or fresh (I use frozen b/c you get more bang for your buck) spinach. Cook until thawed and wilted. Add shredded cheese (I use goat cheese, and I shred it myself).

Serve spinach on top of soup alone or with pepperoni.


Spinach quiche

1 T. olive oil
1 frozen package of spinach, thawed and drained
6 eggs
2 cups shredded mont. jack cheese (if I'm making it for Micah or myself, I use goat cheese)
1/4 t. salt
1/8 t. pepper

Preheat oven 350 degrees. Spray 9 in. pie pan with Pam. Cook onion in large skillet. When soft, stir in spinach and continue to cook until excess moisture has evaporated. In large bowl, combine eggs, cheese, salt and pepper. Add spinach mixture and mix well. Scoop into pie pan. Bake about 30 minutes or until eggs have set. Cool 10 minutes and serve.

Glazed Butternut Squash

Peel and dice squash (or buy frozen). Place foil over cookie sheet and spray foil with Pam. Lay out squash evenly. Mix 1/4 c. melted butter and 2 T. brown sugar. Pour over squash. Sprinkle pepper over squash. Put in 350 degree oven for 30 minutes.



Also, I've learned how to sneak broccoli into Micah's diet. It requires an extra couple of steps, but it's worth it.

Chicken Casserole:

I begin by making my homemade gluten-free cream of mushroom soup, found here.

Then, I chop up a bag of frozen broccoli, thawed. (True, I could buy it pre-chopped, but I can't find it organic, and I'm into that kind of thing.) I throw the broccoli into the soup and let it warm.

I then spray a casserole dish with Pam, and place 1 c. of brown rice and 2 c. water into the dish. I stir in the soup. I take chicken breast strips and season them however I wish, and place them on top. I put the casserole into a 350 degree oven for about an hour.


I've also been enjoying lettuce burgers and homemade fries.

I divide ground meat into fist sized balls, and press flat. I season them with Montreal steak seasoning alone. They can been popped into a skillet on medium heat with butter or on a grill if you want something more figure friendly.

I now make my own french fries, too. I (and by I, I really mean Brandon) cuts potatoes up into small, very thin slices. He also cuts an onion up into strips. He throws the potatoes and the onions a little at a time into a fryer full of hot oil until the potatoes become a golden color. He pulls them out, places them on paper towels to drain, and we season them with Tony's.

I eat my burger wrapped in lettuce. He eats his on a bun. We're both happy. And so is Micah who really enjoys meat and potatoes (along with some veggie or fruit I force upon him).

I hope my gluten-free friends find this helpful!

Something Else

I was about to give up and that's no lie
cardinal landed outside my window
threw his head back and sang a song
so beautiful it made me cry
took me back to a childhood tree
full of birds and dreams
from this one place I can't see very far
in this one moment I'm square in the dark
these are the things I will trust in my heart
you can see something else
something else
I don't know what's making me so afraid
tiny cloud over my head
heavy and grey with a hint of dread
I don't like to feel this way
take me back to a window seat
with clouds beneath my feet
from this one place I can't see very far
in this one moment I'm square in the dark
these are the things I will trust in my heart
you can see something else
something else
--Sara Groves, "From This One Place"

I am an artist. This should imply more than that I simply do artistic things. It should imply realities about my character, my friendships, my lifestyle, my worldview, my habits, my behaviors and the way I process stimuli. However, I find that artists are largely misunderstood by at least half of the world. To most non-artists, the whole lot of us are weirdos. To help you guys out, I've provided a little insight. Artists are driven by their art and their almost basic need to create. Our highs are very high, our lows are very low and all the in-betweens are few and short-lived. Balance is a difficulty, almost unattainable. Many artists are able to think and process thought logically and rationally, but at our core, we are reactive. We respond to the world mostly through a sieve of emotion, whether we want to admit it or not. And I don't want to admit it. I would love to think of myself as a rational, logical individual that is above filtering the world in its entirety through the way I feel. And sometimes, I would love my feelings to be a little sedated because I rarely view anything passively. I am an artist; therefore, I am passionate.

On a scale from high to low, I've been at a low recently. I can attribute my blues to several reasons, including: seasonal depression, the move, the crazy pace of the last couple of months, the vandalism, allergies, no exercise, too many sweets, missing my mommy and the most important two--learning hard "abundant" life lessons and little time and energy for my art.

My novel continues to burn in my heart. It will be written, but maybe not in the time frame I originally planned. Every time I have a free moment, I am so utterly exhausted that the only output of my brain is white noise, which is worse than useless when you want to write. To make matters worse, the little I do write is congested with so many grammatical, logical and spelling errors that I feel like I've lost my edge. Where is the former English major that rarely made these kinds of mistakes?

Words don't come to me anymore. It's like at age 25, I have the brain of 60 year old. (I'm fairly certain that Micah is eating my brain cells.) An artist is in a bad place when she feels disdain for her skills and abilities. I burn, yet I cannot make fire. The sticks are wet and the flint is dull.

Writing isn't my only art. I'm also a singer--a singer that is simply too busy to schedule a lesson or practice. And a singer that isn't singing is a singer that is miserable. A singer always has a song to sing. The only relief we get is in the act of singing. And I'm not singing. I sing lullabies, and hum along to Sara Groves, but I'm not singing. Mozart, Puccini, Verdi, Debussy and Handel are singing. I'm not singing. And so, this artist is sad.

On to my comment about "abundant" life lessons . . .

Over the past 13 months, the Lord has restored to me the joy of His salvation. He has accomplished this in stages. The process began with Micah's birth, continued with a conference, and flourished as I found a mentor and a prayer partner with whom I gladly share this journey. They have been teaching me about the core of the Christian faith. When Jesus came to this earth, He came to give us life. Not an average, mundane existence that ends in vanity, but a meaningful, abundant life. A life worth living. And I would just like to say transparently and honestly that abundant life isn't always comfortable or pleasing. Sometimes it is very unwelcome. To live abundantly, we must become like Christ, and we do so through the continual, unrelenting work of the Holy Spirit, a work that only begins after we have believed upon the person and godship of Jesus Christ, and have submitted ourselves to Him. Let me repeat myself--this process is often unwelcome. It is unwelcome because we can't beat the human out of us, and that human absolutely loves to rise up against the Holy Spirit and do what it wants to do--sin. Allowing the Spirit to work love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control into our character is painful. There is no step 1-2-3 formula. There is no habit we can make that will magically bring us to any of these. It is submission. And submission is often the antithesis of passion. And I am passionate.

My prayer partner and I have been focusing on the whole point of Christianity, which is to become like Jesus. This is the goal of Christianity, not heaven. A wise pastor once said, "We are not being prepared for a place, but for a Person. The person of Jesus Christ." Becoming like Him, means that first and foremost we must be humbled. And humility doesn't come naturally to an artist, or a scientist, or a mathematician, or a mechanic or a toilet scrubber. It doesn't come naturally to any person, really. I take pride in my art. I take pride in my intelligence. I take pride in my ability to win any argument I wish to win. I take pride in most things. And I should not. Pride is the opposite of Jesus Christ. Being the prideful little twit I am, God saw fit to humble me under His wise and humorous, good hand.

As I mentioned above, we recently moved into a new, slightly larger home. Brandon has been hard at work remodeling the place, bringing it as up to date as possible on a budget. I haven't been able to help much due to my general helplessness and lack of know-how in reference to all things handy and mechanical. I felt that my contribution to our home would be my decorating vision for the house--eclectic and awesome. But I had forgotten something that my husband remembered. Years ago, before moving from our tiny first home was a thought in our minds, I told Brandon that when we moved into a larger house, he could have a room to hang his deer heads and other various stuffed and mounted carcasses that he deemed necessary for man room. Well, he thought this slightly larger home was the larger home I was referring to. It wasn't, but oh well. So, what room does he choose for his three deer heads, two turkey fans, duck pictures, eagle figurines and fishing paraphernalia? The living room. The most central room to our home. The room through which all souls must pass to get to the bathroom, studio or kitchen. I consented to the deer heads, encouraged him to limit himself to three themes and demanded veto power. About 3 weeks ago, Brandon began to give me ultimatums about decor in other parts of the house--I couldn't get new dining table chairs, we were keeping the ugly record/8 track player and he was keeping the gosh-awful, random picture of a man carrying a dead duck through the snow to a barn for some unknown reason, framed in the ugliest, bulkiest most disgustingly masculine frame you can gather from the very worst of your worst nightmares. By the way, I don't like ultimatums. Or ugly pictures.

It was the picture that sent me over the edge. The night he told me he was keeping it, no matter what, was a Friday night. All week, I had been running after my son and helping my sister with her twins. I was too tired to want to fight about it. I said nothing that night and went to sleep. The next morning, I was folding clothes after breakfast, and I said something a little short to him. His response? "You're just mad 'cuz I'm keeping the picture."

Have you ever felt anger in your toenails? I did. In that moment. I felt anger in my toenails, in my blood, in my bones, in my organs, and everywhere in between. The anger did not come from the picture alone. The picture had help. There were a lot of undisclosed behaviors and comments that I let slide without saying a word. But the picture was the proverbial straw. You know. The one that broke the camel's back. A better analogy in this case would be the last seismic shift before the eruption of Mt. St. Helen's.

The fit I threw was impressive. We refer to it now as the "grand mal hissy fit." And that is what it was. "NO!" I shouted with fervor and tears! "Just NOOO!! You will NOT keep that $@*% picture. It is god-awful and I HAATE it!" I threw folded laundry, I kicked the laundry basket, I pounded my fist on the table. I'm not sure what else I said. The anger had me. I do remember storming off to another room, slamming the door and silently daring him to come in. I think he waited until my breath returned to normal before approaching me. I told him through livid tears, that I was not sorry. That I felt better. And what is so terrible is that something that should have made me feel guilty, made me feel good. When it was over, we joked about it a bit, then he said, "So I guess now isn't a good time to tell you that I'm giving the picture to my dad." I would have been mad all over again had I not expounded all of my energy upon my tantrum. Instead, I scavenged for a little humor in the situation, and comforted myself with the fact that I had indeed, won again. Or so I thought.

God began dealing with me over the fit. I began to feel a little guilty that I had behaved like an adolescent, but I still wasn't willing to do the thing I knew in the cobwebby part of soul that I knew I must. I met with my prayer partner, Ellie, the following Wednesday as always, and against everything my mind was screaming at me, I confessed the full ordeal to her. As I confessed, the Lord made evident to me that He wanted me to do something I had never done before in an argument I cared anything about--lose.

In my 5 years of marriage, 7 years of loving Brandon, I had never lost a fight that I cared about. As the testament of the worst parts of myself spilled from my lips, I felt conviction, I felt the challenge and then I felt the anger. After meeting with Ellie and praying with her, I should have been right as rain, correct? Well, I wasn't. I then turned my anger from Brandon and the picture to the Lord. I neglected Him on purpose. Refused to submit my will to His. How dare He ask me to LOSE?
Those days of purposeful neglect were the darkest, most miserable days of my existence. I think this is because I had so recently tasted the sweetness of friendship with Him. I missed Him like crazy, but I wouldn't release my will. I hit a new low, and all of my insecurities prowled around for the kill. I realized in it all that I had recently prided myself on my faithfulness to God. Where was it now? He teaches me something that I don't want to learn, and I pout at Him like a toddler.

Fortunately, God never quits on us. If we are His, nothing can pluck us from His hand. Nor can we simply walk out. We are there forever.

The following Sunday night, we had prayer and communion at church. Rather than praying in groups, our pastors led us in a time of individual confession. The verses from Psalm 51 resonated through my spirit like a bell. "Restore to me the joy of your salvation" . . . "create in me a clean heart" . . . "sustain me with a willing spirit." Willing. A willing spirit. In that moment, in that word, my soul found peace. I found peace because I chose to lose. Not because I wanted furry necks and heads to dust for the rest of my life, or because I wanted 3 sets of eyes to follow me around wherever I go or an ugly picture hanging in my living room, but because I wanted to do what God wanted me to do, because I loved Brandon more than I hated deer heads or ugly pictures, and because choosing to lose makes me more like Jesus.

"Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it."--Matthew 16:24-25

Of all possible applications, whoever imagined home decor?
(Before big things, we must be faithful in the small.)

So, the Lord and I have been enjoying one another again for a week. It's nice to have my Friend back. It's so silly that I was the one who pushed Him away. I've told Him about all of my anxieties about my "arts." He knows. He understands. He cares. And so He gave me a cardinal that would sing a glorious song to me (see Sara Groves lyrics above). He gave me the gift of this verse--
John 1:42--"Now when Jesus looked at Peter, He said, You are Simon the son of Jonah. You shall be called Cephas" (which is translated, a Stone.)"

You are now all confused. Let me explain.

Peter's destiny was to become a foundation, a cornerstone of the Church of Jesus Christ. So, when Jesus looked at him, though He knew all of his failures, He only saw who Peter was as God had created him to be in combination with who he would become through the work of the Holy Spirit. Peter would sink when he stepped out on the water, he would fall asleep when Jesus needed him to pray the most, he would cut off a guard's ear, he would deny Jesus three times the night before His death, and he would fail to recognize his Friend and Savior after He rose again. But Jesus saw a rock. Jesus saw his destiny.

And He sees mine. He sees me not as a rock, for that was someone else's destiny; but as a perfected artist, a perfected me, not the epic fail I am today.
He can see something else. And that is a very, very good thing.


Maybe if I look hard enough, I can see something else in this picture.

Happy Birthday, Micah!

Dear one,

I want you to know that not all birthdays are as bad as this one has been for you. I am so sorry that your mommy was grumpy from lack of sleep and too many emotions this morning. I am so sorry that she thought you were just being a fussy butt when you didn't want to eat your lunch. I am so sorry that you woke up from your afternoon nap running a fever of over 100. I am so sorry that it kept going up after I gave you Tylenol. I'm sorry that we had to go to the after hours clinic, that you got your finger stuck, your throat swabbed, your finger smashed in between those chairs and that you got a mean old shot that hurt your leg (and hurt your mommy and Grandma's feelings so bad that they cried over it). I'm sorry that I didn't have a present for you today. I'm sorry that you have to wait until tomorrow to get your cake.

I am NOT sorry that you are in my life. I am NOT sorry you changed my world so much that my idea of fun on a Friday night is to give you a bath and a bottle and cuddle with you until bedtime. I am NOT sorry that I can't leave town without missing you like crazy and worrying about you every minute. I am NOT sorry that the idea of something bad happening to you sends me into a panic (because then I have another excuse to talk to Jesus), and that I would take any pain sent your way 10 times over if it meant you could escape it. I am NOT sorry that every day you wake me up earlier than I want to be awake, before I get my coffee and greet me with that gorgeous grin of yours. I am NOT sorry that your presence in my life has made me realize the urgency with which I should always pray against the terrors of Satan. I am NOT sorry that a large chunk of my prayer time is now devoted to your salvation and future walk with the Lord. I am NOT sorry that my main job is take care of you every day. I am NOT sorry that you are no longer a tiny newborn , but now a badly balanced toddler who loves to laugh, sneak Daisy your food and tell your mommy, "NOOOOO!!!!" as often as you can. And I am NOT sorry that I have to stay up tonight and bake your birthday cupcakes when I'm actually so tired I could fall out right here. Because I am truly, madly, deeply in love with a little red-headed boy's boy with two teeth and a pot belly.

Happy birthday, and here's too many more . . . HAPPIER birthdays.

Love,
Mommy

Moving On

We will live here at 150 Sunflower Drive, Farmerville, Lousiana for three more days, and I never expected to feel so sad about it. I am really surprised by the nostalgia that seems to physically attack me as I pack all our belongings in prescription medicine and milk boxes. (My husband is a pharmacist at a grocery store.)


The truth is that I was afraid of this house when I first saw it. I remember the creepy feeling in my gut when we walked in and saw that the master bedroom had a deadbolt on it that could lock someone in the room. I remember how much I disliked the old man who sold us the house. I remember my extreme feelings of irritation at the outrageous amount of awful wallpaper the previous owners had put up and at the fact that they had stained the light-colored carpet with orange wood polish in many places. I also remember the hideous bathroom with it's black linoleum countertop and floor, brown oak cabinets, and cream, maroon and silver wallpaper. And when we finally decided that it was all we could possibly afford as we had no down payment and Brandon would be the sole breadwinner while I attended college, I still wasn't happy about it.

It became ours the day before I forever changed my name, and our family moved us in while we were off on our honeymoon. When we returned home, my husband scooped me up, and carried me over the threshold. Then began the task of making the house a home. We began with removing the gosh-awful wallpaper, and creating lots of passionate memories--passionate love and passionate fights, in cycles. We bought new furniture and borrowed some old. We unpacked and found places for all of those wedding gifts, some useful, some bizarre. A year later, we brought home a rat terrier puppy who pissed all over that light colored carpet, adding to the stains. And a year after that, we ripped up that stained carpet and laid down laminate flooring with our ridiculous tax refund, and from that point on, there never was a question of where Daisy was in the house. You can hear her loudly clicking her toenails from any spot within the prescribed 1,000 square feet.

This place saw old friends move away and the beginning of new, lasting friendships. It saw plenty of card games, plenty of chicken and hamburger dinners cooked on the George Foreman (I didn't know how to cook back then), dinner parties established right in front of the door (we have no official dining area), slumber parties (my guests would happily sleep on our living room furniture or air mattress), the beginning and expansion of a piano/voice studio, several strange diet attempts (the most radical being the elimination of gluten when I discovered my wheat allergy), and multiple Christmas parties. These walls witnessed three major heartbreaks, a university transfer, and a church change. They witnessed alternating periods of mania and depression from my end and a strong, steadfast love and growth from Brandon's end. They witnessed lots of laughter and soul-wrenching sobs and the pain and joy found in finding comfort in one another's arms. They witnessed lots of self-discovery--Brandon and I not only loved each other, we liked each other, too; I didn't want to be an English professor. I wanted to stay home with my future children, give lots of children the gift of music, and write a bit on the side; Brandon found that he was not only cautious, but adventurous, too and embarked on an spec-house adventure; I discovered that I loved the stage; Brandon discovered that major changes aren't always bad.

And then Micah was born. Here was a soul alive for the first time, and as a result, my soul found life again. My heart for the Lord had grown cold during the years of my college education, and when Micah came into the world, I experienced Him afresh. Over the past year (Micah turns 1 year old on Friday), this home has been more full with laughter and life than I would have thought possible when we bought this creepy thing five and a half years ago. Micah has grown from a tiny, squinty-eyed infant who could do nothing but eat, sleep and poop into a little boy who can say 8 words, light up the world with his belly laugh and captivate everyone in a room by his red-headed, fireball presence. And I was almost a dead soul that was about as unhappy as a person can be because I had tasted the joy of the Lord and had lost it. Then, by God's grace and infinite mercies, I slowly found my way back to the heart of the Lord and am once again experiencing the life He intends for all people--abundant life.

And this place saw it all . . .

And because of that, it will never be forgotten.

Praise be to the God who saw potential in this home when I did not. You are better to me than I deserve.

All Right Here

My blog is named after this song. I love this singer/songwriter. She is so real, and I relate to her music so seamlessly. If I had been gifted with the ability to write songs, hers are the kind of songs I would write.

It's every loss and every love.
It's every blessing from above.
Here I am all added up.
Oh, it's all right here..
It's what I know and what I'm guessin'.
It's half-truths and full confessions.
It's why I choose to learn my lesson.
Oh it's all right here..
And I'm not God I'm a girl I confess that I don't have sea of forgetfulness.
No, it's all right here.
It makes me stronger and makes me wince.
It makes me think twice when I pick my friends.
Oh, it's all right here it's all right here..
It's caution and curiosity.
And it's all the things I never see.
Welling up inside of me.
Oh, it's all right here.
It's what is best and what is worse.
It's how I see the universe.
It's in every line and every verse.
Oh, it's all right here..
And I'm not God I'm a girl I confess that I don't have sea of forgetfulness.
No, it's all right here.
It makes me stronger and makes me wince.
It makes me think twice when I pick my friends.
Oh, it's all right here it's all right here..
Every heart has so much history.
It's my favorite place to start.
Sit down awhile and share your narrative with me.
I'm not afraid of who you are..
I'm all here and you're all there.
Some of this is unique and some of it we share.
Let's add it up and start from there.
Oh, it's all right here..
Oh, I'm not God I'm a girl I confess that I don't have sea of forgetfulness.
No, it's all right here.
It makes me stronger and makes me wince.
It makes me think twice when I pick my friends.
Oh, it's all right here.
It's caution and curiosity.
And it's all the things I never see.
Oh, it's all right here.
It's what is best and what is worse.
And it's how I see the universe.
Oh, it's all right here.
It's all right here.
Oh, it's all right here.
I'm all right here.
Oh, I'm all right here.
I'm all right here, alright..

--Sara Groves, from the album All Right Here (2002)

Fire

And I will put this third into the fire,
and refine them as one refines silver,
and test them as gold is tested.
They will call upon my name,
and I will answer them.
I will say, ‘They are my people’;
and they will say, ‘The Lord is my God.’”
--Zechariah 13:9

Has something, anything so thoroughly captivated your mind, soul and emotions that it seasons every thought, every action, every word? Has an idea ever hounded you, nipping at your heels relentlessly no matter where you turn or what you are doing? When something gets a hold of me like that, it is usually because the Holy Spirit of God has something massive to teach me. Lately, no matter where I study in God’s word, He brings me back here in Zechariah, where I’ve been stuck since before Christmas. If I try to leave, my mentor calls me back. I read ahead, and my mother has discovered something special there. Sermons not even based in Zechariah call me back to it, conversations bring its words to mind. I’ve memorized some of its verses without realizing that I’ve done so until God calls it to mind while I pray . . . “Ask the Lord for rain in the time of the latter rain” . . . “Not by might nor by power, but by my spirit says the Lord of hosts” . . . “Do not fear” . . . “And I will put this third into the fire” . . . I always find my way back to the verse about the fire.

It’s an uncomfortable verse, this one. It is preceded by the Lord saying that after He deals with all of the people in the land, only a third will survive. This elite third is then thrown into fire. This fire isn’t hellfire, that much is obvious. It’s a fire that serves a purpose. There is so much application to be had here. A hundred people could read this verse, and each one could take away something different. That is the magic of the Holy Spirit and the Word of God working together—it is alive and vibrant. It speaks in all languages to all levels of understanding. 

Because God kept leading me back here, I began to pray for understanding of this verse. I asked Him to show me what I must take away from it. He’s not done with me yet—this verse is still hounding me--but I wanted to share what He has shown me so far. It’s a lot and it doesn’t necessarily follow the logic I’m used to, so strap yourself in. 

After finishing Zechariah, I read Malachi because that’s just what you do when you’re so near the end of the Old Testament. It was alright. Then I went back to Zechariah, which was awesome again. Then, when I thought God was done with me, I decided to go back to Ezra, a contemporary of Zechariah. Ezra gave me some much needed background and a healthy dose of perspective. Chapter 1 begins by telling us that the people of Israel had been released by King Cyrus of Persia to go home to Jerusalem and rebuild the temple. God had moved in the king’s heart, and God was sending the people home, releasing them from 70 years of captivity. So Ezra tells us about all the people who end up leaving, he talks about their AWESOME worship service on the way home, then he tells us about Israel’s pesky neighbors who can’t mind their own business. When the people get home and start rebuilding the temple, the surrounding cities decide they don’t like what they’re doing, so they threaten the people and convince a couple of kings to make them stop. So here’s the setup—the people are doing EXACTLY what God told them to do and were in the center of His will . . . and because of that their very lives are threatened. Out of fear, the people stopped rebuilding. Just because the neighbors opposed the rebuilding of the temple didn’t mean that God expected them to stop building, however. God began to speak to the people through Zechariah and Haggai, telling them, “Do not fear.” He urged them to rebuild and to expect His blessing. 

This small group of people, the one-third, was thrown into fire. And what had they done wrong (recently) to deserve it? Was it because they had sinned? Was it because they misunderstood the will of God? God answers the burning question that all of humanity has at one time spoken in the event of tragedy—“why?”—to refine them as silver is refined, to test them as gold is tested so that they would call upon God. And when they called out to Him, He answered them. The temple was eventually rebuilt. 

I recently listened to a sermon in which the pastor asked, “Who here believes that bad things can happen to you when you’re in the center of God’s will?” 

It’s true, you know. Bad things happen OFTEN when you’re in the center of God’s will. You can even DIE when you’re in the center of God’s will. Think John the Baptist, Peter, Paul, Stephen, the millions of martyrs who died last century alone and . . . Jesus Christ, himself.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
--Isaiah 55:8

Do we have a right to shake our fist at a Holy, Perfect, Loving God when bad things happen, when bad things happen over and over and over again? When bad things happen to others, do we have the discernment to judge if those things happen because they sinned? Here’s a thought—bad things often happen to those God treasures and who He seeks to make more like His Son, Jesus Christ, and rarely to people the Bible describes as wicked. (Psalms and Proverbs both discuss the prosperity of the wicked and the hardships of the righteous.) Bad things don’t always happen to punish us, they often happen to perfect us! So maybe we shouldn’t be so resistant to pain. And we should be very, VERY slow to judge.

A Christian man recently blamed the events in Haiti on the poor people who live there. He believes that the earthquake is the result of the sin of people. Funny, I didn’t hear ANYONE say that when 9/11 happened. Can you IMAGINE someone saying we DESERVED 9/11? I don’t understand where we Americans ever got off thinking we were better than the rest of the world. We so wrongly feel that we are an entitled people!!! I have news for us all—we are the most sinful nation in the world, for we are the most prideful. And if I am not mistaken, there is a significant number of Christians in Haiti, serving the Lord, loving Jesus and praising His name in the midst of their pain. How quickly this Christian man forgot them.

Haiti has been thrown in the fire. They are being refined as silver is refined, and tested as gold is tested. I believe their pain is not due to their sin, but due to the love of our Heavenly Father. I believe He has a REDEMPTIVE purpose in mind. I believe that He will use this tragedy for good. And I believe they are favored and loved by a compassionate and just God who “will swallow up death forever. He will wipe away tears from ALL faces. The rebuke of His people (sin), He will take away from all the earth. For the Lord has spoken. And it shall be said in that day, ‘This is our God, we have waited for Him and He will save us. This is the Lord. We have waited for Him and will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.’” The Lord Jesus Christ will get around to judging the world, for He is just and He has promised us justice. But for today, He is out to seek and save the lost and turn the attention of the world upon Himself to receive the glory and honor He so rightly deserves.

My perspective about fire has been changed. I cannot yet say that I do not fear it, but I can say that I welcome the heat if it means knowing God better, loving Him more and looking more like Jesus Christ on the other side. If it means this, fire is good. 

And this change of heart makes me wonder what exactly God is up to.

Allergies, Sensitivities, and Auto-Immune Diseases, Oh My!

I have been called or emailed or texted more than once by friends requesting advice for themselves or their friends when they are given the news that they must drastically alter their diets. Most people are clueless about how to properly nourish themselves if they have to do away with gluten. So how do they manage when they must stay away from gluten, dairy, soy, nuts, etc.? Fortunately for me, when I discovered my allergies, my mother had lived with them for 3 or 4 years already. The change was not easy, but wasn't as difficult as it could have been thanks to her. This post is my way of paying it forward.

Before I continue, know that your life isn't over and neither is your spouse's. You can create yummy, filling meals without gluten. All of the foods in this post are suitable to my personal needs--no gluten, nuts, soy, dairy and limited corn. If you have further allergies and sensitivities, you will want to check the ingredients listed with each item. This post will be a work in progress, and I will update it whenever I discover something new and delicious.

Glutino Crackers Original—Corn starch, white rice flour, organic palm oil, modified corn starch, dextrose, liquid whole egg, yeast, salt, guar gum, sodium bicarbonate, ammonium bicarbonate, mono and digycerides, natural flavor.

Glutino Crackers Vegetable—Corn starch, white rice flour, organic palm oil, modified corn starch, dextrose, liquid, whole egg, yeast, tomato powder, salt, oregano, garlic, guar gum, ammonium bicarbonate, sodium bicarbonate, mono and diglycerides, natural flavor.

Uses:

These crackers are delicious! The vegetable variety is my favorite. I use them as I would any cracker, but my favorite snack is these crackers topped with pepperoni, sprinkled cheese and diced jalapenos.

 

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Betty Crocker Cake Mix—Rice flour, sugar, potato starch, leavening, xanthan gum, salt. May contain soy ingredients.

Uses: The cake mix makes a fine cake, but I use this mix along with butter to top my favorite cooked fruit for cobbler. (You may also use a combination of rice flour, butter and sugar for cobbler.)

Ingredients:

Betty Crocker Brownie Mix— Sugar, semi-sweet chocolate chips (sugar, chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, soy lecithin, vanilla), Cocoa Processed with Alkali, Rice Flour, Potato Starch, Corn Starch, Xanthan Gum, Salt. May contain soy ingredients.

Uses: I think that it's pretty obvious. I love it topped with homemade goat milk ice cream (see below for recipe).

Ingredients: Brown Rice Pizza Crust—Whole grain brown rice, potato
Uses: Use as pizza crust. It takes some getting used to, but it’s better than going without pizza. I recommend Paul Newman’s Sockarooni Sauce for your pizza sauce. I use aged goat cheese, pepperoni and veggies to top my pizza.



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Ingredients: Barbara’s Brown Rice Crisps—Organic whole grain brown rice, organic fruit juice concentrate (apple, peach, pear or pineapple), sea salt.

Uses: Cereal, Rice Krispie Treats (Watch your brand of marshmallows. Not all brands are gluten-free.)

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Ingredients:

Gluten-Free Pantry French Bread Mix—white rice flour, potato starch, corn starch, guar gum, granulated honey, salt, and a packet of yeast. May contain traces of soy.

Uses: It is my all-purpose bread, but it serves best as toast. I can’t use a lot of other mixes because the content of tapioca starch is too high. I have a sensitivity to it.

GF Pantry Brown Rice Pancake and Waffle Mix—brown rice flour, white rice flour, corn starch, buttermilk, granulated honey, baking powder (corn), sodium bicarbonate, salt, xanthan gum.

Uses: This mix makes the BEST pancakes!!

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Ingredients (Brown Rice Flour): Brown rice

Uses: It is so versatile. It serves well as a flour substitute in banana bread recipes, brownies (see recipe below), cobbler topping, and batters. I have fried venison, squash and goat cheese in brown rice flour seasoned with Tony’s seasoning.

Ingredients (Potato Starch): This stuff is my best friend. I use it to make my own cream soups so I can have casseroles (all processed cream soups contain flour) and gravy. Instructions for gravy are on the package. See recipe for mushroom cream soup below.

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Ingredients: (Kinnikinnick Donuts)—Icing (sugar, water, glucose, vanilla), sugar, white rice flour, tapioca starch, water, whole eggs, sweet rice flour, palm fruit oil (non hydrogenated), fructooligosaccharide, yeast, pea protein, egg whites, xanthan gum, fruit concentrate (dextrose, dextrin, fiber), salt rice bran extract, cellulose, baking powder (sodium acid pyrophosphate, sodium bicarbonate, pea starch, mono calcium phosphate), glucono delta lactone, sodium bicarbonate, nutmeg.

Uses: With coffee. They also come in Maple glazed, Cinnamon, and Chocolate glazed. The Maple is my favorite, the Chocolate is my least favorite.

Ingredients: (Kinnikinnick Chocolate Cake Mix)-- Sugar, Potato Starch, White Rice Flour, Cocoa Powder, Sweet Rice Flour, Baking Powder, Guar Gum, Salt, Pea Protein, Sodium Bicarbonate, Pea Starch, Pea Fibre.

Uses: This is my favorite chocolate cake mix. It makes PERFECT cupcakes and a great birthday cake. Top with your favorite icing. I like vanilla icing on mine!

Kinnikinnick is a HUGE gluten-free company stocked with all kinds of goodies! Check out their site here: http://consumer.kinnikinnick.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/consumer.home.html

Ingredients: Brown rice.

Uses: Perfect substitute for grits. Good sweet, dressed up or with a simple dollop of butter.

Ingredients: Rice

Uses: Makes great Asian dishes. You can also buy the boxes with seasonings. The original flavor is free of soy. Add chicken, veggies, and crushed red pepper for a sweet and spicy treat.

Ingredients: Brown rice.

Uses: Use as you would any pasta. I love this brand because it is so hard to overcook. Other brands will disintegrate if you cook them too long. My husband never knew the difference when we switched, and you can get any kind of pasta you need in this brand (Tinikyada).

Ingredients: Brown rice.

Uses: As above, use as you would any pasta. This brand will disintegrate if overcooked, but I like it because it cooks quickly, and you don't have to cook the lasagna at all.
Ingredients: Rice protein.

Uses: If you are into protein shakes, fruit smoothies with a boost, etc, try this in place of whey. It is grainy, but it's better than itching or being ill.

Ingredients: Corn

Uses: Corn bread. Most cornbread mixes have wheat flour. This makes a yummy, but less fluffy version.
Ingredients: Brown rice flour, water, potato starch, canola oil, pineapple juice concentrate, peach juice concentrate, leavening (baking soda, sodium acid pyrophosphate, monocalcium phosphate), pear juice concentrate, salt, soy lecithin, defatted soy flour, guar gum.

Uses: These are great in lieu of Eggos. They are quick, and very good toasted in a toaster. They are not so splendid microwaved. I like them topped with blueberries and maple syrup.

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Ingredients: Goat milk.

Uses: Use the milk as you would any other milk, but decide carefully about desserts. Sometimes the milk taints the cake you’re trying to make. It is perfectly fine for banana bread, pancakes, scrambled eggs and savory cooking though. The aged cheese is also very good. When people say “goat cheese” they are usually referring to the fresh, crumbly goat cheese, which is great on salads and serves as a good substitute for cottage or ricotta cheese on lasagna. The aged cheese is good for pizza, lasagna and anything you would use mozzarella or cheddar for. Both brands are excellent (Meyenberg or Alta Dena).

Now, the holy grail of gluten free snacks!!!

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Ingredients: Snap pea Crisps—Green peas, corn oil, rice, salt calcium carbonate, ascorbic acid. Be careful! Peas are legumes!!!

Uses: They are advertised as salad toppers, but they are great with sandwiches or by themselves as a meal. They are very well balanced with protein, fat and carbs, and the main ingredient is peas!

Ingredients: Sorghum Flour; Grape, Apple and Pear Juice Concentrates; Brown Pure Cane Sugar; Date Paste; Chocolate Chips (Evaporated Cane Juice, Chocolate Liquor, Non-Dairy Cocoa Butter); Expeller Pressed-Vegetable Oil (Safflower Oil and/or Sunflower Oil); Water; Natural Rice Dextrin; Xanthan Gum; Baking Soda; Salt; Vanilla; Rosemary Extract

Uses: This little company is awesome. They make sure their foods are free of all of the leading allergens. No gluten, no nuts, no eggs, no casein. Check out Enjoy Life Foods here.



All of these foods should be available at your local health food store. If they are not, check to see if they can/will order it for you. And always tell your health food store merchants about your dietary needs. They can help you find lots of yummy products. Be prepared to spend a little more on groceries than you used to, but you will live. I promise.

In the meantime, do not underestimate the power of these:
Plain old rice and potatoes make GREAT starch substitutes. There are so many yummy potato recipes and you are only limited by your creativity when it comes to rice.

Recipes (kind of):

Mushroom Cream Soup (for casseroles):

Saute chopped onions and baby portabellos in butter and Tony's seasoning. Add goat milk (1 to 1 1/2 cups). Cook until warm again. Meanwhile, mix 2 T. of Potato starch with cold water. Add to milk, onions, and mushrooms. Stir until thick. Add to casserole.

Microwave Rice Flour Brownies:

2 eggs
1 c. sugar
1/2 t. salt
1 t. vanilla extract
1/2 c. butter, melted
3/4 c. rice flour
1/2 c. cocoa
1 c. chopped nuts (optional)

Beat eggs, sugar, salt and vanilla for 1 minute at medium speed. Add butter, continue beating. Mix in flour and cocoa at low speed. Stir in nuts. Spread evenly into greased 8 in. square dish. Microwave 4 1/2 to 5 minutes.

Homemade Goat Milk Ice Cream

4 eggs
2 1/4 c. sugar
6 c. goat milk (ready to drink)
4 cans goat milk (concentrated milk like Pet milk)
5 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. salt

Beat eggs. Add sugar and beat again. Mix in other ingredients. chill. Freeze in ice cream freezer. Serve plain or with Microwave Rice Flour Brownies.

Recommended Blogs:

http://www.enjoylifefoodsblog.com/
http://glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com/

I'm Not Dead

Well, I may be brain dead. I've been walking around like a zombie for the past few weeks. I'm getting more sleep than I had been, but the mind just isn't what it used to be. That makes me sound 80. Let me explain. I never used to forget things. If there was the slightest chance I would, it didn't matter because I at least remembered to write everything down--to-do lists, a calender of events, shopping lists, etc. I'm a listy kind of girl. If something was lost, I knew where it was. If something was important, it never was lost. No longer is this the case.I now lose my lists. My information retrieve was impressive, as was my overall intellectual prowess. A few months ago, I didn't make grammar mistakes. I just didn't. I read all the time. Now, I'm lucky to read a couple of pages a day.

This week alone I left my purse in two public locations. God is good because it should have been stolen at the first location. I failed to pack my diaper bag appropriately twice. In a letter to friends, I wrote "know" in the place of "no," and "to" in the place of "too." That is very out of character. Or it was. Brandon thinks I have early on-set Alzheimer's or dementia or a brain tumor, and he worries that I should be doing crossword puzzles and sudoku instead of spending every waking moment mothering. He called my mom the other night voicing his worries to her. She assured him that my disease is common and the only treatment is the passage of time. She also assured him that crossword puzzles wouldn't help.

Nine months ago today, my life changed. And mostly for the better. However, there are negative side effects to being a mother, especially if the mother has a lot of other responsibilities, and honestly, what mother doesn't? I am a growing follower of Jesus, a motivated, but imperfect wife, a increasingly clever cook, a launderer and maid, a voice student, a chorus member, an enthusiastic music teacher, an untalented accompanist, secretary, book keeper, a Sunday School teacher, daughter, sister, friend. And I want to be a writer too. My novel hasn't made much progress because my muse refuses to return unless the apparent void between my ears is replaced with firing synapses. I need to clear out my hat closet, but which ones to throw out? As I sigh over the uselessness of my brain, I am also sighing at the speed of Micah's growth and development. Each day, he is able to more than the day previous. Fortunately, he just became mobile and he's not very fast yet. Just wait, Brain. Your entire capacity will be spent figuring out how to keep Micah from electrocuting and pulling chairs and tables on top of himself.

Check out Micah's new feats below. It's hilarious and well worth the time.

Understanding The Creative Process

A friend of mine posted this to her Posterous blog. It resonated so deeply within me that I had to share it. Every creative spirit can relate, and those who are not can understand us better. But understand this, I acknowledge that higher fount of creativity to be the Most High God, not fairies or the universe. Enjoy!

Micah's Modern Fantasia

Micah has much potential in the arena of modern composition. This is cutting edge stuff!

Things I Love In No Particular Order

Being greeted by a toothless, grinning, red-headed baby boy every morning (I will miss it when any one of these adjectives change.)

The sound a hardback book makes when you open it for the first time

The smell of ink on paper (of any age--new is my favorite)

Reading and studying the Bible with no time pressures

The tingle of warm sunshine on my skin, and the way it lasts even after I go back inside

Music

The scents of Fall--spices, dank earth, hints of wood smoke in the air

The weight and feel of a book in my hands (What? I like books.)

Halloween

New school supplies

Daisy, my rat terrier

Chocolate

A strong cup of Community Coffee with a dash of Hershey's Chocolate Caramel creamer by International Delight

Holding a sleeping baby

Being able to eat a gluten-free doughnut every morning without getting fat (This will change when I stop breastfeeding.)

Writing

The rush of adrenaline during exciting books (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check out The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, a book I want to help make the New York Times bestseller list. Then, read her sequel Catching Fire.)

The feel of my husband's strong, welcoming arms and firm chest after a hard day; his smell

Teaching whatever; a student's success

Alliteration

Listening to my Aunt Mary tell stories about her childhood

Performing on stage

My church

Making new friends; visiting old ones

Talking to Mom in person or over the phone

Exchanging dry humor with my dad

Finding common ground with my sister

Reminiscing good times

My friends and family

Grace, Redemption, Mercy

The Lord Jesus Christ

Growing old with the love of my life. Happy birthday, Brandon.

Mini Me

Micah will be 7 months old on Saturday. He is physically impressive with his thunder thighs, faux biceps, tubby little tummy, box feet, cherub hands and perfect face all capped with an ever-growing shock of curly, red hair. He looks larger than many year olds that I have seen, coming in at a little over 19 pounds. He's getting to be such a big boy, and every day seems to go by faster and faster. Time is running away from me at a break neck pace and I'm too slow, flabby and out of shape to keep up! As these sweet days pass before my eyes, I fall deeper into a melancholy state somewhere close to the midpoint of bitter and sweet. Bitter because I have put away almost all of the cute clothing that loved ones purchased just for him when he was little more than a clump of cells and a great plan that only the heavenly Father was privy to. And sweet because his personality is developing even faster than his body.

His many facial expressions are beginning to mean something to me. His cries carry greater nuances than they once did. I am beginning to decipher some of the meaning behind his sweet babbling. He is revealing preferences, fears and expectations I did not know he had. For instance, he clearly prefers his jumper to his swing and avocado to squash. He is horribly afraid of loud noises such as the vacuum cleaner, the blender and the coffee grinder. He expects me to react in some way to his cries. Like his mommy, he hates to be ignored worse than anything in the world. He hates it worse than being lonely or being in the same room while I'm vacuuming. When he hollers, I better get my behind in gear or he will let me know about it! If he cries from hunger, he better see me rearranging my clothing or preparing a bottle. If he cries from boredom, I better pick him up or lie down with him and start a game. If he cries from tiredness, he better be equipped with a paci and a pair of arms that will cradle, pat and gently tickle him until he falls asleep. Speaking of sleep, Micah still isn't much of a sleeper. If I'm lucky, he'll sleep a total of 10 hours or so at night, but not all at once. Two in the morning is party time! He'll nap a little during the day. If he's napping exceptionally, I may get a couple of hour naps out of him. But that's exceptional napping. Thankfully, the amount of sleep he gets shows no correlation with his mood. He smiles at everyone, and only fusses in displeasure. As so little in life displeases him, he's not much of a fusser. Last weekend, he was coming down with an ear infection. We were up all night Thursday trying to get him comfortable. Comfort just wasn't happening for him, so I started playing a game he seems to like in which I bounce him up and down in a steady rhythm, and say "boobidy, boobidy, boobidy boo!" He began laughing out loud! The child was sleepy, uncomfortable and very upset, but he began laughing out loud!(Granted, I used a form of the word "boob," and like any man, anything containing the word "boob" probably has the power to relieve his troubles.)But hey, learning to laugh in the midst of less than perfect circumstances is an advanced skill, AND it's a piece of advice I gave him in his six month letter posted on August 19th--

"7) Find humor in everything, especially the crappy parts of life. It’s there; I promise, and it will lighten your load when times get tough."

He not only has a great sense of humor, but he's a quick learner!

I've been telling my mother about Micah's attributes bit by bit, and all along she's been saying, "You have yourself made over." I didn't really believe her until three things happened.

1) He began suffering from allergies. If the child is a copy of myself, he will be allergic.

2) He screamed at me. I mentioned earlier that he doesn't enjoy loneliness, but hates to be ignored even more. Well, he occasionally has to suffer one or two of these states. I mean, I have to shower every now and then! One day, I set him in his walker in the bathroom, left the door open so he wouldn't get too hot, and left the shower curtain open as much as I could so he could see me. I started to shower, and he started to cry. Talking to him didn't work. Dancing didn't work. Singing didn't work. Nothing worked, so I just tried to complete the shower as quickly as I could. It wasn't quickly enough for him. He stopped crying for a brief moment. I looked at him, and smiled. I was about to say, "See, it's not so bad, Angel Face." Well, my little Angel Face didn't let me get it out. My little Angel Face, stormed over, turned beet red and furrowed at the brow. He raised his arms at me to make himself unquestioningly clear. Then, the shrillest sound to come out of my sweet child thus far--"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Then, more crying. That was the first time he had ever screamed at me. I was doing something other than what he wanted to do, and the little bugger SCREAMED at me. That was the moment of revelation--this child is mine; he will have a strong will; he will be stubborn; he will throw temper tantrums when he doesn't get his way; I'm bloody in for it. And oh. If he inherits my gift for debate, I'm really in for it.

3) This fit lasted for some time. I had to get a quick bite to eat before students began coming in, so I sat him in the big arm chair that he sinks into so deep, he can't do much but squirm until he's nearly upside down. I got a quick lunch together, then came to check on him. This is what I found--


It's hard to see on the page, but his hair is sticking STRAIGHT up.

Not so different from this--


Maybe anger, like humidity, poofs your hair . . .

Anyway, the world better watch out--there's another one of me coming its way soon.

Thanks, Solution, and Answer

Thanks for responding, guys! Between FB, the comments here, and people talking to me in person, about 15 of you read fairly regularly. That's actually more than I thought! Yay! Okay, no more narcissism than necessary from now on. Haha!

Okay, here's what I'm thinking with the post about my students . . . I will ask their permission to put pictures on here of a performance we have coming up fairly soon, and I will blog about that. If they respond well, and don't seem too freaked out, I may request to do another post that talks about them more personally (with code names, of course) at a later date.

Finally, I talked to Brandon about posting my first chapter. Apparently, he thinks it's pretty good because he is concerned about it not being copyrighted. So, here is what I will do . . . if you don't think I have your email address, please send me something from your email address, and I will reply with the first chapter. My email is keastemom@live.com. (No "r" in "keaster.") Please allow me to trouble you with a couple of quick guidelines for the critiquing the chapter--

1) I need to know how quickly you become interested. Give me an estimation of how far in you are when that happens.

2) Do you like the main character? Try not to look at her as me. I'm not sure whether her name will stay "Melissa" or if I will change it. As this book is based largely on biographical events, the character is more easily accessible with my name for now. That may change later, and the character may take a new direction that is very NOT me.

3) Do you empathize at all with any of the characters? Which ones? How so?

4) Do you feel that clear themes are being established?

5) Is anything confusing? Does anything need further explanation?

6) When you are finished, do you care to read more?

7) Feel free to add any additional comments.

Here are some don'ts:

1) Don't spare my feelings. I really need to know the answers to the questions above.

2) Unless you see a blatant error, don't worry about correcting my grammar or spelling. This is a rough draft, and I know it. Now you know it. However, if something is completely off, feel free to tell me. I just don't need to know every single comma mistake.

3)Please don't feel like you have to keep reading if you hate it.

I'm glad that you are all so interested. I hope you enjoy it, and that you view it as time well spent. Thanks!

A Question, An Idea and A Consideration

Question--Who reads this thing anyway? Will you leave your name and location in the comment section? This thing's aimed mainly at friends and family, but I'm curious if anyone who doesn't know me is reading. I know it's narcissistic to ask, but really--everything about a blog is narcissistic.

Idea--I want to post something about my piano students in a few weeks, but I'll have to ask their permission. Then they'll want to read my blog. Then I'll have to be careful about some of the things I post. Is it worth it? They are so interesting as a group, and so unique as individuals. It would make a great post . . . I think.

Consideration--I'm considering posting the first chapter of my novel. My purpose would be to see if it interests anyone other than my family or even people who don't know me and my family (if there are even any readers who don't know me). I would like to know if it grabs you from the beginning, if you want to read more when you're done. The first chapter of a book is pretty important as it has to set the tone, interest the reader and establish some themes. If you readers think it's a good idea to post a rough draft of the chapter, let me know. If not, tell me that. If you don't think it's a good idea to post it where anyone and his or her mother can read it and steal it if they wish, give me your email address, and I'll email you. (It occurs to me that the previous sentence could possibly be a run-on. It felt like one, anyway.

Comments, please! (If you have difficulty posting to my blog, you can contact me on Facebook under the name "Melissa Chapman Keaster.")

Cease from Anger and Do Good

When you have a positive experience of any kind, there is an inevitability that something or someone will come along to ruin it for you, usually sooner than later. This is especially true if the positive experience was spiritual. Every time I have an encounter with God, that encounter is challenged. Maybe this is good for us, the way things should be. I mean, how do you know what you felt was real unless you are tested? But, oh man! Sometimes the test can be a real pain in the butt!

This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending the Beth Moore simulcast with a precious friend from church. I must be honest--when I agreed to go, I agreed for the same reason I might consent to eat cabbage--I know it's good for me even if I gag a little as it goes down. I know this isn't a healthy view of events such as these. That's not the point. I went. I learned. I changed. I have never been so happy to have my presumptions and prejudices proven wrong in my entire life. I gloried in my wrongness. I learned so much last weekend, but the lesson that has lingered most clearly in my mind was not taught in Beth Moore's absurdly large classroom. It was taught in a one on one tutoring session with God . . .

*Flashback*

Last week, I spent several hours preparing a studio policy for my piano and voice students. It was good. It was close to fool proof. I felt secure that no one could take advantage of me after signing this bad mamma jamma. Thursday night, I had a meeting at my house for my students and their parents. The policy was signed by everyone, and I even had one family pay, which I was super excited about as I had in my policy in THREE separate places that all monies paid were NONREFUNDABLE. I already had $60, and I hadn't even taught lesson number one! Yay! Surely this family was serious! Surely they would be excellent clients! I said goodbye to everyone, excited about what possibilities laid in store for my new students. That was prior to my weekend with Beth Moore.

*Back to the tutoring session with God*

Less than 24 hours after the completion of the simulcast, a test literally came knocking on my door. Brandon and I had to teach children's church Sunday morning, and we were cutting it close with the time. I had just finished blow-drying my hair, hadn't yet put on my make-up and was not yet completely dressed. The doorbell rang. I looked at him and asked incredulously, "Who is ringing our doorbell on Sunday morning?" He shrugged, and answered the door while I began to flatiron my hair.

I heard someone ask to see me, but I knew my man would take care of it and send them away so we could make it on time for church. He said, "She's getting ready for church right now," and he began closing the door. The woman stepped over the threshold, ignoring my husband. I side-stepped out of the bathroom into the hall so I could see who this impertinent person was, and realized that I had never seen her in my life. I thought to myself, "Who does this stranger think she is? She's going to make me late, and people are depending on me."

"Ms. Keaster?" the woman asked. As she was over twice my age, I knew this little visit was most likely in reference to my studio. With as much dignity as one could muster when they look worse than they would if they had just rolled out of bed, I answered, "Yes."

She introduced herself as one of my student's grandparents, and told me that her grandchild would not be able to take lessons this year. I asked if anything was wrong because I liked this particular child a good bit and had enjoyed teaching her during the month of July. The woman said that the child was fine, that she was going through "some life changes," which I thought was unreasonably vague. Naturally, this student was the one who had already paid for the month, and naturally, the woman asked for the money back. She was not the guardian that had accompanied my student on Thursday night, so I told her that I had gone over the policy the night that I was paid, and according to my policy, all monies paid are nonrefundable. I also said that I would think about it and get back to her, but I couldn't do anything about it at the moment. I was late for church. She then returns with, "As it wasn't due until her first lesson, I figured we could get the money back." She exited my home with a huff. Had her tone not been abrasive, I still would have been considerably more than irritated for the following reasons. One, I had spent a good amount of time on that policy, thank you very much. Two, I had basically read it to everyone and forced them to sign it before leaving the meeting on Thursday night. Three, she did not call to give me any warning about this visit. Four, she picks SUNDAY FREAKING MORNING to pull this little stunt. Finally, she didn't have to take that tone with me as she left. She bombarded me, while looking gosh-awful mind you, and I told her I would think about it . . . AGAINST MY POL-I-CY.

I'll be honest again. I didn't even fight to keep my temper in check. I began ranting to my husband at the top of my lungs, completely put out--We were late! She made me late! She came into my house without permission! She demanded money that was no longer hers! She got snippety on her way out! I ranted as we ran out the door. I ranted as we began driving down the road. I called someone at church to let them know we would be late. I also asked this dear one to say a prayer for me because I knew that I was in no shape to teach little kiddies about the Lord at that point. I hung up, and ranted some more.

About the time we left the town of Farmerville, words from Psalm 37, the passage we had studied only the day before, came to my mind like a slap to the face. It was as if the Lord said, "Melissa! Get a grip!" The words were "cease from your anger and forsake wrath," and "trust in Me, and do good." I stopped ranting for a moment, and chewed on that thought. I knew what I would do. I would do good. I would give the woman her money back. I knew that was what God was telling me to do, and I would do it. But I could still be mad about it, right? WRONG!!!! "Cease from anger," He whispered again, "forsake wrath." And then I was given a gift . . .

an image . . . a mental picture of what I must have looked like to that woman when she came through my door. And I'm passing this gift on to you because you won't fully understand why I did what I did next unless you see it for yourself. Understand that with this particular hair cut I look like this after flatironing my hair. This is how the public at large sees me on a day to day basis--



So, against the desires of my ego and self-respect, here is what I looked like when she saw me last Sunday morning--

Or better yet, scary hair with my "angry" face.



And that, my friends, is why Brandon and I laughed our heads off all the way to church, and were more than ready to teach our little kiddies when we arrived. And that, my friends, is how I forsook wrath, and took pleasure in doing some good.

A Letter to My Son

My dearest Micah,

Six months ago today, I watched as you entered the world, a moment that changed my life. I will never forget it. You came out all purpled with the cord wrapped around your neck. My heart stopped beating until you let out the most remarkable wail for a thing so tiny. Dr. Pennebaker held you up so I could see. Your brows were furrowed, the corners lips turned down, your delicate eyelids closed. The light in the room hugged your tiny frame and beamed outward, a true reflection of all that I was feeling in that glorious moment. I never believed in “love at first sight” until I met you. And not only did I love you, for the first time in my life, I loved someone naturally, thoroughly more than I loved myself. I knew then I would do anything for you, and in six months that feeling has not faltered, only grown.

Everyone thinks their baby is the most beautiful, gifted baby in the world, but I know for a fact that you actually are. You were a lovely newborn, something very rare, but your beauty has only increased with each new day. Today, you have large, expressive eyes that fall somewhere between brown and gray, and they are framed by long, curling lashes. You have beautiful red hair that curls slightly at the tips when it is damp from sweat or your bath, a feature especially ordered by your Grandma. You have the sweetest heart-shaped little face, decorated with a cleft chin. You have Grandma’s elf ear, Daddy’s lips, Mommy’s forehead, and Grandpa Boyce’s stout physique. You are marvelously unique and beautiful, crafted by the Creator’s loving hand. You are as wonderful in character as you are in body. You are a sweet, easy going, contented baby, full of laughter and smiles for everyone whether young or old. You go along with whatever we throw at you—new people, bottles or breast, varying feeding times and bedtimes--whatever. We can take you anywhere, which is why we’ve taken you with us on two different vacations. You have captured everyone’s heart with your sweetness, which is a good thing because you love, love, love attention and cry when you don’t get it. One of my favorite things you do is that you wake up so happy from your naps. I won’t even know you’re awake until I hear your gentle coos from your crib. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the world. The only damper on your pleasant moods is your awful tummy aches. We have them mostly under control with medication, but you still have trouble from time to time.

In addition to being beautiful and darling, you are a quick learner. You were holding your head up a bit before we even came home from the hospital. You were rolling over both ways on your one month birthday. At three months, you were smiling, laughing, cooing, crowing, jumping (in your jumper), and standing with a little help. You were razzing, babbling, and creeping on your tummy at four months. At five months, you had mastered “da-da,” “ma-ma,” “dub-dub” and squealing, as well as sitting up without help, and copying some movement. You could also locate, pick up, and play with a toy. You can almost put your own pacifier in your mouth. Today, you are well on your way to crawling, as you can push up your chest and get up on your knees, albeit not at the same time (see video below and forgive Mommy for getting a little too excited about things). You have Grandma and Pops thinking you’ll be a genius, but don’t worry, there’s no pressure.



It’s true you have accomplished several physical feats, but you are also a well-traveled and experienced baby. You have been to or traveled through Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida. You have visited the mountains and the beach. You are a good traveler and you really like the sand and ocean! You’ve been swimming. I think you like it. You’ve seen three movies in the theater. You enjoy television, especially Baby Einstein DVDs. You like books, your cloth book in particular, which you can play with and attempt to eat. You’ve been to several of Mommy’s voice lessons, you enjoy playing the piano with mommy (see video below), and although you have heard everything from pop to country to classical to rock to hymns to rap, your favorite song is “Roll Over,” which indicates your flawless musical taste. Your food palate is slightly less extended than your musical one due to your mommy’s allergies. Thus far, you have only had breast milk, goat milk, pear juice, rice cereal and avocado (see video below). Your favorite is avocado, which your daddy is super excited about—he sees lots and lots of guacamole in his future. You’re on this kick where you like to touch, pet, scratch, and taste everything. You are fascinated by the textures of blue jeans, Mommy’s skin and Daddy’s hair.





Micah, you are the only person in the world that I am happy to see at any hour of the day or night. You are the only person in the world that incites me to cry with him when he has a tummy ache. You are the only person in the world that can make this feministic go-getter want to stay home with her child instead of pursuing a career. You are the only person in this world that makes being a stay-at-home mom feel like my real job. You’ve been doing all of this learning, but you’ve also been doing a lot of teaching. You have taught your mommy to slow down, enjoy the moment and not be anxious for things to come. You have taught your mommy to be patient, something no one has ever been able to teach her. You have taught your mommy how to love sacrificially, unconditionally and without bounds. You have given her a glimpse into the heart of our Heavenly Father, into His great, great love for His children. You have brought more joy, light and laughter into our home than I could have ever imagined, and no matter what I give of myself, it will never measure up to what you have given me. Thank you, little one, “for the gladness you have brought me as I have walked these heavy miles.” You have made life oh so sweet. I love you.

All of me,

Mommy


P.S. I have a few bits of advice to give you before I’m done.


1) Go ahead and mouth as much as you like. It’s a part of your learning process. Just please stay away from the books. You’ll want to read them someday, and never mind the bit I read you from Ezekial a few weeks ago. The only books that taste like honey are the ones God will hand you Himself.

2) Never equate your size with your ability.

3) Regardless of what other parents do, I’m not going to puff you up with nonsense about abilities you don’t actually have in the name of building your self-esteem. I probably won’t even let you win very often, specifically at Boggle. It will be all in the name of love. I can’t have you making a jackass of yourself on national television. You are a child of God, born with a unique set of gifts and purpose. Find your value in Him, and that will be enough.

4) Cling to your innocence. It is far too undervalued in our culture.

5) Strive for balance in all things. Avoid dogmatism at all cost.

6) Don’t be afraid of failure. It’s an everyday part of life. Without risk, there is no reward.

7) Find humor in everything, especially the crappy parts of life. It’s there; I promise, and it will lighten your load when times get tough.

8) Don’t be embarrassed by your last name. You come from good stock, and it will build character.

9) Adulthood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Enjoy your childhood.

10) Seek God first. Keep your heart pure and tender. Read your Bible every day. Pray about everything. In God alone will you find joy, peace, comfort and hope. Times are only getting harder from here, and you’re going to need Him. He is the only One who will never fail you.

The Happiest Six Months Ever

Micah will be six months tomorrow (August 19). I can't believe how the weeks have flown by. Here is a montage of the happiest six months of my life.