Recently, I purchased an album for my iPod. A fairly large collection of music, I had been waiting for quite some time to buy it, so I was excited about getting it downloaded.
The next day, I was driving and decided it was a prime time to listen. The music was not there! Nothing, nada, zip.
Returning home, I emailed the Apple people and got a very kind reply. The instructions were simple: all I had to do was click a few times in the right places, and there was my music, just waiting for me. It had been there all the time.
And that is the way it is with me and God, all too often. Everything I need is already there. I wonder why I don't have what I need, when what's really going on is he has to wait for me to be ready, to step out in trust, to surrender.
It's already there. What is preventing me from receiving what God has for me today?
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
This week, there has been a significant amount of heartbreak in the larger circle of people where I live. I can't go into details without breaking confidentiality, but some of the heartbreak requires me to be a little bit 'harder-edged' than I am by nature. I watch people I care about fall apart, or lose what they had, or hurt someone, and my own heart yearns for things to be made right. "Fix it, God!" I want to yell. Isn't it justice I yearn for?
Maybe. In dealing with the difficulties, I discovered something hard to swallow. When I am trying hardest to be merciful, sometimes it is experienced as unfair or mean. I offer kindness, and it is received as judgment. I try to help, and it is interpreted in the most negative way. If a wrong throws the scales of justice off balance, then justice is to set them right. But sometimes mercy accomplishes the same balance, the same renewal and restoration.
What if justice and mercy are really the same thing experienced from two different points-of-view? The gavel bangs down and passes sentence on a criminal, and his life is shattered. Maybe it's a mercy to the people who might have been his victims. Perhaps it's even a mercy that he is not free to continue the life he was leading. When someone decides to bear with me instead of holding every mistake against me, that's certainly mercy. But isn't it justice too? If I show mercy, I'm still acknowledging a wrong, trying to re-set the balance that was lost when the wrong was done.
Sometimes when God seems harshest, or hardest-of-hearing - is that mercy but I just can't see it? Is he always offering mercy, even when the judgment seems unfair to me? Like my friend, who receives a merciful offer of healing thinks she is being judged, do I interpret what God sends as harsh judgment, when he is really trying to make me whole?
I do wonder. I believe the world would be better off with more mercy. If the cruel would show more mercy, justice would be done. If the unkind would show more mercy, their victims would be set free. If the perfectionists would show more mercy, they would find their own lives closer to perfection. Balance is restored in either case, isn't it?
I want to think about this some more. In the meantime, I want to be known as merciful, long to live out Micah 6:8. Something to work on, pray for.
Maybe. In dealing with the difficulties, I discovered something hard to swallow. When I am trying hardest to be merciful, sometimes it is experienced as unfair or mean. I offer kindness, and it is received as judgment. I try to help, and it is interpreted in the most negative way. If a wrong throws the scales of justice off balance, then justice is to set them right. But sometimes mercy accomplishes the same balance, the same renewal and restoration.
What if justice and mercy are really the same thing experienced from two different points-of-view? The gavel bangs down and passes sentence on a criminal, and his life is shattered. Maybe it's a mercy to the people who might have been his victims. Perhaps it's even a mercy that he is not free to continue the life he was leading. When someone decides to bear with me instead of holding every mistake against me, that's certainly mercy. But isn't it justice too? If I show mercy, I'm still acknowledging a wrong, trying to re-set the balance that was lost when the wrong was done.
Sometimes when God seems harshest, or hardest-of-hearing - is that mercy but I just can't see it? Is he always offering mercy, even when the judgment seems unfair to me? Like my friend, who receives a merciful offer of healing thinks she is being judged, do I interpret what God sends as harsh judgment, when he is really trying to make me whole?
I do wonder. I believe the world would be better off with more mercy. If the cruel would show more mercy, justice would be done. If the unkind would show more mercy, their victims would be set free. If the perfectionists would show more mercy, they would find their own lives closer to perfection. Balance is restored in either case, isn't it?
I want to think about this some more. In the meantime, I want to be known as merciful, long to live out Micah 6:8. Something to work on, pray for.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Kitty and the Inner Terrier
Go back as far as you can in the genealogy of Dog, and you will find chasing. Ours in particular, mostly terrier with a little bull dog thrown in, has a lot of chasing bred into her DNA. When we walk, if she spies a rabbit or a squirrel, something in her clicks, she connects with her inner terrier, and she pursues. That would be fine, but I want her to walk with me. When she is in 'terrier mode' walking with me is not possible! Sometimes, the prey she spies is that growling behemoth we call a Harley Davidson, and if she went after one of those, she'd be toast.
So when I walk with Kitty, she is on a leash. Her 'yoke of obedience,' I call it. Collar and lead allow me to help Kitty the Dog learn when to listen to the inner hunter. For her, it's pretty much only when the object of her desire is a toy that I've thrown for her. Most of the time, the leash keeps her safe, and it keeps us together. The leash, her 'yoke' is not the point. Being with me and alive is the point. The leash is just the tool I use to accomplish the goal.
I've had other dogs. One in particular, mostly cockapoo, was meek and gentle. He got to the point where he did not even need the leash. Being with me was more important than anything else very quickly in his little life. Kitty, however, is stubborn. She wants to be with me, but she wants to go her own way too. When 'terrier' in charge, she does not even notice me at all. I am there, hand on the leash, ready to pull her in if she does something dangerous. I seriously doubt if there will ever be a time when I can remove the leash completely and trust her to stay with me.
Some would say dogs would be better off in their natural state, if I didn't try to curb her, if I let her 'be herself.' But in this world, that won't work in her favor. She can't tell the difference between a Harley and a hare, and if she learned that lesson, it might well be her last. Besides, most of the time we enjoy eachother's company a lot. So we keep on walking, working, and learning together. Many miles of our walking now, the leash is slack and unnecessary. When my children argue about whose dog Kitty is, I point out to them that dogs always belong to the ones who walk with them.
The Laws God has given us are like a leash, I think. The point of them is to get us to walk with God. Some of us need more of a leash than others. The 'inner terrier' is so strong that we have trouble discerning which desires are worth pursuing and which lead to destruction.
Some of us get to enjoy the Master so much we need less of a 'yoke.' We just walk the way we are meant to walk. It takes time, but we come to belong to the One who walks with us and have no desire at all to leave.
Still in most of us is that 'inner terrier' ready to bolt. When we do run, it's time once again to submit to a little leash time, remind ourselves of the boundaries, feel the tug of the One who loves us and wants to be with us. Leash time for me is an accountability partner. It's 'rules' like 'Kitchen is closed after supper,' and 'do a good turn every day.' It's Law like 'Honor your parents' and 'Remember the Sabbath.' Then, after a while of keeping them, sometimes the leash goes slack and for a while, I'm able just to walk.
But not all the time, not yet. So for now I thank God for his Law and the rule of my life. And I thank God for holding the leash when my inner terrier goes wild after something that might hurt me or someone else. Walking with God is the point. He is the One I belong to.
So when I walk with Kitty, she is on a leash. Her 'yoke of obedience,' I call it. Collar and lead allow me to help Kitty the Dog learn when to listen to the inner hunter. For her, it's pretty much only when the object of her desire is a toy that I've thrown for her. Most of the time, the leash keeps her safe, and it keeps us together. The leash, her 'yoke' is not the point. Being with me and alive is the point. The leash is just the tool I use to accomplish the goal.
I've had other dogs. One in particular, mostly cockapoo, was meek and gentle. He got to the point where he did not even need the leash. Being with me was more important than anything else very quickly in his little life. Kitty, however, is stubborn. She wants to be with me, but she wants to go her own way too. When 'terrier' in charge, she does not even notice me at all. I am there, hand on the leash, ready to pull her in if she does something dangerous. I seriously doubt if there will ever be a time when I can remove the leash completely and trust her to stay with me.
Some would say dogs would be better off in their natural state, if I didn't try to curb her, if I let her 'be herself.' But in this world, that won't work in her favor. She can't tell the difference between a Harley and a hare, and if she learned that lesson, it might well be her last. Besides, most of the time we enjoy eachother's company a lot. So we keep on walking, working, and learning together. Many miles of our walking now, the leash is slack and unnecessary. When my children argue about whose dog Kitty is, I point out to them that dogs always belong to the ones who walk with them.
The Laws God has given us are like a leash, I think. The point of them is to get us to walk with God. Some of us need more of a leash than others. The 'inner terrier' is so strong that we have trouble discerning which desires are worth pursuing and which lead to destruction.
Some of us get to enjoy the Master so much we need less of a 'yoke.' We just walk the way we are meant to walk. It takes time, but we come to belong to the One who walks with us and have no desire at all to leave.
Still in most of us is that 'inner terrier' ready to bolt. When we do run, it's time once again to submit to a little leash time, remind ourselves of the boundaries, feel the tug of the One who loves us and wants to be with us. Leash time for me is an accountability partner. It's 'rules' like 'Kitchen is closed after supper,' and 'do a good turn every day.' It's Law like 'Honor your parents' and 'Remember the Sabbath.' Then, after a while of keeping them, sometimes the leash goes slack and for a while, I'm able just to walk.
But not all the time, not yet. So for now I thank God for his Law and the rule of my life. And I thank God for holding the leash when my inner terrier goes wild after something that might hurt me or someone else. Walking with God is the point. He is the One I belong to.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Things I've learned from my 'older brother.'
I've been reading a lot of Jewish books lately. Here is some of what I've learned:
Soul mates are made, not born.
Don't date someone who isn't interested in a serious relationship. There is no hope in it and much heartache.
If you think marriage is going to make you happy, you will be disappointed. If you think marriage is about blessing your spouse, you will never be disappointed and you will find joy.
The reason to pray at certain times each day and in certain ways is so that you will get in the habit of praying whether you feel like it or not. Anybody can be nice when they feel like it. Praying when you don't feel like it makes God smile.
The reason to eat kosher is not because it's healthier or better-tasting, but because it teaches you that you are not the Master. If you can recognize you are not the master of what you eat, you may just accept God is God of other things that really matter.
By the way, you are not the Master. A lot of the Law has been given to teach us that we have a Lord (he loves us, but he's still the boss). We may not understand every command, but even if we don't, that He is Lord is a lesson we can learn.
Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. There is blessing in beginning, and a blessing in being finished.
Most of what I've read is pretty squarely in line with Christian orthodoxy. It's obvious we have some family resemblance. The words of the rabbis shed blazing light on the gospels, on Jesus, on his teachings, even though they don't see him as I do.
We have a lot to learn from our 'older brother.' I am grateful.
Soul mates are made, not born.
Don't date someone who isn't interested in a serious relationship. There is no hope in it and much heartache.
If you think marriage is going to make you happy, you will be disappointed. If you think marriage is about blessing your spouse, you will never be disappointed and you will find joy.
The reason to pray at certain times each day and in certain ways is so that you will get in the habit of praying whether you feel like it or not. Anybody can be nice when they feel like it. Praying when you don't feel like it makes God smile.
The reason to eat kosher is not because it's healthier or better-tasting, but because it teaches you that you are not the Master. If you can recognize you are not the master of what you eat, you may just accept God is God of other things that really matter.
By the way, you are not the Master. A lot of the Law has been given to teach us that we have a Lord (he loves us, but he's still the boss). We may not understand every command, but even if we don't, that He is Lord is a lesson we can learn.
Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. There is blessing in beginning, and a blessing in being finished.
Most of what I've read is pretty squarely in line with Christian orthodoxy. It's obvious we have some family resemblance. The words of the rabbis shed blazing light on the gospels, on Jesus, on his teachings, even though they don't see him as I do.
We have a lot to learn from our 'older brother.' I am grateful.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One choice
Thanks to my daughter, Maia, I've been listening to Toby Mac. A new release, something about a City on our knees (can't wait to get it, use it in worship, etc.) has these words: We are all just one choice away from together.
That phrase lingers with me, edging out other thoughts. One choice away from together.
Now, I don't think 'anything goes.' I have opinions and some of them are strong. There is evil and injustice in the world. We must not take it all lying down. I wouldn't want to be part of a church that accepted evil, or a nation that didn't try to do best by all the citizens of the world.
And yet, I would say that in our nation we have forgotten together. We have forgotten in our nation how to disagree and still care for one another. We have forgotten how to debate with civil tongues and orderly logic. We have forgotten that most of us love our nation, want what is best, and seek good.
Someone sent me an email today criticizing our President, and while it disturbed my peace, I was glad he sent it. I don't agree with everything the President does. For me, it's too soon to tell. My mother's experience with Medicare does not give me much hope for a government-run healthcare system, even though I want everyone to have healthcare when they need it.
Does that mean the President is my enemy? Hardly. I don't agree with everything my husband does, either. We disagree. We debate. Sometimes we argue and whine, kvetch and complain. We are not always on the same side and we don't always see things the same way. We don't attack each other, either, and we treat each other with respect. I still love him when we disagree because we are together in our marriage seeking what is best for our family and the world. Sometimes, his debating or disagreeing has led me into a much better way of thinking. Sometimes, I've brought him grace he didn't see coming. We are facing the same direction, committed to each other and to going forward as partners.
To our nation, I want to say, Let's TALK, for heaven's sake, rather than yelling and labeling and name-calling. People who disagree with us might turn out to be doing us a great favor. We can debate, and disagree, but can we please do it with respect for each other? Can we please remember we are in this boat together, and pushing and shoving is only going to jeopardize everyone's health, safety, and life?
Then, I think, maybe I need to say the same to the Church. Not so much my local church, but our denomination and the Church as a whole. If Christians yell and call each other names, label opponents with dismissing names, treat those who disagree as enemies, what hope is there for eveyrone else?
We are one step from together. Together is a choice. It doesn't mean we all agree, but I think it must mean that we treat those on opposite, or other, sides of the fence with basic human dignity. Sometimes, together might mean keeping a distance. Sometimes, it might mean confronting with a hard truth. But let those of us who follow Jesus, at least, choose 'together' over polarizing, name-calling, vicious attacks on our co-countrymen and women.
Randy often tells James to 'act like somebody.' I would challenge us who follow Jesus to do the same, only let that somebody be our Lord, and let us treat ALL who disagree as he has treated us.
We are all one choice from together - let it begin with me.
That phrase lingers with me, edging out other thoughts. One choice away from together.
Now, I don't think 'anything goes.' I have opinions and some of them are strong. There is evil and injustice in the world. We must not take it all lying down. I wouldn't want to be part of a church that accepted evil, or a nation that didn't try to do best by all the citizens of the world.
And yet, I would say that in our nation we have forgotten together. We have forgotten in our nation how to disagree and still care for one another. We have forgotten how to debate with civil tongues and orderly logic. We have forgotten that most of us love our nation, want what is best, and seek good.
Someone sent me an email today criticizing our President, and while it disturbed my peace, I was glad he sent it. I don't agree with everything the President does. For me, it's too soon to tell. My mother's experience with Medicare does not give me much hope for a government-run healthcare system, even though I want everyone to have healthcare when they need it.
Does that mean the President is my enemy? Hardly. I don't agree with everything my husband does, either. We disagree. We debate. Sometimes we argue and whine, kvetch and complain. We are not always on the same side and we don't always see things the same way. We don't attack each other, either, and we treat each other with respect. I still love him when we disagree because we are together in our marriage seeking what is best for our family and the world. Sometimes, his debating or disagreeing has led me into a much better way of thinking. Sometimes, I've brought him grace he didn't see coming. We are facing the same direction, committed to each other and to going forward as partners.
To our nation, I want to say, Let's TALK, for heaven's sake, rather than yelling and labeling and name-calling. People who disagree with us might turn out to be doing us a great favor. We can debate, and disagree, but can we please do it with respect for each other? Can we please remember we are in this boat together, and pushing and shoving is only going to jeopardize everyone's health, safety, and life?
Then, I think, maybe I need to say the same to the Church. Not so much my local church, but our denomination and the Church as a whole. If Christians yell and call each other names, label opponents with dismissing names, treat those who disagree as enemies, what hope is there for eveyrone else?
We are one step from together. Together is a choice. It doesn't mean we all agree, but I think it must mean that we treat those on opposite, or other, sides of the fence with basic human dignity. Sometimes, together might mean keeping a distance. Sometimes, it might mean confronting with a hard truth. But let those of us who follow Jesus, at least, choose 'together' over polarizing, name-calling, vicious attacks on our co-countrymen and women.
Randy often tells James to 'act like somebody.' I would challenge us who follow Jesus to do the same, only let that somebody be our Lord, and let us treat ALL who disagree as he has treated us.
We are all one choice from together - let it begin with me.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
God on a Train, the second day
On the second day of my 29 Days of Giving, the kids and I were scheduled to travel to Chicago. Randy was attending a conference; we would join him for a family weekend of museums and new experiences. Carefully, thoughtfully, we packed for Chicago.
After our suitcases were filled, we packed for the dog. Bedding, dish, food and treats... check. All ready. The guinea pig was watered, her hay strewn around and her food bowl filled to the brim.
Finally, there was the train. A long train ride requires something for children to do so we hatched a plan. The cookies we baked on the first day of the challenge would become the snack, and the gift, for the second. We made so many. Surely we could give them away to strangers, bring a little sweetness to the day. That would be an activity, along with books and Gameboy and a few small toys.
All loaded down, we drove away, dropped off the dog, and made our way onto the train. We felt lucky to secure a seat for for 4, with 2 seats facing the other 2. We settled in for the long journey. Maia buried herself in her book. James and I talked and watched for the time when we could give our cookies.
Half a dozen people rode in the car with us. We'd only traveled about 20 minutes when James was ready to get up and walk around. He took the bag of cookies and approached a couple, but they were fast asleep. Looking back for approval, he went to a middle-aged gentleman reading a newspaper. "Would you like a cookie?" His offer was declined. No one in our car wanted the cookies we had made!
James came back and sat down, defeated, and we went on with our activities until Michigan City. A the station, a woman boarded our car. Cafe' au lait skin, hair curled close to her head, she leaned on a cane as she moved slowly down the aisle. She sat just behind Maia. Then suddenly, she stood and limped back toward the train doors. By the time she got there, however, the bell rang and the doors slammed shut. The train pulled out of the station.
She looked so distressed as she inched back to her seat, mumbling and shaking her head. I wanted to offer her a cookie right then, but felt shy about intruding. When she got up to use the rest room, I decided to offer the cookie as she returned to her seat.
She gratefully accepted and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes as she bit into the cookie. Looking up, she smiled at me, then got up again to sit next to Maia. The story came pouring out. She was on her way to take care of her mother in Chicago, who has Alzheimers. She had forgotten her cell phone, and in it was the name and number of the young man who would pick her up at the station to take her to her mother's home. She didn't know him, didn't know what to do. As upset as she was, she still chuckled at the irony of needing a cell phone when for most of her life, she had no phone at all.
Munching another cookie, she told of her siblings taking turns caring for their mother, of her son who had died and left boys for her to raise, of her daughter who joined her aunts and uncles in caring for a woman who needed attention 24/7. She sighed. She didn't know what to do.
It was simple to offer her my phone to call her daughter. Within 2 minutes, her daughter had given her the young man's name and phone number, my new friend contacted him, and it was all handled. Easy as pie. Or a cookie. She settled down and we talked more, about growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment with 12 siblings sharing one bedroom, about having nothing, and yet being blessed beyond measure.
That was the second day, the second gift. Only it wasn't a gift I gave, but a gift I received. A cookie is nothing, really. Some sugar, a little flour, a bit of chocolate. Seeing God at work on a train to Chicago, now that is a gift.
After our suitcases were filled, we packed for the dog. Bedding, dish, food and treats... check. All ready. The guinea pig was watered, her hay strewn around and her food bowl filled to the brim.
Finally, there was the train. A long train ride requires something for children to do so we hatched a plan. The cookies we baked on the first day of the challenge would become the snack, and the gift, for the second. We made so many. Surely we could give them away to strangers, bring a little sweetness to the day. That would be an activity, along with books and Gameboy and a few small toys.
All loaded down, we drove away, dropped off the dog, and made our way onto the train. We felt lucky to secure a seat for for 4, with 2 seats facing the other 2. We settled in for the long journey. Maia buried herself in her book. James and I talked and watched for the time when we could give our cookies.
Half a dozen people rode in the car with us. We'd only traveled about 20 minutes when James was ready to get up and walk around. He took the bag of cookies and approached a couple, but they were fast asleep. Looking back for approval, he went to a middle-aged gentleman reading a newspaper. "Would you like a cookie?" His offer was declined. No one in our car wanted the cookies we had made!
James came back and sat down, defeated, and we went on with our activities until Michigan City. A the station, a woman boarded our car. Cafe' au lait skin, hair curled close to her head, she leaned on a cane as she moved slowly down the aisle. She sat just behind Maia. Then suddenly, she stood and limped back toward the train doors. By the time she got there, however, the bell rang and the doors slammed shut. The train pulled out of the station.
She looked so distressed as she inched back to her seat, mumbling and shaking her head. I wanted to offer her a cookie right then, but felt shy about intruding. When she got up to use the rest room, I decided to offer the cookie as she returned to her seat.
She gratefully accepted and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes as she bit into the cookie. Looking up, she smiled at me, then got up again to sit next to Maia. The story came pouring out. She was on her way to take care of her mother in Chicago, who has Alzheimers. She had forgotten her cell phone, and in it was the name and number of the young man who would pick her up at the station to take her to her mother's home. She didn't know him, didn't know what to do. As upset as she was, she still chuckled at the irony of needing a cell phone when for most of her life, she had no phone at all.
Munching another cookie, she told of her siblings taking turns caring for their mother, of her son who had died and left boys for her to raise, of her daughter who joined her aunts and uncles in caring for a woman who needed attention 24/7. She sighed. She didn't know what to do.
It was simple to offer her my phone to call her daughter. Within 2 minutes, her daughter had given her the young man's name and phone number, my new friend contacted him, and it was all handled. Easy as pie. Or a cookie. She settled down and we talked more, about growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment with 12 siblings sharing one bedroom, about having nothing, and yet being blessed beyond measure.
That was the second day, the second gift. Only it wasn't a gift I gave, but a gift I received. A cookie is nothing, really. Some sugar, a little flour, a bit of chocolate. Seeing God at work on a train to Chicago, now that is a gift.
Monday, July 27, 2009
29 Gifts
My friend sent me link to a page about 29 Gifts. Go to givingchallenge.ning.com which is my personal part of the site, but it will direct you to more information. The challenge is to give a gift a day for 29 days. It doesn't have to be cost money, or be a present per se. Just give of yourself.
My friend inspires me because I think this is how she lives every day. So in honor of her, I signed up and started my own 29 days of giving. I think this is a worthy challenge, capable of changing my attitude at the very least. Perhaps the world will also be blessed, and I think that's why we are here.
My first day was simple: I agreed to bake chocolate chip cookies with the kids. For me, that is truly giving from the heart. I don't like to bake with kids, even mine. They are messy and I am task-oriented. They argue, I lose patience, and it's not fun. Ever.
This time, I gave the baking of cookies as a gift to them. I made a little plan ahead of time, Maia with her jobs and James with his. It worked better than I feared. The cookies were baked and tasted (yum). The kids were tired of the activity long before I finished baking the last cookie and putting them all in Ziploc bags.
It was evening and it was morning, the first day. Only the first day. Big deal, you say. It's not like the first day of creation. It's not that huge. Well, let me say it was also the first day I baked with my kids and didn't get upset even once about the mess. The first day I went with the flow when they got tired of baking and simply finished the job myself with great joy. The first day I didn't complain about not being able to eat them because they have sugar in them. The first day I washed dishes after a baking episode and felt like singing instead of cursing.
One day. One gift. I was the one who received it, however.
I challenge you to give a gift a day for 29 days. I will write more of these. My friend is blogging on the 29 Gifts site. You can read hers, too.
Whatever our politics, whatever our personalities, there's not one of us without the possibility of bringing light into darkness or chocolate chip cookies into a sometimes sour world. Maybe the only ones who are changed will be ourselves. In my case, that's not so bad.
My friend inspires me because I think this is how she lives every day. So in honor of her, I signed up and started my own 29 days of giving. I think this is a worthy challenge, capable of changing my attitude at the very least. Perhaps the world will also be blessed, and I think that's why we are here.
My first day was simple: I agreed to bake chocolate chip cookies with the kids. For me, that is truly giving from the heart. I don't like to bake with kids, even mine. They are messy and I am task-oriented. They argue, I lose patience, and it's not fun. Ever.
This time, I gave the baking of cookies as a gift to them. I made a little plan ahead of time, Maia with her jobs and James with his. It worked better than I feared. The cookies were baked and tasted (yum). The kids were tired of the activity long before I finished baking the last cookie and putting them all in Ziploc bags.
It was evening and it was morning, the first day. Only the first day. Big deal, you say. It's not like the first day of creation. It's not that huge. Well, let me say it was also the first day I baked with my kids and didn't get upset even once about the mess. The first day I went with the flow when they got tired of baking and simply finished the job myself with great joy. The first day I didn't complain about not being able to eat them because they have sugar in them. The first day I washed dishes after a baking episode and felt like singing instead of cursing.
One day. One gift. I was the one who received it, however.
I challenge you to give a gift a day for 29 days. I will write more of these. My friend is blogging on the 29 Gifts site. You can read hers, too.
Whatever our politics, whatever our personalities, there's not one of us without the possibility of bringing light into darkness or chocolate chip cookies into a sometimes sour world. Maybe the only ones who are changed will be ourselves. In my case, that's not so bad.
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