Life is Like a Bowl of Zwieback

Until 2 years ago I thought that zwieback (I pronounced it zoo-E-back)was the hard dry toast you purchase at the grocery story in baby blue packages with a smiling little cherub on the cover. I remember giving it to my babies when they were teething, and acting very unlike smiling little cherubs. It was the consistency of a two by four so that the little angels happily could chew on it for hours, never breaking off a single chunk large enough to choke on, before it turned to mush.

In the intervening years I went through a divorce and spent years alone. When my second husband and I married a couple of years ago, rescuing each other from loneliness, celibacy, and single parenthood, I learned some important things. The rock hard stuff in the store is not real zwieback, and it is pronounced swee-baac.

Real zwieback is a tradition dating back so many generations that no one remembers when it started. Fresh baked zwieback is the lightest, softest, sweetest dinner roll ever.

Some brilliant cook invented Zwieback long before I was born and bread machines were invented. My mother-in-law, Marlene, is famous for making the best zwieback on three continents. She is suffering from Alzheimer's, so a few months ago she and my father-in-law invited me to her house to make zwieback with her so that she could pass on treasured generational zwieback secrets. I knew I was in trouble the minute she began warming the utensils we were to use. Making zwieback like hers is a science, requiring precision.  I am a terrible scientist.

This Easter I am making zwieback alone for the first time. Slightly intimidated by Marlene's reputation, I glanced at the recipe, and googled "scald milk". The Cooking-for-Modern-Clueless-Idiots website said that scalding milk began back when milk came from cows instead of from grocery stores. Heating the milk to near boiling killed dangerous bacteria and the enzymes that kept dough from thickening. The website said that scalding is unnecessary now in the days of pasteurization.  Scalding already pasteurized milk is probably a step we take just because it has always been done this way. It is like the story my mother tells. A woman learned from her mother that she should trim the ends off a roast before putting it in the oven. After years of doing this, she asked why this step was necessary. Mother didn't know, so she asked her grandmother. The sage old woman answered. "I always did that because the roast wouldn't fit in my pan!" I scalded the milk anyway, just in case.

I finished the delicate zwieback-made-with-scalded-milk dough mixing it gently in a warm bowl. Getting the right consistency required using more than 16 cups of flour even though the recipe calls for only 4 - 8 cups. It was written down by a person determined to make sure that no one attempting to follow it could possibly succeed.

I gently tucked the finished dough into a pre-warmed bowl, covered it with a fresh towel, and left it to rise in peace and quiet. It grew large, light, and baby soft. The recipe said to let the dough rise to twice its original size then "punch it down".  I obeyed. Laying aside all the earlier gentleness I used the cooking skills I acquired in kickboxing class throwing undercuts and right hooks at my beloved dough. After knocking all the air out of it, I walked away. The ball of dough recovered from its shock, and gradually struggled back up to its former fluffy glory, only to be punched down again. Three times. I felt for the poor dough. I related to it. It couldn't see my perspective or know that the times of being uncovered and punched down are as crucial for preparing it for its delicious destiny as the times of warmth and comfort.

As the scent of baking zwieback fills my kitchen, I realize that God is like an old-style cook. Sometimes He puts us in warm sunny windows to grow in quiet comfort. Sometimes he lets life knock all the air out of us, then seems to walk away. He does it repeatedly, and He does it because he loves us. There is a delicious destiny ahead for us.

That's it. Gotta go take soft golden brown zwieback from the oven.

Beth

This post can also be seen on my other blog, thosewhosee.blogspot.com.

Tales of the Restoration: When God Lets Things Fall Apart

I have a confession to make.
I get discouraged. Frequently. I think there are a couple of reasons for this discouragement.

1. My life is perpetually in a building or rebuilding mode. Here's the rub. What I am trying to build and what God is trying to build are often not the same thing. If I am assisting God to build, I can't fail. If on the other hand I am off on the side building my own little sandcastle, that is another matter.

2. I have a real enemy who really wants disrupt the building God is doing. He is quite good at disrupting.

This is all too much to discuss in one blog, so I will talk about the thoughts I have been pondering over the next couple of posts.

What I am trying to build: (Just for starters, this list could stretch on for pages, for miles, for a long, long time...)- Relationships that are happy and peaceful and intimate. -A family full of individuals who know and love God -A life of financial, physical, relational plenty - A ministry to people who need encouragement...

Here is the catch. Though those are good things to want, they are not the things God wants the most. He wants to form me (and you) into people who desire Him more than anything else. He wants us to know Him, love Him, and enjoy Him even more than he wants us to enjoy having strong families and happy, unselfish, healthy kids, and all that other good stuff. 

Sometimes God's work includes my happiness, peace, and fulfillment. I like those times a lot. Other times His work includes allowing a big wave to wash away everything I have been striving to build.  I don't like those times at all.

When my first husband shattered my world, I railed at God. God believes in strong Christian marriages doesn't he? He is strong enough to keep my family together, isn't He? How, then, could He just stand by and watch, as my marriage and family was reduced to rubble? As I panicked and prayed, wrestled and worked to save my marriage, I learned something very important. While God is pleased by strong relationships and healthy families, He sometimes uses even weak relationships and dysfunction to accomplish his greater purposes. He sometimes takes things Satan meant for evil and uses them for good.

I am very near sighted. Like a small child (or honesty here... a grown woman) who wants ice cream instead of vegetables, I want things that make me feel good now, instead of things that are wildly better long term. I often get distracted, and especially during shattering, painful seasons of life, I forget that I want to desire, know, love, and enjoy God more than anything.

The good news is God has planted his spirit in me and at my core my deepest desire is the same as his.

Philippians 1:6 (ESV) I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.