If Those Dishes Could Dish

     

     You’ll have to excuse my absence from the blogosphere last week. My hands were stuck inside the cavity of a turkey around its frozen neck in search of the bag of giblets. I came dangerously close to both throwing up and crying. After several desperate calls to my mom to ask what exactly I was looking for since the giblet bag was nowhere to be found, I ripped out what I believed to be the heart, took a picture on my phone, and sent it to her. When I received confirmation back that it looked like I got everything out that I needed to, I sighed a breath of relief and proceeded to lather Miss Lady Bird up before popping her in the oven for the duration of the next five and a half hours.  All sorts of pleasant aromas filled the house from that delectable fowl.  David’s family arrived and we pulled the turkey out to proudly display for pictures and then David began to carve her. Horrific chills ran through my body as he pulled me aside and asked, “What’s this?” The little bag I had scavenged for had finally been found. We quickly covered up my sin and brought the turkey around with no signs of distress on our faces, all while silently praying, “Dear Lord, please don’t let us all die.” My rationale for not pitching it all was the fact that some people cook their entire turkeys in bags on purpose and live through it just fine. None of us died. That’s something to be thankful for!

     As I gazed at the picture perfect settings (which will one day change, I’m sure, as soon as we have kids), and the gorgeous display of delicious food that my sister-in-law and I made (not to brag or anything), I caught many glimpses of my Mimi’s Dessert Rose dishes that she has passed down to me.  It meant the world when she gladly gave them to me as a wedding gift for my “china.” (They aren’t really china, just beautiful floral dishes. They are plenty fancy enough for me, though). Growing up, whenever we would eat a special meal at her house, my heart leapt with excitement when I saw we were eating on those plates.   Most fine Southern women have several sets of dishes and Mimi is no exception.   It's not a collection thing really, it’s more of a family heirloom thing.  Our family DOES have some hoarder tendencies, but things like these dishes are more than just plates, cups, and serving pieces that a group of people have squirreled away.  They are tangible memories that cross generations.

    When we sat down to eat, I gazed at seven of the family members that I have acquired over the past four and a half years eating off of my Mimi’s dishes.  My mind drifted to the many meals we shared through the years over those plates at Mimi and Granddaddy’s house with members of our family and dear friends.  If those plates could talk…they’d speak of so many moments that make up the portrait of our family.  The dishes would laugh over Granddaddy’s jokes and stories, prod the children to scoot their rims closer to them so they didn’t spill their food, sigh over the silly squabbles some of us would have, try to get a word in edge wise over all the loud mouths in the room, repeat the wisdom that Mimi and Granddaddy imparted to us all and mourn over the meals where empty chairs were present. 

     Our turkey was disassembled by a carving set my Great-Granddaddy Sellers gave to Great-Grandma Sellers one Christmas. The silver we used to devour our dinner belonged to my Great-Great Aunt Hazel, who saved her pennies for years to piece her set together.  Our goblets and other serving pieces were wedding gifts from various friends and family. My sister-in-law’s dishes have stories as well.  Though years and distance have passed from the meals that those dishes have adorned, we were connected across many generations to friends and family that God has woven into the fabric of our lives.  Who would have thought that when I grew up, I’d be sharing a meal with a new part of my family that came into my life through my husband over those same dishes, somehow making all sides of my family intersect.  So when I picked up my kernels of corn to list three things that I was thankful for, I thanked the giver of all good gifts for the many shapes and forms my family has. I think that’s what I’m most thankful for outside of God’s provision of salvation in my life…the family and friends that have created the memories centered around those dishes. 

     I added a new memory around those dishes this year, as we were lounging on the couches stuffing ourselves with one last piece of Thanksgiving dinner, our dessert.  I confessed about the bag of turkey giblets that I cooked and we all had a good laugh…and gag.

Bible Russian Roulette

     

    The past week has had me feeling pretty dejected and discouraged about life in general. A series of personal events on top of the elections have led me to a point where it is a struggle to feel too great about life and this world. I’ll be honest with you, I’ve felt a loss of words in my conversation with the Lord the past week and I wasn’t prepared to have Him confront me about that. Finally, I cracked open the Bible and ended the silence.

     I played Bible Russian Roulette…you know…how you flip open your Bible to whatever passage it falls on. Only this time, I was a little more directed in my game because I wanted something from Psalms…preferably one of those passages where David’s all like, “Lord, my enemies are all around me…save me…help me…smite them.” Instead, it fell open to Psalm 139.

     The thing that I’ve been most upset about with the outcome of the elections is the blatant support of the murder of millions of innocent lives through legalizing abortions.  The election of officials who are working so hard to bring such an evil thing into legalization just made me wonder why we should even bother. I know deep down that there are many points to life… chiefly to bring glory to God through all circumstances. I just get angry when a good life is so opposed. What is a good life? “He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

      I just can’t stop grieving about this. I think it’s because I’m getting older and realize the precious gift that life is.  These human beings are denied the opportunity of ever growing up to vote or to leave any kind of mark on this world.   For crying out loud…one of those babies could find the cure for cancer some day! Their voices are denied. Justice is denied. Mercy is denied. The opportunity for them to walk humbly with their God is denied. My journey to Psalm 139 reminded me of one of our strongest Biblical defenses against abortion as David divinely remarked, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.”

     So that’s the surface of what God wanted to show me through that passage. The rest was a much deeper investigation of what was going on with myself.  David (my David- not the Psalmist- ha!) gave me the assignment to write down five truths from God’s word that day. So, here’s what I came up with….

1. God already knows my thoughts, so I might as well talk them out with Him. (Duh.) I already knew that, but God saw fit to remind me in my stubborn silence…”Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord” (Psalm 139:4).

   2.  He wrote the book of my life before I was even born. I should realize that He has plans for each stage of my life and it’s not guaranteed to be a placid lake once a certain storm is calmed. It’s going to be an ocean with unexpected (to me) ebbs and flows. He knows how to handle all of them because He knows exactly what is coming and He’s the ruler of the seas…“If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast” (Psalm 139:9-10). “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”  (Psalm 139:16).  My crazy notions for how I plan for my life to go are totally unfounded. Sure, I have hopes, dreams, and goals. But all of those fall second fiddle to what God has penned in my life. If those ambitions happen to match the text of my pre-written life, then great. If not, I’ve got to recognize that He is the master planner of my life…not me. My life is a book, not a calendar. It is an intricately planned story in it that fits in with the volumes of all time that our Creator has already put in writing. That must be why they call it “penciling in” when referring to a calendar. Plans that we come up with are always subject to change. The stories we live are written in permanent ink.

   3.  Even when I die, one thing remains constant as I transition from this life to the next, He never stops  being with me. “When I awake, I am still with you” (Psalm 139:18B).

4.  He knows how I think, feel, and act…no sense trying to hide that from Him. There are tons of things   He is there to help me work through by His grace. “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24).

   5.  My thoughts are not a surprise to Him.  “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me” (Psalm 139:1).

       So there you have it… Bible Russian Roulette at it’s finest. He struck me with these bullets of truth and killed my silence. The funny thing is, even in my silence, he searched me and knew me and drew me to Himself like He always does. I’m so glad that His right hand holds me fast no matter what sea billows roll into my life. And no matter what my reaction is to those tempests of life, He loves me anyway.  

Maps on Our Faces

     I always wonder what my appearance will like be if I make it to old age.  I gaze at pictures of my grandmother and mother and see how their looks have progressed since their youth. I look at pictures of my dad and wonder what he would have looked like if he lived longer.  More so, I wonder what he looks like now in his glorified body. I even look at pictures of myself and see how differently I look at this stage in life compared to my first years. I can’t imagine what I’ll look like by age 50 if I live that long. I just wonder. What differences will appear on my face?

     Each year when the ball drops, it seems like it'll be ages before the next year. By March or so, I start to realize that summer will soon approach. By September, I eagerly await October- my favorite month of the year. I always fool myself into thinking it'll last a long time since it has 31 days and all. But, the next thing I know, it's the most bittersweet month of my year, November. It makes me think back nine years to this very day, November 7th, when my Dad went to Heaven. I dread this day every year. I hate the mark of sorrow this day has on it, because we already experienced so much of that while watching his earthly shell be eaten by cancer. That's at the beginning of the month. At the end of the month, though, just as sure as God's promises that He's faithful and that joy comes in the morning, Thanksgiving comes and I reflect all the more on what I'm grateful for- salvation, restoration for that which was once broken, and ultimate healing. Suddenly, November seems like a great month after all because it's packed with gratitude, family, friends, and eager anticipation for Christmas. The excitement in the air for our family at least is in celebration of the presence of Christ in this world. That's a great note to end a year on...just before we start it all over again and face whatever may come in the next 365 days. 

   

 Without those moments of joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure, and sickness and health through the years, our faces would not be nearly as well defined. They would be untruthful masks to our inward imperfections. They would lack the beautifully weathered look of character.  The lines on our faces offer evidence to a journey’s map with streams of refreshment, deserts, deep valleys, vast oceans, long roads, and steep mountains we have passed. The legend of the map can be seen through the window of our eyes either by the dark emptiness that we possess from birth or from the Light of the World that we eventually invite inside. All in all, that’s how our appearance slowly morphs as we continue on this journey. Along the way, our appearance changes, whether drastically or subtly and moves us just a little closer to what we'll look like at the sunset of this life and the sunrise of the next. Upon that sunrise, the crusty maps of our weathered faces will be transformed into a stunning sculpture that has finally been completed by the glorious potter who formed us from clay on day one of the calendars of our lives. 

But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you me overjoyed when His glory is revealed."

1 Peter 4:13