Rachel Writes

I'm not a very good cook, but not awful either. This takes me out of the awful category: I can count only 3 times where I've made meals that have caused me to gag. So in general, I'm a decent cook. A good cook, is a healthy man or woman, stirring 3 bowls of ingredients simultaneously. Cooking a combo of 5 side dishes and main courses in one afternoon. Even my friend who is as skinny as the letter l (not my typical view of a good cook) is a marvelous cook because the capacity of her heart. She receives each ingredient as a gift. She marvels over them. Takes the time for things to simmer and roast. And the ingredients just fall in love with her and produce a marvelous dish. It's okay that I cannot cook well because I persevere anyway and feed the various people around me. It's also okay because I know how to laugh, at myself, at situations, and that is Grace. And that makes today okay.

I'd like my mornings to be my own. But they are not. My alarm clocks are my kids. I'm thinking of all the women out there awoken by kids, by sick parents, but jobs with insane hours. You want your mornings back too, huh? To have a nice cup of coffee or tea. To read a little something, book or newspaper, to run if you want, or do yoga. But for now, we're thrust into the morning like the jerking start of a roller coaster ride, except we don't just have to hang on, we have to function. I'm off to make breakfast. I'm thankful for all the men and women who help me in my life. I am not alone.

The kids helped me sort their toys today and chose 3 bags of toys to give away. Yes, we have that many toys. Even as we were sorting I thought, this is what is meant by an exercise in futility. I'm trying not to be a grumbly woman, but more in a matter-of-fact way just realizing that what we have sorted will find its way to being unsorted. But at the same time, I'm much to blame for this mess. This futility. Sometimes I buy thinking, maybe this one will be the toy that she magically connects with. This will be the toy that will help determine his future career. This toy will buy me half an hour of peace. But they never turn out that way (well, I mean, I'll let them tell the story of the toy that determined their career choice if that how it all happens, but I don't really see that as much of a possibility) And sometimes I have trouble giving toys away-- hoarding. And what's particularly gross about that last item is that my friend's baby has one toy. L...

A few days ago, I was trudging through the day. Half heartedly, grudgingly, waiting for someone to rescue me. I don't think the kids are always watching my actions. I think that sometimes they are absorbed in their own worlds. But sometimes they are. And here's my little thought for today. What am I communicating about God to them? With my worry-- that Father, Creator does not care. With my impatient-- that there is no time or room from mistakes. With my fear-- that Death, Hurt, and Wrong win. These are not things that I want to believe. But apparently I live out of them. Deep breath. Let's try this again. with GRACE. I'll go pick the chocolate cereal out of the rug and try to laugh more, pray more, enjoy more. That seems more along the lines of Love.

Carol and friends got us the movie Brave . I like it. The kids liked it. But this post isn't about the movie, because although I liked it, my feelings about being brave feel even more intense than dealing with large, wild bears. War. Rape. Refugees. The Democratic Republic of Congo. My heart stopped. http://www.cnn.com/2012/11/27/opinion/congo-war-ignored-vava-tampa/index.html Division in the Church. And yet. And yet. I'm hopeful tonight. Because I'm brave. Because the battle is the Lord's. I am confident in a good God. I don't hear Him lately. But I see His work. One morning at a time. One clothed and fed child at a time. One breath at a time. One verse repeated. One bowing of the head. Small can be brave. Slow can be brave. Flawed yet believing is brave. Smiling through tears is brave. Honesty. Love. Giving of self. Receiving from others. Thank you.

So in a previous post I had noted that I'm affected by, even afraid of, people scoffing at me. I even specifically mentioned Tim Minchin (which maybe I shouldn't have. I like the dude a lot. Maybe it's not fair to mention people by name, even if they are famous. You have any thoughts on that? It's not that Tim's always scoffing, just sometimes) So scoffing-- what's the difference between a truthful, humorous comment (enlightening) and scoffing? Without Goggling it, (maybe I'll do that later),  I think it comes down to intent. Having humor while making a corrective judgment (offer?) is a very good thing. Humor is essential to good living. Of course, humor needs to be used in the context of a trusting and established relationship. Scoffing isn't about truth and the person's betterment. (even though there may be truth behind scoffing). It misses the mark because it's about putting another person or idea down. It's about getting the last laug...

I'm feeling a bit down tonight. I made enough mistakes today, ruffled enough feathers, to warrant feelings of discomfort in myself. I'm mad at myself for making mistakes. But as I'm typing this, I'm taking a step back. Wait a minute. That's okay. I admit my mistakes. I'm not going to repeat them. And if I do, I'll try again to NOT TO.  So, there is an update on me. And us. We're in America. We've had a great week of Good News Camp (missionary speakers and counselors of the best group of 8 year old boys ever). The whole family made the journey to Chicago (after stopping over with Kara and then the McGriffs) and back (mission headquarters and time with the Clintons (check), time with Vic and family (check), parks and playgrounds with Tyler (check), Lincoln Park Zoo with Joy Gwon (check), and Taylor U (check). Loving Ty Time! Tyler is a great person Yeah, free zoo! Whit's favorite Our very own Joy Gwon! ...