Crushed, Beaten and Threshed

Dill is beaten out with a stick and cumin with a rod.  Grain is crushed for bread; he will surely thresh it, but not forever. (Isaiah 28:27b - 28 ESV)

My family loves to drink homemade chai. Loose leaf tea, water, lots of milk boil happily together on the stove, with one other key ingredient, cardamom. We take a few grains of the cardamom throw them in the mortar and crush them firmly with a pestle. Not much different, I imagine, than the way people have been preparing this spice for thousands of years. As the spicy aroma fills the air we toss the crushed grains into the pot and their delicious flavor infuses the whole brew.

Isaiah 28 uses spices and grains as an extended metaphor of God's work in our lives. Can't you just smell the dusty scent as it describes dill, cumin and wheat being prepared for use? In a couple of poetic verses, Isaiah outlines the ancient processes for preparing spices. Each spice or grain demands unique handling. Each spice or grain must be crushed, ground, beaten or threshed. For some, the process of taking it from raw grain to a substance ready to fill a kitchen with nourishing flavors, requires much patience.

I would like to say that the relational aroma of my chai spiced kitchen is always warm and spicy, enticing and delicious, but it is not. Now several years into our life as a step family we have yet to become the beautiful unified family I envisioned before the wedding. The day each week when my step kids transition from their mother's home to ours is almost always tense and difficult. They are cold, angry, rejecting, and distant. Hurt wells up in me unbidden, like some toxic waste of the soul. Conflicts are frequent and not always constructive.

I long for a perfect home where geraniums bloom, blue birds sing on the windowsills,  and honest warmth abounds. But although am am married to a terrific man, the perfect home of my imagination is still in the realm of myth. Life on this side of heaven involves hard times, conflict, and crushing pain. I often feel like I am the cardamom in the mortar and pestle. Crushed.

During such times, when hope is illusive. It helps me to remember two things: 1. the process of crushing doesn't last forever, and 2. the crushing is happening for a good purpose under the hand of my gracious God. He is releasing the flavor and aroma he planted deep in my being, preparing me for the delicious future he has planned from the beginning for me.

When I remember that, I can rest, sipping my chai, and waiting for the day when my time in the mortar and pestle will be complete.

The Crazy Quilt of Life

Did you ever think, child...how much piecin' a quilt's like livin' a life?...You see, you start out with jest so much caliker; you don't go to the store and pick it out and buy it, but the neighbors will give you a piece here and a piece there, and you'll have a piece left every time you cut out a dress, and you take jest what happens to come. And that's like predestination. But when it comes to the cuttin' out, why you're free to choose your own pattern. You can give the same kind o' pieces to two persons, and one'll make a "nine-patch" and one'll make a "wild-goose chase," and there'll be two quilts made out o' the same kind o' pieces, and jest as different as they can be. And that is jest the way with livin'. The Lord sends us the pieces, but we can cut 'em out and put 'em together pretty much to suit ourselves, and there's a heap more in the cuttin' out and the sewin' than there is in the caliker. -Eliza Calvert Hall, Aunt Jane of Kentucky 

A quilter making a crazy quilt gathers scraps of fabric of various colors and textures; dark, medium and light colored fabrics in pleasing proportions. The scraps are stitched together in a way that seems random, but isn't. The pieced quilt is embroidered with fancy stitches using scraps of different threads and ribbons. In the hands of a skillful quilter, the finished piece is an astonishingly beautiful work of art.

I am so thankful for the various life-fabrics God has given me. The dark shades, added during the difficult times, are essential to the overall design. My life-quilt wouldn't be as rich without them.  God gives me the pieces, but I choose how to cut and embroider each piece. I think his big hand is cupped over my small one, helping guide the needle and thread, but I feel like I am stitching it together myself.

The quilt of my life is not a nine-patch with straight lines and square corners. My life is a crazy quilt. Crazy and beautiful.




 

Kindling Torches vs. Holding Hands

Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God. Isaiah 50:10

As I write these words I can still hear the voice of my mentor years ago. She patiently listened to me complain for hours about the fact that I had no idea what to do about my messy life.

"That is so good!" She said, her eyes shining with happiness. "You are right where God wants you."

I was, and often still am, the person who walks in darkness and has no light. Anger, disrespect, or conflict erupts between me and my stepkids and I have no idea what to do.

The wise counsel in Isaiah 50:10 is followed by a contrasting scenario and a stern warning.

Behold, all you who kindle a fire, who equip yourselves with burning torches! Walk by the light of your fire, and by the torches that you have kindled! This you have from my hand; you shall lie down in torment. Isaiah 50:11

Isn't that what we do? We find ourselves in a dark place, unable to see the way out. Our natural instinct is to immediately equip ourselves with a burning torch and grope our way out of the problem. This is not God's way. Instead we ought to refuse the urge to kindle a torch by grabbing onto a quick solution, and instead choose to rely on God in the dark. 

I still find myself kindling torches, and stumbling around in the dark.
I want to get better at reaching for God's big hand to guide me through instead.

A Good Story

I love good stories. I become so absorbed in them that I almost enter the world of the story and live it along with the characters. Almost. The difference is that I can close the book, or turn off Netflix and exit the story anytime I like.

Our lives are like stories, only in life we don't have a pause button we can use to take a break and go get popcorn. The difficulties in our own lives are somehow not nearly as enjoyable as the conflicts in the lives of characters on the page or the screen.

Our difficulties are not pointless though.

The Author has a reason for allowing them, even when we can't fathom what it is. We can fight with him and tell him that we don't like how this story is going, or we can hold on tight and wait for the next twist in the story line. Either way it is best if we eventually trust that he is writing a really good story.

The worse your problems are, the better your story is going to be. Really.

Tiptoeing through Minefields Instead of Tulips

Living my life is often a lot like tiptoeing through a minefield.

There are dangers and hazards.  A word misspoken can set off an explosion that almost blows me in two.

I wish my life had followed the happily ever after story line I expected when I said "I do" at 19 years old.   I hate divorce.  It rips everyone involved in two.  It is embarrassing to be divorced, an obvious and glaring failure.  I feel like I am demoted to the rank of second class Christian the moment someone discovers that I am divorced.   I imagine I see it in people's eyes.  It is in that split second glance away that happens while they wonder what happened to my marriage, whose fault it was, and what lack of commitment or mental illness prevented me from being able to keep my husband in my bed.

My new husband is a tremendous gift from God to me.  I am so, so very thankful for him.  Being remarried does not erase divorce though.  It complicates everything instead.  Now I not only have my own scars, hypersensitive wounded areas, kids' pain, ex and his neurosis; I also have my husband's scars, his kids' pain, and his ex's neurosis to deal with.

I sometimes wonder.  Where did I get off track?  Where did I miss the road sign and turn left off the highway of God's wonderful plan for my life?
Answer:  I didn't.   Not that I haven't made mistakes, but that fact that the path of my life has minefields along it does not mean that I have been abandoned by God.

1 Corinthians 7:17 says, Let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, to which God has called him.

God's assignment for me includes hardship and pain.  It does not include making me stunningly-beautiful-covergirl of Perfect Woman with the Perfect Life magazine.  This is it.  The messy life I lead is my calling.

Mother Teresa once said, "If you are discouraged, it is a sign of pride because it shows you trust in your own powers.  Never bother about people's opinions.  Be humble and you will never be disturbed.  The Lord has willed me here where I am.  He will offer a solution."

That pretty much says it.  The years of battles have wounded my pride, but that is a good thing.  I can't trust in my own powers, the challenges are too much for me.  I can't bother about people's opinions, they don't walk in my combat boots.  As I tiptoe through minefields instead of tulips, I must trust God to guide me.  He has willed me here where I am.  He will offer a solution.   What a relief!  Maybe that is a tulip I see over there beside the path after all.