When the Menu is Manna

                                        I t was late. While I was quickly fading from a day filled with energetic kids, my husband was just coming to life! For some reason, the time most people are going to bed, he gets a second wind. I, on the other hand, have developed a striking resemblance to a week-old helium balloon. He watches TV, works in his shop, runs to the store for late night snacks and sometimes he cooks. Most often he bakes cookies. I should be grateful. If anyone is willing to place homemade cookies in this house, gratitude should be present. I am ashamed, but I have a hard time being thankful for his cookies. Not because he waits until I can’t keep my eyes open to bake them or leaves me countless untidy bowls and crunchy cookie sheets as reminders of his late-night culinary doings, I have a difficult time with thankfulness for this endeavor for the simple reason that ...

R ecently, I went through the grueling process of buying a house for the first time in thirty-seven years. With this purchase, I was given multiple steps to follow, including filing an application to indicate my interest, participating in the review process to prove my creditworthiness, wading through conditional approval to have fine-tuning completed , and finally, full approval when my request was marked as complete. Each step in the application revealed my readiness for the next step. It was a time of self-reflection, tedious, exhausting tasks, and giving accounts as every corner of my life was under a microscope and questioned. Yet, I met the standards with every form completed and purchased the home.  The rich young ruler in Luke's gospel seemed to believe that his way to eternal life was much like buying a house with a heavy emphasis on "things and processes." He believed it would be granted because of who he was, what he was, and what he could buy. He planned to s...

I can still picture myself standing on the pool's edge with my mother saying, "Jump, I'll catch you," in one of our many swimming lessons. Though I was still nervous, I was confident my mother would catch me because she said she would, and I trusted her because she always did.  Another time, a much older me as a college student stood in my apartment wondering, like many other poor college students, how I would make it until payday. It looked relatively bleak this time, and I knew I needed a financial miracle. I thought about what I could do, but my resources were limited. I released the problem, asking God to provide what I needed to get me through the next few days. To this day, I still remember what happened. Soon after, I was doing my laundry. I picked up a piece of clothing, and a ten-dollar bill was at the bottom of the basket. I knew it was not mine, but I was the only one there - it was nobody's. It was just enough to meet my needs.  The common element in t...

I grew up the child of two outstanding athletes. I am sure they both hoped I would follow in their footsteps. However, that was not to be, as my attempts at an athletic inclination were short-lived. At age 7, after being hit head-on in the face with a softball on my little league team, I turned in my mitt feeling as if I had disappointed my parents but knowing that my desire and interest did not include a softball, bat, or anything associated with it.  At age 13, I tried again. I was so proud to be a part of the track team. Finally, I might have found my niche, but into the season, I learned that being the third leg in the relay was a strategic placement. Its purpose was definitely to preempt the inevitable - a loss. The fact had to be faced; I was just too slow. I finished the season, but pursuing this activity again did not appeal to me. It was not a passion but rather an attempt to find a place where I could be good at something and contribute. Track wasn't it either. Truthfully...