MidWeek Mini: Desserts to Die(t) For

Desserts were the first food I ever made. Christmas cookies with my mom and sister every Black Friday since I can remember. Then, later, pecan pies for Thanksgiving when I was still young enough to need help chopping the pecans. Over time, I branched out into other pies, cobblers, cakes, frostings, cookies, and scones, and now the Desserts section of my recipe box is twice as fat as any other section.

A few years ago, my sister bought me 101 Desserts to Eat Before You Die(t) for my birthday. I treated it like a novel, reading the recipes with mounting excitement, turning to a new chapter with palpable anticipation. Some of the recipes were wildly intimidating (Orange Creme Caramel with a real whole vanilla bean? Classic Sponge complete with warnings about not using a wooden spoon?), but some were just difficult enough to tempt me. Valentine's Day this year was the perfect excuse to be brave and check one of the 101 off my list, so I let Peter pick which recipe to try: Devil's Food Cake with Strawberry Cream.

Everything went well - the from-scratch cake, the slicing of the cake into two layers, my first ganache, the strawberry cream - until it was time for the chocolate curls. That one-sentence instruction, "Using a knife at a 45-degree angle, form long, thin curls by pushing the knife through the chocolate," was an unsolvable riddle. No matter which way I held the knife or pushed it through the thin sheet of melted and chilled chocolate, I could not get curls to roll up. It was hopeless. I had to settle for chocolate shards instead. And ultimately, when I served it, at our Brothers and Sisters Valentine's Dinner, I found the cake a bit dry. I think I baked it a bit too long. Thank goodness for that strawberry cream in the middle!

Since the cake was mostly a success, I turned to 101 Desserts again a few weeks ago, when we were hosting Pete's dad and mom for dinner. I picked a dessert from the chapter called "Sweet, Creamy, and Sticky Delights." It was Fresh Fruit Pavlova.

A pavlova is a meringue topped with whipped cream and fresh fruit. Whipped cream is easy for me. Two cups of heavy cream, some powdered sugar, maybe a bit of vanilla extract. Hit it with an electric beater for a few minutes, and it's heaven. For the top I chopped up bananas, strawberries, and kiwis, and swapped blueberries for the traditional passion fruit pulp

But I'd never made a meringue before.

Even worse, I didn't even know if I liked meringue.

Meringue is mostly egg whites and sugar with a bit of cornstarch and vinegar. I followed the directions, and finally, as promised, the "soft peaks formed" and the meringue was "stiff and glossy." After baking and cooling, the meringue had a large crack across the top, but it was "pale and crisp." Perfect, according to the recipe.

After we had our dinner, I topped it with the cream and fruit, hoping for the best. I sliced it into big wedges, served it up, poured coffees, and then - finally - we tasted it.

Oh, wow. We fell hard for this dessert. Even Pete, who doesn't even like dessert, loved it. The meringue had a crispy shell and a soft, marshmallowy, ultra-sweet center. It was rich, but not sickeningly so, airy enough and fresh enough to keep from being heavy. A dessert that's 50% whipped cream? Count me in!

I am no kind of fancy chef. But making a pavlova sure made me feel like one. The leftover meringue even stayed crispy in the fridge!

And so, success. 101 Desserts, you've got me hooked. Two down. Ninety-nine more to go.

Household - and Heart - Management: May 11 - 17

Long ago I learned from your statutes that you established them to last forever. 
Ps. 119:152

I'm home from school and Henry is down for his nap. It might be 12:30 or 1:15; his naps are a little more flexible these days depending on his morning. So my afternoons are flexible too. I'm at the table with my lunch of choice this week: grilled ham and swiss sandwich and crunchy green grapes. It's my little oasis before deciding how to spend nap time. Lately my life tasks are divided into two categories: things I can do when Henry is awake, and things I can't. I try to mentally pare my list down to things I can only do when he's sleeping.

Vacuum the floors upstairs? Nope. That will wake him. 
Start prepping for dinner? No, that's easy enough to do while he's awake. 
Put all that stuff away in the attic? No, those creaky stairs are right beside his room.
Cut some greens and blooms for a fresh bouquet? Nah, he'd love to run around outside with me. 
Fold the laundry? Oops. I already did that yesterday. 

And so I find, to my disappointment, that all those chores piling up are actually doable when Henry's awake. And that what I actually can't do while he's awake is the restful things: reading a book, paging through a magazine, working on a blog post, browsing the internet for recipes. So I push the chores off until later, grab a book, cozy up in the den and try not to feel guilty while I wait for my boy to wake up.

A schedule-lover since my earliest memories (I even made myself schedules for summer vacation as a little girl, hating the thought of completely unstructured time), I'm watching motherhood pull me away from my most ingrained tendencies. I still put all of Henry's toys in their baskets... most evenings. But sometimes there are wooden puzzle pieces under the couch cushions in the morning. I still list the week's meals on the marker board in the kitchen. But sometimes we just scramble up eggs for dinner instead. I still try to keep my house clean and the laundry washed and the closets organized. But occasionally I'll wonder when the last time was that I washed the towels or cleaned the toilets (ok, most of the time I can't remember when I last cleaned the toilets).

What I discover most immediately, when I'm wondering how I could have spent the last 25 minutes on pinterest, is that my default emotion is guilt. Self-bashing for shirking my duties. "Why weren't you washing those dishes? Aren't there clothes to fold? Didn't you notice the living room needs dusting?" And I don't think that household management should be driven by guilt. In fact, the only thing that should be driven by guilt is the eliminating of hateful attitudes and hurtful actions. Very little of my guilt is legitimate in that sense. I don't usually feel guilty about those things.

Duty rouses guilt. What the heart prioritizes, it is ashamed to neglect. Whatever's been made most important moves to the top of the to-do list and becomes a life-guiding task. The heart will be satisfied when those duties are completed and will wallow in discontent while they remain undone. So as I sit at the table feeling guilty about wasting an hour with a grilled cheese and Real Simple, I'm revealing my heart's truest priorities. I don't often feel guilty about avoiding people or justifying an angry comment. I feel guilty about avoiding a sinkful of dishes and defending an unvacuumed rug.

So instead of worrying so much about household management, maybe my time would be better spent in heart management, rewriting my priorities to align with what really matters. I've got plenty of afternoon naptimes to devote to cleaning up my list of most important duties. We all know I'm not getting much else done in those free times anyway.

Grateful this week for: 
crayons
direct deposit
This Old House
dirty baby feet
kettle corn
the smell of rain-soaked forest in the morning
baby nap on my lap
old buildings
grassy fields
Small Group
oatmeal pancakes
garden trowel
front row seats

Weak: May 4 - 10

You are righteous, Lord, and your laws are right. The statutes you have laid down are righteous; they are fully trustworthy.
Ps. 119:137-138

Some weeks whiz by in a blur. Others plod along for so long that you actually feel older by the end. This week was the plodding type.

Tuesday was our school's annual Serve-a-Thon in which the entire school body fans out over the local community, completing service projects along with teachers and parent volunteers. We went with Pete's homeroom class, the seventh grade, to a local camp grove to help with outdoor cleanup. It was tiring work, raking leaves that had piled up since October, matted down with earthworms and spiders, on a day with the highest pollen count of the spring. We scooped them onto big tarps, heaved the tarps into the back of a pickup truck, then watched the camp's grounds manager drive them off into the woods for dumping while we started on the next round of raking. Some of our students were excellent workers, barely stopping to take a break. Others were less accustomed to hard work and became easily exhausted. I tried to set a good example by avoiding the temptation to stand idle and lean on my rake when there was work to be done, but I'm embarrassed to admit how wearied I felt at the end of the day. Two days later I still ached from head to toe.

The hard work must have flipped the power button on my immune system because then I came down with a nasty cold and could barely keep my eyes open at work as the week ever so slowly dwindled down. I told my boss on Thursday, "Have a great weekend!" Oops.

Spending a day with kids who are still figuring out who they are led us to discuss our own seventh-grade selves on the drive home Tuesday afternoon. "Don't you think you're really the same person you were in seventh grade?" asked Pete. "Oh, I think I've matured quite a bit," I said. But as I thought back on my middle school career - the shifting friendships, the bitternesses I hoarded, the selfish motives behind every smile, the social tiers I constantly stacked and restacked in my mind - I blushed with the realization that much of that is still rooted in my heart. "As we grow up we just learn to hide our bad tendencies," Pete said. And I think he's right. In my heart, I'm not much different than I was fifteen years ago. A bit more mature, I hope. A bit more aware when I'm thinking or acting wrongly. But the tendrilling vines of the exact same faults still creep along the edges of my heart, thriving even when I think I've already uprooted them. Do they ever get completely yanked out?

While I was whining about my sore and achey body, macho husband moved right along to his next service project: our own front walkway. Thursday evening he dug out one of the edge beams, deepened the trench it rests in, and reset it. Love this tough man.

The weekend brought a long sweet rest after a long wearying week. We stayed up late on Friday, after a dinner with Pete's parents. Teriyaki chicken, curry couscous, salad, and a fancy fruit pavlova for dessert made our patio feel like a five-star restaurant. On Saturday's chilly morning we walked into town to have breakfast at a little cafe we'd never tried before. We were delighted with coffee, omelet, french toast, and silver dollar pancakes and walked home in a drizzly rain with full and happy tummies. With no agenda for the rest of the day, we let the hours roll past, unburdened by the stress of long lists. A big bowl of popcorn and an episode of PBS's Nature about Ireland's Shannon River lulled us to sleep at the close of the day. After church on Sunday, Pete and Henry surprised me with lunch at our local Italian restaurant. Henry was a gem, playing with straw wrappers while we waited for our food, sitting patiently on my lap for the entire meal, licking ketchup off fries, sharing bites of my cheesesteak, and smiling at passers-by. He went right to sleep for his nap when we got home while Pete and I sat on the floor in the den, windows open on both sides of the room, fresh spring air sighing through as he graded papers and I worked on this post. These are the days that give weekends a good reputation.

Since I'm finishing out today's post on Mother's Day, I'm thinking more than usual about my Mom and my Mom-in-Law and the way they help sustain our family. Both have very busy schedules, richly packed lives full of responsibilities and duties across many settings. Both have raised kids of their own and still have husbands who need them and homes to care for and aging parents who need attention. But both make time several days each week to help me. They watch Henry while I'm at work, making it possible for me to keep my job without placing Henry in expensive daycare. I'd rather not need help. I'd rather do it all myself - be a full-time mom, keep up my work at the school, manage the household, prepare three healthy meals a day, complete the occasional crafty project - and not need to rely on anybody else. But to keep my pride in check, God has given me a life that I can't juggle alone. I need help. And I could not do the life I'm doing without these two women. They remind me every single day that we are not meant to walk life alone, particularly not motherhood. I'm not always grateful. Often I'm so frazzled by everything I'm trying to keep afloat that I don't realize how much they're helping. But if I try to imagine walking this journey without them, I'm humbled to recognize the weight of what they do each week. They make my life possible.

Thank you, Moms. You model Christ's love and sacrifice consistently and faithfully. My whole family is blessed daily by your sweet love.

A year ago, Mother's Day, 2014. Henry's baptism day.

Grateful this week for:
bandaids
fresh breezes
sidewalks
Henry's "woofwoof"
a vase of garden greens
meuringe
whipped cream
a needed nap
local eateries
online library catalog

Simplicity: Apr 20 - 26

I am your servant; give me discernment that I may understand your statutes. 
Ps. 119:125

WEDNESDAY
In 2014 I saved over 3,000 photos to my computer. This year I resolved to be more organized, naming photos, sorting by month, and being selective about what I save. So far I've saved 496, nearly all are named, and all are in titled folders. A cluttered life is a stressful life and this is one small area where I can cut back on clutter. I also spend a little time every month or so putting together some pages in my snapfish album. At the end of the year when they run a big Christmas sale, I'll buy the whole thing. It will be expensive - last year's was still over $50, even with the 60% off sale - but it's worth it. A hard-copy yearbook of all our family's memories.

Today I put in a Henry-nap's-worth of time catching up on March and April photos.

And tonight I also posted our dinner here, an original recipe that was a big hit with Husband!


FRIDAY
Several of my facebook friends have posted references to this blog post (which in turn references this blog) this week. The concept is paring down your wardrobe to only 37 pieces: 15 tops, 9 bottoms, 9 pairs of shoes, 2 dresses, and 2 jackets. The result is fewer choices, but assurance that whatever you pick will be great because you've only kept the best. Ever on the prowl for simplicity, I gave it a try this afternoon.

Deciding not to tackle my entire wardrobe at once, I only got out my tops But I got out all of them, laid them on the bed, and viciously purged. Don't love it? Neckline is annoying? Never wear it? Too short? Been around too long? Gone. I did not cut down to the suggested 15 tops, but I did chop 26 tops out of my collection and what's left are things I'm excited to wear! How embarrassing that I had nearly thirty tops that were extraneous. As an added bonus, in the course of emptying out my bottom dresser drawer, I found a lost piece of my favorite locket that I'd given up hope of ever finding. What a delightful surprise!

I'll move to bottoms, dresses, outerwear, and shoes soon. Have you tried this? Or a similar purge?


SUNDAY
A second round of wardrobe purging yesterday left me shamed about the state of my closet. I don't have 37 items. I have nearly four times that many. And that's not counting pajamas, yoga pants, swimsuits, or bum-around tshirts. I'm pleased because my clothes are reorganized and sorted, but I'm humbled by the enormity of my collection and my tendency to still be discontent.

We're at the end of the month which often means the food budget is used up and we need to make do with what's in the house. I often ignore this fact in favor of another grocery shopping jaunt, but this time we are not buying anything and we're eating up what we have. And what we have is enough for several days of satisfying meals. Again, I'm humbled by my habit of discontentment.

What if instead of seeking more, I needed less? What if my list of needs actually shrank and contentment became achievable at a lower level of life's ladder, so to speak? What items do I truly need in my wardrobe? Can I whittle it down to a satisfying 37 or 40 pieces? What does my weekly menu need to include? Could I put spaghetti on the menu more often? Or grilled cheese sandwiches?

I'm continuing to work toward simplicity. Less clutter, less stress, and more contentment.

Tonight that meant contentment with a frozen pizza and frozen fries, some of the things we're eating this week, rather than taking another shopping trip. Tomorrow we'll be feasting on this favorite meal, which I can only make thanks to a neighbor who generously gave us some farm-fresh bacon. 

If this idea captures you as it's captured me lately, I recommend Margin by Richard Swenson. Written for those who find their lives overloaded and who've exhausted their energies, finances, and time, Margin proposes a way of life that frees us to enjoy contentment and rest.


Grateful this week for: 
waking up to rain
porch swing sitting
Roku
onion dip
magnolia
alarm clock
coffeepot
porch light
bathroom
devotional book
driveway
hoodie
blustery weather
smell of sunscreen
Banana Split Cream Rita's water ice
cousins

Full Spring: Apr 13 - 19

My flesh trembles in fear of you; I stand in awe of your laws. 
Ps. 119:120

MONDAY
We've got gardens and a patio and a long brick walkway and they all need constant weeding. When spring starts, it's easy to spend a half hour outside pulling baby weeds from between the bricks, drinking in sunshine. I did that today. But as spring sunshine escalates into summer sunmelt, it's a little harder to make regular time for pulling weeds. When I've let the weeding go undone for too long, it's a mammoth task requiring hours. Every time I'm on my hands and knees, easing taproots out from stubborn earth or yanking weedy ground cover out by the fistful, I think about sin. So easy to ignore when it's small. Like a baby weed. But if it's left to grow, it becomes exponentially harder to remove. Not only that, it will also send out little root threads that sprout up farther down the path making the whole thing even more difficult to eradicate. I know that diligent attention to the littlest weeds means that every weeding session will be easier and an hours-long attack won't be necessary. Furthermore, I'm thankful for weeds to be pulled in my gardens because it draws my attention to the weeds that need to be pulled from my heart.


WEDNESDAY
Lunch today:

Oh, springtime, how cheerful you are.

(Even if my fruits are out-of-season and imported.)


FRIDAY
Don't you love it when everything in life suddenly comes together into a single point? It usually happens when I'm reading diligently and especially when I'm reading God's Word and words written by people who love God. This week everything I was reading harmonized beautifully.

It started with the book my ladies bible study is reading, Discipline: The Glad Surrender. "It is nothing short of a transformed vision of reality that is able to see Christ as more real than the storm, love more real than hatred, meekness more real than pride, long-suffering more real than annoyance, holiness more real than sin," says Elisabeth Elliot. She's talking about thinking, using the mind properly. She's talking about evaluating choices and actions. She's talking about ignoring feelings even though they feel most "real." When we're thinking wrongly - or not thinking at all, but merely feeling - the mind will always wander into anxiety, fantasy, indulgence, or bitterness. Right thinking requires diligent attention.

Into this conversation comes Paul. In Romans 1, he describes those who do not glorify or give thanks to God. Their hearts are darkened, he says, not because of wrong actions, but because of useless thinking. They didn't want to waste mental space on understanding God and the result was worthlessness and depravity.

Paul Tripp jumps in with hard words about walking in the faith we profess. "You can praise God for his wisdom in that service on Sunday but be breaking his law on Tuesday because, at street level, you really do think you're smarter than him." How embarrassing to see that we often act as if we're smarter than God! How convicting to realize that our thinking could be so clouded!

Do I harness my mind? Do I keep tabs on my thinking and bring it back when it starts to wander off alone? Occasionally. But intentionally thinking about the things of God and fearlessly letting his thoughts become mine through diligent prayer... that takes time, humility, commitment, surrender, and obedience. "My treatment of people depends on how I think about them," says Elliot. Likewise, my responses to God depend on how I think about Him. I'm challenging myself this coming week to keep a closer watch on my thought life, to squash wrong thoughts that lead to wrong actions and to nurture the thoughts that honor God and build others up.


SATURDAY
Could a spring day be more perfect? A morning walk around our little estate, barefoot, while the air is still cool, cup of hot coffee in hand. Driving home from a consignment sale with a big pile of toddler clothes for H (15 items for less than $20!). A shortcut drive on nearly-forgotten back roads to the farm store for milk. Weeding in the sun. A walk through town with H in his stroller, with a stop at the new park bench on our town's newest sidewalk. Patio dinner with my parents, grilled chicken, curry couscous, and creme brulee for dessert. Talking until the sun is down.

These things could easily be drudgery instead of bliss. Dirty feet after a morning walk in the grass. Driving 30 minutes for second-hand-clothes. Detouring away from home to buy milk. Pulling infinite weeds in the hot sun. Walking through town - and up long hills - for a simple errand. Hosting an outdoor dinner, and cleaning up afterwards. Getting to bed way too late.

A heart that wants to be grateful, a perspective that wants to see gifts, will find joy in the commonplace. A heart of discontent will find reason after reason to be annoyed. Errands and food preparation and yardwork can be satisfying or irritating. While I admit to sometimes being of discontent heart, tonight, my grateful heart is full.

SUNDAY
Evening entertainment while I'm finalizing this blog post:

Husband reads about electricity while Son feeds Bunny from his sippy cup. And life sings.


Grateful this week for: 
milk blooming up in morning coffee
green bunch of cilantro
encouragement from real heart friends
flowers in a first grade girl's hair
nail clippers
smiling daffodils
new pen
barefeet in grass
magnolia petals
grey and white cat, trotting through the yard
springtime, too early for mosquitoes
sunscreen
ice cube trays

Short and Sweet: Apr 6 - 12

Your word is a lamp for my feet and a light for my path. 
Ps. 119:105

MONDAY
Henry's been sick since yesterday. He's had a fever, and absolutely no appetite. It could be those teeth that are still coming in. No way to know for sure. But we had today off and this afternoon I got him to eat some of a fruit and yogurt smoothie. And of course it was an absolutely perfect day for patio playtime.

This evening I checked one thing off my spring to-do list and made skinny jeans out of a pair of college-era flares. I've worn them ragged for ten years now, but I still love them. I found this tutorial on making skinnies out of flares, and decided to give it a try. It worked perfectly! I had to finagle the hems a bit because the pants were quite long and the back had been torn off by years of heel-treading. So I chopped off the hem and resewed the part that was left a little higher. They're not perfect, but it's a success I'm pleased with.


FRIDAY
In addition to books and movies, our local library has a play area for little kids so a couple days this week, including this afternoon, when Henry was crabby and it was raining, we drove over there just for a change of scenery. He cooked play pizza in the play oven while I browsed my goodreads account for recommendations and scanned the library shelves for anything appealing. Today I came home with four books. More afternoons at the library are definitely in our future.

I was an English major for four years of college (and will always remain one in my heart of hearts), but reading comes in fits and starts for me now. Being a wife and mother takes a lot more time than you'd think, and I've found myself drifting away from pleasure reading, partially out of necessity and partially out of lack of interest. When I have time to read, I'd rather chew on some parenting advice or wrestle with thoughts on faith. I'm not drawn as much to novels, or even nonfiction. But this week I finished two books, a second read of a favorite novel and a nonfiction piece, and I've rediscovered my insatiable appetite for reading. Hence, the stack of library books in my arm this afternoon.

I've struggled in the past few years with whether or not pleasure reading has a place in the Christian's life. Should valuable time, emotional energies, and mental space be dedicated to a work of secular fiction? Is that good stewardship of my life? Are memoirs and nonfiction eternally profitable? I've decided, at least for now, that as long as the content does not pull me toward sin or overtly attack my faith, a secular novel or memoir can be a healthy use of time. While rereading Water for Elephants seemed like a bit of a waste intellectually, it provided a different path for my mind, which tends to dig deep ruts in questions like "what's for dinner?" and "when is Henry's next nap?" and "did I pay that bill yet?" A novel is a breeze of cool fresh air, thoughts from someone else's mind that refresh my own. Only recently have I gained the strength to put a book down. "You don't have to drink the whole bottle to know it's vinegar," says Pete when he thinks I'm reading garbage. And he's right. Not all books are worth seeing through to the end. I might not reach the last page of all four of these books I brought home today. But if I find any of them to be gems, maybe I'll write up a review for you.


SATURDAY
A little nod to where I was seven years ago today, saying goodbye to a semester in Oxford, England.

Roommates from the basement quad, aka The Octopus's Garden.

Yes, I've moved on to a delightfully rich life. I'm not stuck in the past. But those three months abroad seeped into every cell in my body and I'll never stop being grateful for them.


Grateful this week for: 
smoothies
patio afternoons
every time Henry took a bite of food
the library
mornings
evenings

Easter: Mar 30 - Apr 5

You yourself have taught me. How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth! I gain understanding from your precepts. 
Ps. 119:102-104


MONDAY
This week I'm meditating on Easter, suddenly seeing the gospel story everywhere. The springtime season reminds me constantly of Christ's death and resurrection, his sacrifice that bought my salvation. The ordinary moments of life are thick with spiritual resemblance. Nothing is by accident and these hints of the gospel are not invented but discovered.

Flower shoots sprout from cold earth, piercing dead leaves on their journey toward the sun. Easter, too, is new life. Someone becoming unburied, pushing out of the ground, refusing to rot. Life springs from death, defeating death forever.

TUESDAY
It's time to clean, to open windows, to sweep and scrub and polish, to get down on hands and knees and clean to the very edges. Easter also brings a clean start. The eternal King becomes an eternal Servant, washing feet and washing souls. He makes the dirtiest things sparkling clean, more effective than any bleach.

WEDNESDAY
Fifteen days until the taxes are due and I'm finally forcing myself to dive into the sea of paperwork. Easter, praise the Lord, is a settled account. An enormous burden, lifted. Debts are paid and nothing more is owed. And the refund check is bigger than you could have possibly imagined.

THURSDAY
Our bathroom project is nearing the end. Soon the waiting will be behind us, completion achieved. Easter, too, is a finished project. The pieces of a huge, much-prophesied puzzle fall into place one by one, coming faster and faster as the end nears. Everything that had been promised happens at long last. And then, finally, it is finished.

FRIDAY
For the past 437 days, the days since Henry was born, every moment of every day has revolved around my son. Nothing avoids being affected by his existence. In a far more important way, Easter is also about a Son. Nothing in the history of the world escapes the ramifications of his existence, of his death and what his death bought. On Good Friday, he refused to save himself so that he could instead save us. The joy my son brings me is nothing in comparison to the joy that Son can give.

SATURDAY
I love candy, but I love Easter candy most of all. And not just because it's shaped like bunnies and comes in pastel colors. Easter candy reflects what Easter means: because of Christ, life is not just simple sustenance. It's piled high with delicacies. Not only is my sin removed, but in its place are poured hundreds of daily gifts, sweets undeserved but given for the encouragement of my soul.

SUNDAY
We spent the day with our family. Brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, dinner and candy and card games and egg hunts and new toys. It's a slice of heaven to share a day with the people we treasure most, celebrating the occasion that secures us eternal life. Easter is about a family much larger than our Mountz clan. Because of the cross and the empty tomb, we are welcomed into a family that spans centuries and continents. We're looking forward to meeting spiritual cousins from China and Canada, from 1266 and 1932. Not only this, but we will meet our Brother, the one whose sacrifice gives us the right to call God "Father," the one who invented families and calls us to put our earthly ones second to Him. The satisfaction of a loving family hints at the sweet perfection we will one day feel in the presence of the whole family of faith as, together, we worship the One who defeated death for our sake on Easter morning.

Grateful this week for: 
responsible students
ice cubes
baby hands in garden dirt
blonde hair
evening of gardening
peanut butter cookies
second cup of coffee
gmail chat
light rain
sunny afternoon
crossed baby ankles
chirping birds
bedtime peekaboo
finding a missing sock in the clean sheets
stories with Ellie
sleeping in
breezes
finishing touches in the new bathroom
baby ibuprofen
egg hunt
the empty tomb