Category Archives: food

bricks without straw: the struggle that leads to freedom

Posted on by June 21, 2023

You wouldn’t think gardening could make you that sore. You pull out seed packets, you put seeds in the dirt, you water.

But no, it’s not that simple because you actually have to move a lot of that dirt and water. Pots go here, pots go there. All the pots need filled with dirt and then you realize, Wait, that spot looks funny. So you go back to rearranging.

A bench is in the way, in the prime real estate of the porch’s sunny south side. You try moving it but no, BIG nope, that’s going to hurt tomorrow. So your husband comes and together you pivot (“PIVOT!” yes, I was thinking that, too) to the other side of the deck. Ahhh, done.

But no, not so fast, because there’s that empty space where the bench was, and you still need to put pots there. Drat.

And that’s how it goes.

bricks without straw: the struggle that leads to freedom

That night in the shower as I scrubbed the dirt off my feet I found a particularly dark spot under all of it, and rubbed at it. Ew, a blister? No, different texture, not rubbing off. Kind of gummy. Ah, tree sap. Gross.

This is how we cultivate life: Hands in the dirt, doing the work, asking for help, making a lot of turns and finding new perspectives, feeling the burn and ache of too much movement when we try too much on our own, and in the end, we still have to trust God for the harvest because we don’t control the weather or what goes on underground. And even if we fence what we can, there are still other critters out there who want to steal the harvest.

(Peter Rabbit, I’m looking at you.)

It’s raining so we are doing inside-the-house things, and I tried something new today: recording audio downstairs. It’s still empty where Iree moved out; we haven’t rearranged rooms yet, and I thought it would be quieter in the basement. Less traffic, less airplane noise.

WHAT WAS I THINKING.

Quail roosters crowing in the bathroom overhead. The furnace and water softener kicking on. And then, so help me, someone flushed the toilet.

(“…John seventeen says, All mine are yours, and–” BA-WOOSH, gurglegurgle pflalbghghghrrr…)

The new quail are almost fully grown, so they will quiet down soon. Our oldest son came over the other day and asked why the males crow so much, and I told him it’s because they feel safe – they can make noise because they know they’re not in danger. When they go outside, they don’t crow as much.

And, well…when they’re in the freezer, they’re absolutely silent.

We make more noise and move more freely when we feel safe, too. We try new things, have room for mistakes, we try again, and get better. We tend to ask for help from people we trust and we get comfortable with the tasks we do over and over again.

And then something changes suddenly: A financial challenge, or a health issue, or a move, or a basic routine gets rearranged, and we’re like…Ugh, now I have to figure this out all over again.

I like (no, love – like, looooove) routines and predictability. I prefer flexible structure with just enough variety to keep life interesting. I like reading new books but I want to choose which ones they are. I want to learn new things, but do it on my own timeline and with my own curriculum.

And to some extent the Lord allows it, but the last few several dozen years have brought plenty of surprises to keep us on our toes and on our knees, trusting Him for what we needed as life shifted under and around us. We haven’t wanted to learn certain things that He’s put in our way. I was happy with the worn trails I was used to, where I knew all the turns and risings and places where you had to step over tree roots that crept onto the path.

But He is constantly forcing us to branch out into new territory. There have been so many times I felt suddenly lost in unfamiliar ground, unsure of how to go on, or how to do what He was calling us to. I have often felt like we were making bricks without straw, and we are there again in this season.

So I’m reading Exodus 5, where the Israelites really had to make bricks without straw.

Or, not without straw, but it was no longer just given to them. They had to go find it themselves. It was punishment from Pharoah – and not just punishment, but it came as a result of Moses obeying God and telling Pharoah to let the Israelites go.

Let’s go back a little bit, because this is often our life, too:

Then Moses and Aaron went and gathered together all the elders of the people of Israel. Aaron spoke all the words that the Lord had spoken to Moses and did the signs in the sight of the people. And the people believed; and when they heard that the Lord had visited the people of Israel and that he had seen their affliction, they bowed their heads and worshiped.

– Exodus 4:29-31

Then Moses and Aaron went to Pharoah, gave him the message, and he said, No, BIG nope, you’ve clearly got too much time on your hands. Let’s make things more difficult for you.

So, to sum up:

We hear God, we do what He says, we feel hopeful about the future, and wham, the hammer drops. THANKS A LOT.

Is this life, though? We try new things in obedience and they don’t seem to work out. Or they get harder, or the circumstances become worse, or the whole situation reveals itself to be more complicated than you realized in the beginning, and if you knew how complicated it was going to be you wouldn’t have taken it on in the first place and that’s probably why God didn’t tell you…because he was protecting you from disobedience.

But maybe things are working out…they’re just still working out.

Because here’s the part of this story that struck me:

[Pharoah said] “Go and get your straw yourselves wherever you can find it, but your work will not be reduced in the least.” So the people were scattered throughout all the land of Egypt to gather stubble for straw.

– Exodus 5:11-12

They still had what they needed; it just wasn’t handed to them anymore. Suddenly they had the freedom to find it for themselves. The middle man was eliminated. They could get the straw on their own without the process being controlled by someone else. And that’s significant, because straw comes from grain, which is food for them and their livestock.

Yes, it was more work. Yes, it seemed impossible. No, they would never have done it if they hadn’t been forced to. But do you see what happened here?

The Lord is preparing them to be delivered. They are forced to be resourceful. They have to get to know the land around them.

Because the Exodus is coming.

How many things have you done in the last year or so that you never would’ve taken on if you didn’t feel compelled to? I can think of a zillion things – well, at least seven – that I could’ve easily left on my “someday” list. (Or, honestly? My “never in million years” list.)

For example, I love the chickens, but I probably wouldn’t have chosen to have two coops full of them. And the quail? No way. Also, I never would’ve pursued several business skills we’ve had to figure out and push through. And there are so many things I’ve learned about our government and systemic corruption and history that I was happier not knowing.

But the Lord has continued to say, Dig deeper. Look further. Try this. Get ready for that. Read about this. You need to know the land. This is a time to run faster than you think you can – and trust Me, you’ll be glad you did.

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

– 1 John 4:18

When obedience leads to more work, it feels like punishment because we aren’t seeing the promise on the other side of it yet. But the ache and the curveball and the new endeavors aren’t punishment; they’re growing strength. It’s upgrade.

It’s actually preparation for promotion, because God is getting us ready for freedom.

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first things, part two: how the Word fills the pantry of our soul

Posted on by February 22, 2023

We were in the middle of a windstorm that was supposed to continue all day, gusts up to 75 miles an hour. At our house on a hill they sometimes feel higher, and during that storm it wasn’t safe to walk across the yard.

I listened to the noise and could occasionally hear movement outside that was not wind, but things carried by the wind, like branches hitting the house. Snow coming loose and flying everywhere. Maybe trees falling.

first things, part two: how the Word fills the pantry of our soul

We were safe inside. We did the things we knew to do: secured everything outside, filled containers with water, charged all the things. And we’re always stocked up on the essentials. I learned years ago that I get a little edgy when we’re out of potatoes, and Vin is the same way with tortillas. Irish and Mexican, y’all.

Emotionally, in a storm, it’s our thoughts that get lifted up and blown everywhere. They fly through filled with debris and we feel the assault of worry and accusation and anger and fear. We know Jesus, we are filled with the Holy Spirit, we have charged ourselves with prayer and the Word, but the wind is blowing up against us and we can barely hear what’s true in the midst of the noise.

What do we do? We can go into our inner room.

One of our boys was reading about tornadoes this week and he was astounded at how sometimes the only thing left of a house after the storm passes is an inner closet or bathroom. Everything outside was gone, but those inner walls had been sheltered and stronger than the rest.

In these stormy seasons, we can build walls of scripture and promises around us, around our families and communities. We insulate with decrees and declarations that agree with God, barring the enemy from admittance. We intercede for those who the Holy Spirit brings to mind, and fill the cracks and crevices in their walls. We can keep the wind out, bar the lies and confusion from coming in. And also…we can command the wind to cease. If He did it, we can, too.

And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

— Mark 4:39

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.

— John 14:12

We know the Word, and we memorize the Word, and it fills the pantry of our soul. Each verse is tucked in like a jar on the shelf – light and color shining through, storing up abundance for the days to come.

My son, if you receive my words and treasure up my commandments with you,

making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding;

yes, if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding,

if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures,

then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God.

– Proverbs 2:1-5

This pantry is different though because when you consume it, it grows instead of getting depleted. Each verse is saved, not borrowed, never needs returning, and never runs out or goes empty. It expands the storehouse within.

Several years ago I was filling the pantry of my soul with my own copywork – because Mommy does school around here, too – and wrote passages of scripture in a notebook Iree had made for me. I stopped when it became too painful; I had postpartum eczema on my hand for years and it changed a lot of routines and things, including my handwriting. But it’s better now and I dug out the old notebook. No more excuses, I want the right walls to be stronger. I want the pantry of my soul to be filled.

…put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.

— Ephesians 4:22-24

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

— Romans 12:2

Sometimes it’s hard because so much of what we are accomplishing is invisible. It’s like we’re creating oxygen, and, well, oxygen is nice – you can’t live without it, of course – but we don’t think about breathing unless something goes wrong with the process of doing it. We don’t want to make oxygen; we want to make something with color and substance to it. So it helps for me to see these verses in my mind as I write them and read them and push through in memorizing them. I don’t like the process and repetition of memorizing, but as I do it I see in my mind jars filling with goodness in all sorts of colors.

For the Lord gives wisdom;

from his mouth come knowledge and understanding;

he stores up sound wisdom for the upright;

he is a shield to those who walk in integrity,

guarding the paths of justice

and watching over the way of his saints.

– Proverbs 2:6-8

I’ve tried a few different things lately – sticky notes on the bathroom mirror, recording short sections of scripture repeated several times in voice memos to listen to. I’m learning to ignore the enemy’s attack of boredom or annoyance with the repetition. Sometimes I share it online and encourage you guys to push play. We get the Word in, and get the junk out.

We push through and know that it is changing us. It is storing up mercy. We are filling the pantry of our soul. The Word is milk to those who are babes in Christ but meat to those who are grown, and we all need to eat.

Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of the children of mankind!

– Psalm 31:19

I know it’s hard; there are boring sections about the census in Numbers 26 and descriptions of temples in Ezekiel and all those laws in Leviticus. But as I’m reading, the Lord reminds me that washing my face is boring, brushing my teeth is boring, writing the date at the top of a new entry in my journal is boring. But they’re necessary things. We don’t spend all day brushing our teeth, and we don’t fill the entire page by writing the date over and over. But those things have a purpose, in their own time and place. We read the Word and linger where He tells us.

Routines are good because they help us stay on track, but there will always be some days when routines go out the window. Sometimes on major holidays I barely read my Bible. I’ll start to, but get interrupted a few times, then the time gets away from me and food has to be cooked or we’re running out the door.

But I can run back to it. I can run back to the Lord and turn my attention to Him without shame or hesitation because He’s been here with me all along — He knows how the day has gone and He watched over us as it unfolded. Not finishing my planned reading doesn’t put me on the bad list for the day.

Do you need to hear that right now? Because it seems like someone does.

So, here: God is not watching for our perfection and performance. He is watching over our hearts.

On those days when there’s no quiet place to hear the words in my head as I try to read them, I could’ve yelled at my kids so I could read the Bible without interruption. And honestly, I have. Been there, done that, gotten the dummy award for it. It’s about as spiritual as my kids arguing about who’s turn it is to pray over the meal.

Sometimes we miss the forest for the trees. We try to read the Word without paying attention to what it already told us. We try to smile for the camera to make a happy memory when everyone is frustrated or angry and no one wants to record that particular moment.

We want something to look at in the future — a cute photo, a finished task — but all along, God is saying to us, Hey, Love. Look at Me.

So we do, and the other stuff falls into its rightful proportion.

The to-do list becomes less, He becomes more. And we become more right along with Him, because that is how He grows us.

He who walks righteously and speaks uprightly,

who despises the gain of oppressions,

who shakes his hands, lest they hold a bribe,

who stops his ears from hearing of bloodshed

and shuts his eyes from looking on evil,

he will dwell on the heights;

his place of defense will be the fortresses of rocks;

his bread will be given him; his water will be sure.

– Isaiah 33:15-16

The shelter becomes stronger and the storm gets quieter. The Word is living and active: when we speak it we are releasing living things, unleashing life in areas where death has tried to intrude. We speak the Word and hold the darkness at bay; we make way for those who need shelter so they can get to the door in time. The Word widens our tent pegs, expands the walls, and makes room for everyone running up the path.

Then you will understand righteousness and justice and equity, every good path;

for wisdom will come into your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;

discretion will watch over you, understanding will guard you,

delivering you from the way of evil, from men of perverted speech,

who forsake the paths of uprightness to walk in the ways of darkness,

who rejoice in doing evil and delight in the perverseness of evil,

men whose paths are crooked, and who are devious in their ways.

– Proverbs 2:9-15

I don’t understand how Jesus makes all these wrong things right; I only know that He brings righteousness out of them. His word says so and it is the verse I will never forget: It is the signpost over our door, and the lantern we hold out to others. We obey, we water, we plant, we prune, and He fills the pantry of our soul because those who are faithful in little will be faithful in much, and He has a storehouse to feed multitudes.

find the gold: God’s not wasting any time

Posted on by November 7, 2023

No one can waste time like a writer. Not only are we spectacular at procrastinating, but the technology is irrational, the process is laborious, and you’ll never even see most of the words we write. Typetypetype, highlight, delete – poof, they’re gone, outta here, no bueno, tossed in the bin, gone forever. Another day at the desk, and only a fraction of the words written are kept to be shared…eventually.

And then – humor me for just a minute, you’ll appreciate this – there are the days you encounter technical difficulty that defy logic and the most elementary commands of a computer. You tell the document to print, and the printer says there’s a jam even though you can’t find any paper in the track. So you empty the entire contents of the printer and restart; try again, but it’s still jammed; dislodge the mechanical guts of the machine and finally find a microscopic piece of confetti; put everything back together and ask it to print again.

Suddenly the stupid thing releases twelve emails from last year, the entire 911 commission report, the Mayflower Compact, the Magna Carta, and the ancient code of Hammurabi.

And then it says you’re out of ink.

BLANKETY BLANK.

find the gold: God's not wasting any time

Last year when we were releasing the ABIDE series we spent four days trying to upload a proof, and then two more days waiting for the proof to come back, only to realize the file had formatting errors that had to be fixed before going to print. It was a rookie mistake and I knew better. Every time we saved the files, small elements would move and it didn’t matter what browser I used, how we saved it, whether I retyped things or just re-pasted them correctly, they kept shifting out of place (just like this meme).

Many emails to the website’s support crew later, Vin finally fixed it all in Photoshop. And the delay didn’t make sense for any reason other than possibly, just maybe, that support team at the website needed to learn about Jesus and prayer, because they got to read pages 44 through 56 of ABIDE volume 4 in advance. Either that, or they desperately needed the recipe for Farmbake.

So much wasted time. But just as often, it’s my own fault.

For example, the file I’m working on lately says “round 4” but that’s a lie because I’ve tackled this book at least twice that many times. But this is probably the fourth time I’ve completely rewritten it, trashing so many paragraphs and pages that were less than what I want it to be. I’m back to those beginning chapters again and honestly, I’m nervous about getting further into it because I know where the story is going, even though I still don’t know how it ends.

I know pain is coming. So I stall and do other work, saving just thirty minutes of the day to tackle this one. Thirty minutes at a time will not finish a book by February – or even May, probably – but some days it’s all I think I can handle.

Which doesn’t mean it really is all I can handle. It’s just that that’s how much obedience I’ve been willing to put into it. So the delay is all on me, and the reward will come as soon as I surrender into really doing the work.

Part of the problem is that it’s a memoir so almost everything is in past tense, but I’m still learning to recognize what happened. And the problem with that is that I am telling, not showing, which is a huge no-no in writerly endeavors. This happened, then this happened, then this happened. It’s not that boring, trust me, but still, it’s telling and not showing. As Annie Dillard says, “You have to take pains in a memoir not to hang on the reader’s arm, like a drunk, and say, ‘And then I did this and it was so interesting.’”

But this is a story that must be told, not shown, and I’m walking the line carefully to protect our kids and ourselves and others who, alas, would not be flattered if I shared in full what really happened. Because also, as Annie Dillard said:

Everybody I’m writing about is alive and well, in full possession of his faculties, and possibly willing to sue. Things were simpler when I wrote about muskrats.

– from Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir

Maybe that’s why I write so much about poultry lately.

So I grab a stack of books off the shelf, all highly recommended by someone or other as excellent specimens of memoirs, which are notoriously hard to write well.

I open one: Memoirs by Pablo Neruda. This is at the top of many lists. I thumb through, and…telling, not showing. Not all, surely, but a lot of it. Past tense, this happened, then this, and then this. But not like a drunk; it’s interesting.

I thumb through A Walker in the City by Alfred Kazin, and The Road to Coorain by Jill Ker Conway. Same. Past tense. Lots of telling. But it’s not bad; it’s good writing. I grab a few more books off the shelf, skim through from back to front, read snatches of sentences here and there.

When Vin brings up afternoon coffee I’m hunched over my shelf looking for Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood and cannot find it anywhere. It’s red, I’m sure, but I scan all the red books to no avail, check all the others in case I’m misremembering, and finally find it with a pink spine that used to be red but faded in the sunlight back when my shelf was on the other wall. I crack it open and there’s this: I was ten when I met the dancing school boys… and she’s telling but she’s also right there with me over coffee, and we’re looking back together. And that’s both an answer and confirmation because that’s how I tend to write anyway when I’m doing my best work.

But before I get there, I still have to choose to do the work, any work, and risk it not being the best work because it can’t all be the best. Not all the words that get typed are words that get published. Vin and I have started calling these the invisible words, the ones that didn’t ring as true as the words that came later. Because it takes a lot of words to sort through before the right ones come that are worth sharing with everyone else. It takes a lot of digging and sifting to find the gold.

And that is life: We are learning to live our story in the best way to find the gold. We risk the days knowing that there will be plenty of them that feel wasted, that we don’t want to share or relive. Some of our days are filled with grit and regret, fingers in the dirt full of pain and confusion, betrayal and trauma. Those are the ones that bring us to a crossroads of choosing to get bitter or get better, to lose our faith or to find it. One choice leads us to the gold, and the other makes us the drunk hanging on someone’s arm, spewing things that should’ve been deleted.

The good news is that we can surrender anytime. It’s never too late to let go, and do some deleting. The Lord knows what to do with our surrender. He’s not wasting any of it; every piece of grit refines us into someone who reflects Him more.

Some people come through awful childhoods and become productive, contributing adults, while others do antisocial and even monstrous things. Why?

It is similar to one brother asking another, “Why did you grow up to be a drunk?” The answer is, “Because Dad was a drunk.” The second brother then asks, “Why didn’t you grow up to be a drunk?” The answer is “Because Dad was a drunk.”

– Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear

The wasted days and regrettable experiences are making us into who we are, just as the invisible words are getting us to the ones that tell the story the way it needs to be told. Deciding whether to surrender them or cling to them is what makes the difference.