A Cooking Lesson from a Child

There once was a mommy

Who loved to cook alone.

Without the clumsy hands of children

Making messes on her throne.

For years she shooed them out, 

Justifying it with ease.

For when she cooked it brought her peace,

And to more of that she cried, "Yes, please!"

But her impatience caused her shame,

Her selfishness made her sad

For when upon her counters they sat

Her babies' hearts were glad.

And while she flinched as they spilled,

And grimaced as they stirred,

With a bright smile and velvety voice

She encouraged with her words.

Astonished, she watched her oldest boy

Get a sparkle in his eye.

For her very tiny sacrifice

Thrilled his heart, made it fly.

His feet quickly pattered down the hall,

Pen and paper in hand.

And he emerged with a token of gratitude:

Unsolicited, unplanned.

A child's love freely given

Is a priceless treasure.

And as she scrubs the floors and counters

Her mommy-heart brims with pleasure.

A Holiday of Thankfulness {The Evans}

This is my husband, Chris (on the left).  And this is one of his best friends, Ben Evans. 

Chris and Ben have been friends since 2005.

I'm thankful for Ben.  He is an answer to my fervent prayer that God send Chris a friend that sticks closer than a brother (Proverbs 18:24). 

(In fact, God answered my prayer abundantly  by sending Chris TWO friends that stick closer than a brother.  These are the "three amigos"--Ben, Chris, and Jeremy.  These guys have been meeting every Wednesday morning for 7 years to study the Bible together.  They call each other almost daily for advice, counsel, and prayer;  they hold each other accountable in all things.) 

Ben is funny.  Loud.  Positive.  Joyful.  Energetic.  He loves Jesus.  He loves God's Word.  He loves his wife (Ashley) so beautifully.  And he is an amazing daddy to their 4 kiddos.

 Ben and Ashley 

(photo:  Heather Yingst)

Ben is from Louisiana.  Ben has a lot of people in his family.   Ben invited us to spend Thanksgiving with his (fun-loving, Jesus-adoring, Southern, man-can-they-cook!) family.  Of course we agreed.

Ben's daddy, Mr. Ken, is the pastor at Grace Baptist Church in Grayson, Louisiana.  He and his wife, Ms. Debbie, live in the parsonage behind the church.   Ms. Debbie is a 7th grade math teacher at the local junior high school.

Ben's parents:  Ken and Debbie Evans

Every Thanksgiving Eve, Grace Baptist Church has a worship service where people come and sing joyful hymns of gratefulness to God.  The Evans' family tradition holds that on this Thanksgiving Eve, immediately following the service, the men in the Evans family have a cook-off in the church's kitchen.  Attendees of the worship service get to enjoy the goodies prepared by the men and vote for their favorite.  

And these Evans fellows are a tad  competitive.  

As soon as we arrived on Wednesday afternoon, Ben jumped out of the car, kissed his mama, and he and Chris, who earned an honorary invitation to participate in the cook-off, went to work in the church kitchen.

Mr. Ken immediately invited my camera and I to his back porch where he was preparing these:

Grilled bacon-wrapped venison with pork sausage, cream cheese, garlic, and jalepenos.

And lucky for you (and me), Mr. Ken gave a demo. 

Start with a strip of bacon.  Lay a 3" piece of venison backstrap over it. (I really think one secret to this delicious recipe was the venison.  The deer was killed and processed 4 days prior.  And guess what Mr. Ken used as a marinade?  Coca-Cola.  The venison was tender; not at all gamey or tough.)

Next, add a bit of pork sausage.

Followed by some cream cheese and a jalapeno.

Roll together and secure with a toothpick.  Add a jalepeno slice and a clove of garlic to the exposed toothpick.

And then grill them.  (I'll have to ask Mr. Ken for the grilling time.)

Here's another secret:  you must drink black coffee and eat peanuts while you cook.  :)

An unspoken Southern rule:  4 PM is coffee time. 

 Y'all.  These were good. 

Meanwhile, in the front yard, the kids were quite happy to be out of the car after our 8-hour trek.

Mr. Ken and Ms. Debbie have 13 grandchildren.  And another one is on the way.  My boys were sweetly adopted by "Mammy" and "Pappy" for last week's celebration. 

Back in the church kitchen....the men were hard at work.

Ben made apples stuffed with cornbread dressing.  (These are Arkansas Black apples.)

(Southern boy or Russian sailor?)

He also made Turnip Green Stew.
 

Chris made my stuffed mushrooms.  (I was really proud of him.  He held his own among these chef-men and their fierce competition.) 

Ben's brother-in-law, Matt, made this crazy-good Crawfish, Shrimp, Andouille Sausage and Cornbread Dressing.  I think I cried a little when I ate it.  :)

(Seems like the best food always begins with a hand-written recipe.)

Meanwhile, back at the parsonage, Mammy kept the 15 children entertained.

She played the piano.  Every kid had a musical instrument.  I counted at least 5 wind instruments.  They were singing "Jesus Loves Me".  It was a joyful noise, indeed!

And then Aunt Tafta (Ben's sister) made a request that they play Journey.  Every. single. child.  busted out with "Don't Stop Believin'!"  They've clearly sang it many times.

Let me tell you something:  you simply haven't lived  if you've never heard 15 children playing musical instruments simultaneously in a cozy space.  It was so (loudly) precious.

6:30 PM.  Time for the worship service and sing-a-long.

My daddy's daddy, Papa Pete, was a preacher in tiny churches all across East Texas from the 1950s through the '70s.  Daddy told me many stories of growing up in small churches: the upbeat, wonderful hymns they used to sing, the warmth and generosity of the church members, and of his antics as a mischievous young preacher's kid.  Daddy told me of the time he and his buddy, Troy-Dale Cane, climbed up into the rafters of church during a service, subsequently got stuck, got noticed by Papa Pete as he was preaching, and got into (big) trouble.  

Sorry it's out of focus; this is Brother Randy leading the church in a rousing chorus.  

This hymn in particular spoke volumes to me.  The chorus:

Leave it there, leave it there,
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out.
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

That "never doubt" part is hard.  

But God can handle my burdens and He is faithful to always bring me out.

Mr. Ken can SING.  I sat in the pew and cried as I listened to him sing the tenor line in perfect harmony.  Man, I miss my daddy.

But I quickly dried my tears and consoled myself with happy thoughts.  Like the food that was lining the counter in the church kitchen, just waiting for the church folks to taste and see that it was GOOD.

Let me show you some of the wonderful folks in the church:

This is Miss Mattie.

I also met Miss Laura Mae.  

(How darling are these names?  I love the South.)

The votes started rolling in and I'm proud to tell you that Chris' stuffed mushrooms won 3rd place in the cook-off!

Mr. Ken won 1st place.  And rightly so.

I'm going to begin wrapping it up here because I could go on forever about the delicious food, wonderful family, and the many, many lessons I learned during our 4 days in Louisiana.  I think I need to do an entire post on the child-rearing tips that I learned from watching Ms. Debbie love on and guide all the grandkids.  She is a wise and wonderful woman indeed.

Thanksgiving dinner was fantastic.  I watched Ms. Debbie cook most of it.  The woman NEVER used a recipe.  Amazing.

Thursday night, Chris and Ben camped out with some of the kids.  At one point that evening, sitting around the campfire, our Timothy incredulously smacked himself in the forehead and exclaimed, "Isn't this just amazing, Daddy?  This is the most fun I've ever had in my whole long life." 

On Friday morning, after all the campers had returned to the house and Ben and Chris were fueling up on much-needed coffee, Riggs (9), Ben's oldest child, laid down on the living room sofa.  He wasn't acting like his usual highly energetic self; we chalked it up to a late night around the campfire and to not sleeping well in the tent.  But as Ben and I sat visiting in the living room, Riggs began to have a seizure.   Ben, unsure of what was happening at first, said, "Riggs?  RIGGS.  What are you doing, son?"  

"Ben!" I exclaimed. "Riggs is having a seizure!" 

Ben says he felt completely helpless as he sat there holding his boy tightly as he convulsed.  Chris leaned over Riggs and prayed for God's help.   It was the longest 45 seconds of everyone's life.  

After the seizure stopped and Riggs was resting peacefully, Ben and Ashley loaded him up in their van and drove 4 hours north to Little Rock's Children's Hospital.   It would appear that seizures, while so incredibly frightening, are more common than one would think:  Riggs' physical and neurological exams revealed he was OK.  The Evans' continued home to Northwest Arkansas and they all got much-needed rest.  Riggs will be evaluated further this week by his pediatrician.  His parents are still (understandably) rattled and are making some big changes to ensure the little guy doesn't get overly worn out (exhaustion can be a factor in some seizures).     

I left my camera in the bag for the remainder of our time in Louisiana.  The adults were in a mild state of shock on Friday after Riggs' seizure, and the last thing I felt like doing was being the annoying guest who was snapping pictures of everyone on such a glum day.  And on Saturday morning, after a hearty breakfast, we loaded up our boys and Ben & Ashley's other three children for the trip back to Arkansas.  Have you ever taken an 8-hour road trip with 5 children?  I am not lying when I say this:  Chris and I had so much fun.  We stopped at 3 restaurants along the way partially because little Dez (3) was "hungwee" every 15 minutes, and--y'all aren't going to believe this--but we have declared our car to be a food-free zone. (We're trying to make it last a long time without getting gross from small children eating while unattended in the back seat.)  We have withstood much ridicule and ribbing for our crazy rule.

I haven't written this much in a long time.  Thanks for journeying to the South with me!

And to the Evans family, thanks for caring for my family and for treating us like one of your own.  God bless you for loving people so well. 

Love,

Ginny

Here, Tired Mama...Have a Drink

The sink is bulging with stinky dishes.  The bananas have become a mating ground for fruit flies.  The dryer is full of wrinkled clothes and the washer is full of mildewed ones.  Legos, Matchbox cars, superhero capes, and StarWars underwear are everywhere.  And all four food groups can be found on the floor under the kitchen table.

With this amount of this chaos, one would think the lady of the house been relaxing on the couch for days with a good book.  But no.  This lady hasn't sat down for 7 hours.  What has she been doing all dang day?

 

cartoon source: here

Chasing children. Entertaining children.  Preparing food for children.  Loving children.  Teaching children.  Nurturing, raising, and pouring herself into children.

Her clothes are smeared with snot, spit-up, and poop--the trifecta of mothering substances.

And by 4:45 PM, her nerves feel like they've been scraped across a cheese grater.

I love my boys and would lay down my life for them, but you know what?  I get really tired and cranky sometimes.  

For years, 6 to be exact, this mama has often fallen into bed with a heavy block of guilt on my chest. I replay the day in my mind.  I didn't encourage enough.  And I said too much of the wrong thing.  I didn't play with them enough.  I was too impatient.  I prodded too much, I shouted too much. 

Too much.

Not enough.

Too much.

Not enough.

Arrows of my failures and shortcomings pierce my guts.

Within moments, the muscles in my neck and back burn with tension and anxiety and my stomach churns. Ahhhh, the physical manifestations of guilt and failure.  I pray for God's mercies to be new in the morning; new for me, new for the boys.  That I can forgive myself and try to be less of a witch tomorrow.

There's a tried-and-true remedy for this sad cycle...I like to call it Holy Mommy CPR.  Letting God revive my "mommy heart" toward my kids.  But I don't spend enough (or often any) time with Him during the day.  I don't crawl up into the shelter He provides, the Hiding Place He so faithfully and graciously offers me.  I know peace and joy and patience flow from sitting still and letting His truth wash over my wrinkled, feverish heart.  And yet it requires time alone with Him.  Which is a beautiful thing.  And yet...

I know I need to make it a higher--much higher--priority.

I know I need to...

I know I need to...

Here, mother of small children:  have an extra scoop of guilt.  A second helping of regret.  Can I get you a refill on that self-condemnation? 

"Time alone with God?", my mind reels.

When?  I can't even go to the bathroom without the children searching passionately for me. They beat on the door, clamor for my attention, shout of injustices experienced by one at the hand of the other, and finally burst in.  My reaction is...

That I've had enough.

I'm thirsty for a change.

"If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.  Whoever believes in me...streams of Living Water will flow from within him." (John 7:37-38)  

Hold up a minute, here.  

Jesus, you're telling me that if I believe in You, which I absolutely do--You're my Savior and Redeemer--, I'll have this living water flowing from within me?  You mean, like, it's been there this whole time?  I just have to sit still and quiet enough for a few minutes, until I can hear the quiet trickle of Your peace tumbling over the smooth stones of the brook in my soul? 

"Yes," Jesus says.  "That's exactly what I'm saying.  It's here.  You just have to lay down next to it, reach in, fill your cup to the brim, and then tilt back your head and take a long, breathless drink."  

Jesus offers his pool of Living Water for you and for me.  We just have to dip our cups in it and drink.  What can possibly be so hard about that?  And why is it that we drag our bullet-ridden souls to all the other pools and try them first:  the pool of over-eating, the pool of drinking too much, the pool of obsessively checking Facebook and People.com, the pool of credit card "retail therapy", the pool of too much TV, the pool of ignoring our kids while we text, the pool of anger and frustration.

We are not alone, friend.

I believe we are facing an epidemic in motherhood.  So many young moms are just...done.  At the end of their ropes. Checking out.  And single moms?  Moms of kiddos with special needs or terminal illnesses?  Only God knows how you do it.  [You have my utmost respect.]

Look at these two fantastic, energetic, happy children.  

I am incredibly blessed.  I get to stay at home with them!  My life is ridiculously easy and wonderful.  These facts do not escape me.  How many working moms out there would give their two front teeth to have what I have?  And yet, I am so often on "empty" with my boys, frustrated because they need, need, need (as all children do and should), and I get a little resentful of constantly giving.  

But things are looking up....literally.

Lately, and I mean it's a very recent "lately",  I've been laying down and drinking a lot of the Living Water Jesus has to offer.  My house is a little messier than normal, but I've got...and you'll have to excuse the analogy but it's the best one I can think of...a peace "buzz".

And with all this "drinking", I've stumbled upon a realization:  most moms struggle because they are in constant search of PEACE. 

Are you?  Do you seek peace between your kids as they play, eat, and lay down for bedtime?  Do you think you'd be a little less frazzled at the end of the day (or at the beginning of one) if there were less screaming (from them and you)?  Do you desire a thick peace to flow over your heart, filling in all the knotty holes of deep hurts, disappointments, and depression?  How about a fountain of peace bubbling up in your living room, flowing through the halls of your home, swirling in gentle patterns as it touches each bed, each table leg?

To drink from His pool, Jesus doesn't require that we first put on our church clothes, sing half the hymnbook, and drag out 47 biblical reference books.  Were that the case, only empty-nesters and mothers who had wrapped their children in Duct tape and suspended them from the ceiling would be able to have a drink.  All Jesus asks is that we come.  That we just show up.  With our greasy ponytails and coffee breath.

Just reading this and thinking about it right now, you may feel like that would require giving even more of yourself away and frankly, you're bankrupt.  You've got nothing left to give.  I felt that way, too.  But Jesus is the one who is giving here.  Not you, not me.  I encourage you to just dip your toe into His Living Water one morning; I pray you'll be as shocked as I was to discover the depth of peace and patience that will well up out of you during the day. Before long you'll be perched on the edge of the pool, ready to do a double-backflip-triple-gainer into it.  It's that wonderful.

"Taste and see that the Lord is good."  (Psalm 34:8)

If you are a tired, stretched-thin mama, will you join me at the Water's edge?  He'll fill our cups with His beautiful hands.  He'll return them to us overflowing.  And we will drink deeply.

(If you don't know Jesus will you please read this?)

Roadtrip Rehash---Part 1

We've just returned from a simultaneously wonderful and exhausting two-week summer vacation.

We took our boys on a 2,400 mile (round-trip) road-trip to Washington, D.C. to spend the Fourth in the nation's capitol.

And on the way, we visited friends and family.

First stop was Nashville, Tennessee to the home of my dear friend Heather Spriggs Thompson.  Heather and her husband welcomed their first child, Emerson, into the world in April.  As his mother and I have been friends and "heart sisters" since 1988, meeting Emerson was a special delight.

From Nashville, we headed east into the beautiful Smokey Mountains.

I love the rugged majesty of the Rocky Mountains and the unadulterated vastness of the West, but Western Tennessee/Eastern North Carolina magnetizes me.  I want to fly over the Smokeys like a bird, soaring over the topography, landing in fern and moss-covered valleys and ravines, sipping from the springs and waterfalls pouring out the side of mountains.

Gatlinburg, TN is nestled in a little valley near a large theme park you may have heard of:  Dollywood.  We took the boys not to Dollywood but to a kiddie-sized amusement park where Matthew, who is just 39 inches tall, could ride almost everything.

That made him extremely happy.

I'd like to know where I can purchase one of these for use at home.  

Chris and I were actually able to have a conversation while the boys were locked away in the ferris wheel basket.

After leaving Gatlinburg, we continued east into North Carolina and the Pigsah National Forest.  I nearly had to do the Sound of Music twirling spin at a roadside overlook; such incredible beauty surrounded us.  (Of course, the camera was missing during this time...)

The next phase of our family adventure was backpacking.  

I took off my cute chandelier earrings and wedge sandals and exchanged them for a do-rag and hiking boots.  We slid on our backpacks (mine was about 20 pounds, Chris' was about 25), and hiked in just over 1.5 miles.  

  

The boys did great.  

Matthew, like most 3-year-olds, is a pokey little puppy when we walk anywhere together.  This was also the case on the trail.  Except we discovered that he has a "power boost" button:  when we would say, "Matthew:  SPEED WALK", off he'd go!  This little guy can crank those baby legs, matching 2-3 of his steps with one of ours. 

Do you know much about backpacking?  It's camping, yes, but instead of the family car transporting all of the needed gear, you put everything you may possibly need on your back and then you hike to your primitive campsite (no water, no electricity).  The lighter your pack, the more enjoyable the experience is.

My husband is a devout backpacker.  He uses a scale as he packs, getting down to the ounces of every item.  Toothbrush handles are sawed off to save a few grams.  Holes are drilled into spoon handles for the same reason.  He's got back-country comfort down to a science.  We stay clean and well-fed, but we do it lightly.  

Our home away from home...

This is the second time we've taken the boys backpacking.  It sure is sweet to wake up between my babies, listening to the wind whisper through the Balsam firs and the peaceful rhythm of the kids' breathing.

We hiked back to the car in the morning. Timothy tripped on a tree root and sustained injury #1 of the trip:

Timothy has many wonderful characteristics, but being tough is not yet one of them.  The boy inherited his mama's wooziness where any blood is involved. 

Poor kid.  Not a great start to your 6th birthday!

We piled back in the car and drove on the beautiful but curvy Blue Ridge Parkway.  Matthew gave us a 2-second warning before he got carsick all over himself and the buckles of his carseat.  Timothy dry-heaved at the sight of his brother's vomit.  I had the privilege of cleaning the mess up with wet-wipes. It was a super way to start the day.

But we gathered our courage and drove on to the spot where we'd spend a second night backpacking.    

This is Timothy's reaction to our announcement that I had indeed "packed-in" a birthday present for him.  

(He never even noticed the Christmas wrapping paper.)

This is us the following morning, after we had hiked back to the car, stopped at a campground, paid $10 to take a shower, shopped at Target, and consumed a giant cup of Starbucks coffee. 

An injection of urban comforts does a girl good. 

Next stop:  Rougemont, North Carolina and the organic farm of the parents of my dearest childhood friend. 

We properly celebrated Timothy's birthday there.

Because we always use the long-handled Bic lighters to ignite candles and fireplaces, Timothy was a little shocked at the initial flammability of a real match.

We loved living the "farm life" for 3 days.

Matthew eating a green bean plucked straight from the garden.

Anyone need a caterpillar?

I had the most amazing opportunity to meet Baby Tavner, my lifelong friend's first child:  he was born on Timothy's birthday.  Another incredibly special moment for me. 

From North Carolina, we made our way north to Washington, DC.

(And we were more than a little exhausted...)