Unexpected Blessing

We have just about adjusted to the new way of life dictated by the building of a new Six Span Bridge. Construction requires us to go about 3 miles out of our way and it doubles our travel time to work. The first few days of the change found us trying for short cuts, forgetting to leave the house early enough, and experimenting with different ways to get 'there' from 'here.' Slightly annoying and inconvenient, we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that it is for the common good.

Then I noticed something else. The stretch of road between County Road 17 and County Road 19 is almost completely without traffic. Before construction, it would have been considered one of the main ways from Bristol to Elkhart, I suppose. A good number of vehicles sped along, particularly during what passes for rush hour in this neck of the woods.

Not now. The only traffic would be from a small line of houses along the river and our small subdivision. Just beyond us, Pheasant Ridge residents that once exited south onto our road now head north out of their enclave. A whole mile of road, once too busy to walk, now invites the intrepid Kitty and me to stroll along without a care. We even have a fine view of the river for a bit, just across from a burned down barn surrounded by volunteer daffodils and crocus.

It's all ours for the enjoying, while traffic buzzes along elsewhere. It's temporary, of course. Sooner or later the bridge will be done, a new roadway cut, and cars will again speed along the fresh black asphalt. Nothing lasts forever.

So now it's up to me. Will I be inconvenienced by the perpetual detour and extra time required for travel to and from almost anywhere? Or will I be thankful for what is mine today - sparkling water, spring flowers, a safe path? When I am in the middle of a life that seems detoured, or inconvenient, or just plain not what I want, what will I choose?

Is God's will the detour? Or is God's will the unexpected blessing? Or both?

Or maybe it's this: Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

The Sacrament of the Barbecue Sauce

Sometimes the greatest gift we give others is remembering.

Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.

This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.

A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.

Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.

Picking berries in the summer sun

We have three service berry bushes in our backyard. When a friend who landscapes told us that they were edible, even 'good on your cereal,' the kids and I would pick a few and eat them. They are tender, a little seedy, quite sweet and mild. Last year, we even picked enough to have berries and sweet milk one evening.

This year, James has been fascinated by them. I've caught him a couple of times in the evening, standing outside in his pjs, picking them for a 'bedtime snack.' I challenged him and Maia to pick enough to make berry crisp, and looked up service berries on the internet. Now we know they are also shadberries, juneberries and wild plums. We learned that the original people in this part of the world made pemmican out of them. I figured that must mean we could do something with them that would taste decent. The kids picked 5 cups worth, I adapted a fruit crisp recipe, and slapped those puppies in the oven.

Oh my! Heaven. It tasted very much like cherry crisp, only requiring much less sugar and with a few tiny seeds to crunch on. That didn't bother us. We gobbled it up. Today, we picked even more. Enough for two pies or desserts are in the freezer. We'll pick tomorrow evening as well. I expect to have enough for at least 8 desserts when all is said and done. They are ripening fast and within a week they will be gone. I experienced a deep satisfaction at 'living off the land' as my grandparents and great-grandparents did, making use of what is at hand and putting the harvest by for the winter to come.

There was regret, however. All this time, growing there in our backyard, was this bounty of berries free for the taking! I was thinking as I picked about scarcity and abundance. In these difficult economic times, it's easy to think that there is not enough to go around. Desperation and selfishness, fear and anxiety all follow on the heels of a mindset of scarcity.

We are used to having so much that when anything big or small is threatened or removed, we think there's not enough. But the berries reminded me there is enough to go around, the whole world over. We don't share well. We take more than we need. I'm so guilty of spending money on things that don't matter while others starve or struggle half a world or half a street away. I don't even notice the berries in my own backyard, as I hurry on earning money to somehow make ends meet.

God intended abundance, provided lavishly. Small graces especially abound. What will I do with this abundant life I've been given? Will I share? Hoard? Be greedy for more?

I do know that I will make serviceberry crisp again tomorrow, and I will prayerfully and gratefully relish each and every bite. Maybe it will taste better if I make enough to share.