Tuesday With Teri

          You know that “larger than most” mirror the wicked queen peers into in Snow White? Well, that is about the size and appearance of the mirror which greeted me as I entered a hotel room recently.  No doubt the use of numerous large mirrors in the small room was intended to create the optical illusion that guests where in much larger spaces.  Unfortunately the only thing the mirrors made look “larger” was my midsection. 

          It was impossible to not look at yourself as you passed this enormous, gold rimmed mirror plastered against the entry wall.  I averted my gaze at first, but that only drew my attention to the sink to ceiling mirror in the bathroom.  To make it even worse, the hotel kindly included a movable magnifying mirror in the bath area as well.  When I sat at the desk in the room to check e-mail I had two choices, stare at the screen or my own image which was reflecting back at me from the 3X4 mirror which hung above the desk.  Seriously, five various mirrors total in one small room? 

          I have to say, after eight hours on the road to visit my daughter in South Carolina, I was not pleased with how I appeared in each of those mirrors.  I kept turning on lights in the room hoping maybe it was just the way the room was lit, sigh…nope, it was me.  I definitely looked like I had been on the road all day. 

          My hair, which is quite thin by nature, looked like it belonged to someone else.  I tried a “new style” recently and, for the first time, I was getting a chance to actually get a good look at it I suppose.   I have just returned from a vacation and the deep brown of my face caught me off guard.   My wrinkles, which normally I don’t mind, looked more prominent than I recalled.   I was also alarmed at how “puffy” I looked.   I knew I had recently located some pounds I had previously lost, but the plethora of reflective devices brought it to the forefront of my thoughts.  I needed to get out of the room.  

          The next day, as we walked past places of business which lined the old town streets, the sun’s rays struck each storefront window in such a manner as to create very reflective surfaces.  It was impossible to avoid glimpses of myself as we walked from store to store.  I tried to look at other things, people or cars, but this only resulted in a very embarrassing, thigh bruising encounter with a fire hydrant. 

           The inside of each store did nothing to provide me refuge from my reflection.  Mirrors of various shape and size dotted every wall it seemed.   I darted between the racks of clothing trying to NOT look.  All this did was distort the images I glimpsed into a Picasso like version of myself.   

          Those few days in “reflection city” brought some things to my attention that I had, until that time, managed to delude myself about.  While I am thankful for this recent reality check, it is striking to me given the situation I found myself in only days prior to this trip.

          I had just returned from spending a week on a boat.  The only mirror was on the medicine cabinet door in the boat’s bathroom.  For an entire week I maybe saw myself once or twice a day, and even then it was never the entirety of my being.  As I went through each day, I never wondered if my hair was in place or if my attire was complimentary to my figure.  I paid no attention to my makeup, or the lack of it, once I walked away from this solitary mirror. 

           At first it seemed liberating.  I experienced a sort of carefree attitude about my appearance.  This was a much easier existence than my normal need to take care of myself, but it would come at a price.  You see, eventually my vacation photos would reveal the reality of it all. 

          I know many of you would argue that the mirror less existence would be in line with the Godly principle of humility, not caring about things of the world, appearances or what others thought…but  having an accurate reflection of one’s self is key to making choices and changes.  I was happy not knowing what I looked like because it absolved me from needing to make corrections…but that is not good if correction is needed.

          As I drove home from South Carolina I kept thinking of all those mirrors.  What if my spiritual self was placed before so many reflective surfaces?  What if, at every turn or encounter in my day, I could see the true state of my spiritual walk?  How often do I attend church, or a Bible study, and in that time see clearly how God is revealing the places in my life in need of His touch, or the sins that I need to confess and lay at His feet?  How often does my desire to tend to these spiritual revelations fade once I am no longer in those surroundings?  It is easy to forget what we look like on the inside and even easier to avoid the challenge to change once we look away.

          Suddenly I am feeling the need to surround myself with the most effective spiritually reflective surface, The Word of God. 

For anyone who is a hearer of the Word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his natural face in the mirror; and once he has looked at himself and gone away, he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he is. James 1:23-24

          Good Day!  As I write this I am sitting on boat on a small island in the Bahamas called Elbow Cay.  On one side of the island the Atlantic is raging.  Waves are crashing and spraying against the sea rocks and beach.  On the other side is the Sea of Abaco.  We are currently tied up in a marina nestled in a protected harbor between the two.  Yep, I’m in the middle of my husband’s dream vacation.   We are bareboat chartering in the Bahamas, which means it is just us, a 37ft. Trawler named “Semper Fi”, and the Abaco Sea.

          Our first day underway was a pretty crazy experience.  High winds and rough water kept most charter boats at the dock until late in the day.  We eventually left with the intent of staying in the protective cove of Settlement Harbour.  When we arrived, the expected moorings, anchored floats boats tie up to in harbors, were not to be found.  The sketchy weather had forced an overload of boats into Settlement Harbour. 

          The sun was quickly sliding behind the horizon and we soon found ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally.  The local marina had closed for the night and without sufficient daylight we did not have time to make the next marina/harbor down the island.  We were getting rocked quite a bit and trying to fend off panic when a voice crackled over the radio.  The captain of the boat “Reflections” hailed us to let us know the marina was closed, but that anchoring in the harbors’ entrance was both safe and acceptable.  So, following his advice, we dropped anchor just off the rocky cliffs on the North side of the harbor entrance.  Behind us, a rather uncomfortable distance of 50yds, were the rock jetties which protected the south side of the marina.  With our anchor set and the recommended 100yrds. Of chain laid out with it, we tried to settle in for our first night.

          It was difficult to relax.   Visions of drifting into the cliffs, jetties, or other moored boats kept running through our minds.  We had dinner, played cards, admired the magnificent star filled sky, but all the while monitoring our position.  We were told by the charter staff that once we set anchor we could trust it to hold. “Once it’s down, pick a point on shore, if you don’t drift, you’re not going to drift at all.  It will hold.”

          Falling asleep that night to the rocking and banging of the boat was not too difficult when I remembered those words, but then I would startle awake and find myself peering through a porthole for proof we had not drifted into danger.  It was a long and restless night.

          Sure enough, when morning came, the sun rose and our anchor held.  There we were safely secured between a rock and a hard place.  I couldn’t stop the onslaught of numerous melodies that ran through my mind that next day, hymns and songs of praise which refer to our God as our anchor.    How often do I deprive myself of the peace He affords me, by not trusting Him to securely hold me between rocks and hard places?

 (Mom, if you’re reading this, we are doing fine and are perfectly safe!   No worries!  Love you and hope to post a journal soon on a separate blog of all our adventures!)

          It’s quiet tonight.  I know I’m late in posting to the blog…sorry about that.  But here I am.  Throughout the day I have thought about what I should write.  I have prayed for direction and listened carefully to all that was said around me, as often God uses the words of others to teach me new lessons, yet as of about an hour ago I still did not have great clarity as to what I should share this day.  Then I noticed the very loud quiet.

          There is no one else home.  (Husband is traveling, son is at work and daughter is away at school)  I am sitting on my couch, with my feet propped up on an old trunk we use as a coffee table.  To my immediate left  is my porky little yorkie Hughie.  He is curled up against me as close as possible and a faint grunt like sound escapes his fuzzy muzzle with every other sleepy breath.  To my right is the newest member of our family, our son’s wiemariner puppy, Lucy.  All 25 pounds of her stretches out beside me as if she owns the couch and her soft, sleep induced grumble keeps time with Hughie’s snoring.  It is a very loud quiet.

          Beyond my outstretched feet I can see out to our back deck.  A porch light illuminates the snow as it falls as steady as rain.  No howling wind or clashing thunder, just snow falling.  It’s sort of like watching a silent movie…seems that something so capable of accumulating such mass and encasing landscape should produce a dramatic noise of some sort, but no…instead it’s simply a very loud quiet.

          The furnace is making a hushing sound as it works to heat our home.  It’s as if all the other household appliances are obediently submitting to the furnace’s command to “hush”.  The ice maker, which usually rumbles as it turns out ice, is silent.  Even the usual clicking and whirling of the thermostat, refrigerator and coffee pot have fallen to the hush of the furnace.   The quiet is very loud.

           All day I have wondered what God would want to me to share.  It’s not that I don’t have things to say….I do.  I want to tell you funny stories about my misadventures, fun times with dear friends and humbling moments in my walk.  It would be so easy to fill this page with all the wonderful chaos and blessings of the week and yet I know that is not what I should share.  Tonight I share with you a very loud quiet.

          Stop with me for a moment if you can.  Turn off the TV.  Step away from the kids, or work, for a little bit and listen.  Sometimes we’re so busy shouting out to God, that we fail to hear Him whisper, in a very loud quiet…”I love you My child”. 

          This Christmas I gave several friends amaryllis flower kits.  These “kits” were composed of a pot, a hockey puck sized disc of compressed peat moss/soil which was wrapped in cellophane, and one large bulb.  The pot and its contents were encased in a cardboard package.

           I found them at the end of November and was pleased with my discovery.  Most of my friends have green thumbs, or at least seem to enjoy gardens and such, so I thought they would be perfect gifts.  I purchased several of them in anticipation of the gift giving season.  I stashed the boxed kits in an unused, darkened, guest room.

          I was eager to share the flower kits with my friends.  It was finally time to prep them as gifts.  I pictured being able to simply place them in gift bags, affix tags and drop them off, but there was something I had not planned on….to my amazement several of the bulbs had begun to sprout!  Seriously, if I had been TRYING to grow them I’m certain this would not have happened.  There in the dark neglected confines of the room, these bulbs decided they would begin to grow.  No water, no light, no soil…just the will to grow. 

          Some of the boxes had pale green leaves pushing out of the seams, one actually had a squished flower trying to bloom in the crevice between the pot and the box…these were not the “perfect” gift I had so hoped to give.  Instead of nice tidy flower kits, I now had malformed monstrosities.  I decided to gift them anyway…I did not have a backup plan.  I placed the kits, some normal and some not so normal looking, in gift bags with tags.  I felt sort of bad giving a gift and an apology at the same time… “Here’s your gift, sorry about trying my best to kill it before you received it.”   I made a mental note never to give “living” gifts again.

          The other day I received a phone call from one of my amaryllis recipients.  She was laughing over the phone as she described how her plant had suddenly sprung up over night.  Her family awoke to an 11 inch stalk protruding from the pot.  She sent me a photo.  Over the next week she updated me on the status of her flower, which seemed to be made from the same stuff as “Jacks’ magic beans” because it grew to over 2ft. before finally bursting forth with beautiful trumpet shaped flowers.  I never would have imagined it had that potential given such a difficult start.

          I received another photo form one of the amaryllis recipients.  This time the plant grew almost horizontal, but still managed to produce gorgeous red flowers.  I have since had other calls with updates on the status of my friends’ flowers. It has been a lot of fun to hear how these seemingly “damaged” plants have been enjoyed.

 I think I will refer to this particular Christmas gift endeavor as the “The Amaryllis Project”, from which I have learned a few lessons.  

 Lesson one:  Like these flowers, we do not need perfect conditions to grow.  What matters most is the determination to grow.  Sometimes I wait for things to be a certain way before stepping out and growing my faith.

Lesson two:  Just because something, or someone, does not look like it will meet our expectations, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have the capacity to meet and exceed our expectations. 

Lesson three:  God knows His creation and He knows the hidden capacity each of us has, which He has placed in us, to achieve full bloom.

Each of those bulbs endured difficult days, yet eventually….given attention and care, they have become what God had intended them to be…tall, short, crooked, bent, pale, bright,…each beautiful in their own way.

           Perhaps the most feared words ever heard in P.E. class are, “Okay, everyone line up!  It’s time to choose teams.”   Each of stands waiting for the favored, usually more physically gifted, “captains” to pick us for their team.  No one liked to be the last one chosen as it was an indicator, real or perceived, of your own ability as a teammate.  I know this because I was often the recipient of just such an honor.   I was never surprised to be picked last.  I was sometimes a bit relieved, thinking if others did not expect much from me I would not disappoint them.  I did not enjoy or excel in many sports, but there was one game for which I was always, remarkably, chosen first for a team.

          I recall the great sense of pride and surprise as I heard my name called out to join a certain team for our regular game of Red Rover.   For those of you who may have somehow escaped grade school without ever playing this game let me explain the rules.   Teams line up on opposite ends of a field and hold hands.   Each team gets a chance to call out the name of someone on the opposing team by shouting, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send (insert name here) right over!”   In response, this person leaves his team line and run full force toward the opposing teams line of linked hands.  The goal is to break through the opposition’s line.  The “runner” must choose where to impact the lineup often looking for a weak link.  It was my insane ability to break through each time my name was called which no doubt made me a popular choice for team captains.  Later a friend would confess to me the reason for my Red Rover glory days.

          Our Red Rover games always took place on the same day of each week.  I was also a Brownie, the younger phase of being a girl scout.  On days we had our Brownie Troop meetings we would proudly wear our uniforms to school.  Let me give you a moment to picture this….my slightly pudgy form was squished into a light brown skirt ensemble.  No doubt I was smoking hot with my shirt tucked and neatly bound by my brownie belt, knee-high socks and of course the infamous brown beanie cap atop my blonde head (thanks a lot mom).   So, coincidentally, I was always in said brownie uniform when playing the game.   Recall how I mentioned being a bit pudgy?  Well unbeknownst to me, my tummy tended to cause the little metal part of my belt to stick out.(the piece which inserts into the hole and presumably lays flat).  Apparently, this little needle like protrusion caused members of opposing teams much pain when I impacted their linked hands.  They soon learned to just let go and let me pass through.  Oh well, at least I came to know what it was like to not be picked last.

          There came a time when Jesus needed to pick His “team” from among His many followers.  He would not pick His team of disciples based on the effectiveness of their belt buckles.  He did not even seem to choose based on supreme skill level or even unquestionable character.  He called simple men from Galilee who were not formally educated or sophisticated.  Jesus even included a scandalous tax collector and a political extremist in His lineup.   God had a plan and provision for each of His followers.  Notice His plan in no way relied on the ability of these men, but rather on His ability in them once they answered His call.  He is calling our names into service just them same.  We do not need to be perfect or without complications.  We only need to be willing to follow and serve.  So, as we hear our savior call out our names let us rush forward with our spiritual “belt buckles”,  ready to cross any lines He has called us to break through.

             Thanks to my mom, Julia Childes and chemistry I know a little something about cooking pasta.  I know at least two very helpful tips….unfortunately, and to the dismay of the aforementioned mentors as well as my family I’m sure, I do not make adequate use of these tips.  That will not prevent me from sharing my insight with you of course.   I have been dwelling on these concepts for a few days now and feel compelled to share them, even though I’m not completely sure where this will go…..

             When it comes to cooking pasta I tend to make two reoccurring mistakes, one being undercooking it and the other being the messy lava like flow that occurs when I allow the pot to boil over.  Since it is the later which makes the bigger mess, I will address it first.

                          Cooking pasta is one of the more basic of culinary skills, second only to boiling an egg I suppose, and yet I seldom find success.   After I submerge my dry pasta into a pot of boiling water on my stove I often turn my attention to other aspects of the meal.  That is when it happens….soon a small swell of whitish, starchy foam oozes over the edges of the pot onto the burner and stove.    I know, I know…place a wooden spoon on the pot’s edge, stir it more frequently, reduce the heat….there are many ways to stop or prevent such a disaster I’m sure.  It’s not that I don’t know how to prevent it; I just never think to do so until it is already bubbling over like some kind of witches brew. 

              I know water boils at 100 degrees Celsius.  I know I need to cook my pasta around this temperature.  I also know, thanks to my chemistry class, that at such temperatures the pasta’s starch will begin to break down.  It is this starchy substance which adheres to the water as it begins to boil and roll, producing the messy overflow.  I could reduce the heat, but then how will my pasta cook????  Well here is the trick, add SALT.  Yep, salt.  Seems this simple little crystalline substance has the ability to increase the temperature of water’s boiling point.    Sooooooo my water can reach 100C, and sufficiently cook my pasta, and never actually boil or bubble over.     Here is the point I need you to keep in mind until the end of this entry:  Adding SALT allows the pasta the best time and conditions to become ready to serve.

             This brings me to the second issue, being sure the pasta is done.  There is nothing enjoyable about sitting down to what looks like a nice spaghetti meal.  You prepare to allow the soft noodles to work the sauce past your taste buds only to be met with the stiff chewiness of under cooked pasta.  I really enjoy the remedy for this mistake!  Recall I mentioned the cooking pasta releasing starches?  Well it seems that “starch” makes the pasta sticky.  Cooks tell us that we can test for doneness of starchy noodles such as spaghetti by flinging a noodle against the wall.  If it sticks, it’s ready. 

             I think that would make a great bumper sticker, “If It Sticks, It’s Ready”.  It is true.  When our son finally found his life calling and began setting and keeping his goals, it was an indicator he was “ready”.   I shudder to think of the total that would result if we added up all the pounds I have lost and then put back on over the years.   I am only able to “stick” with a healthier life style when I am truly “ready”.   Without a doubt there is a season where we all are trying to reach a place of “ready to stick” in terms of resolutions or life goals.  This is where the other point I mentioned earlier comes in.  

 Mark 9:50 Christ tells his disciples, “Salt is good; if the salt becomes unsalty, with what will you make it salty again?  Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”   

             Christ’s followers are to be permeated with this preserving power, to influence the world for good.  We are called to help provide an environment which allows for others to get to the place of “ready to serve”.

             So, two things….One: be aware of our ability to be SALT to others who need time, love, encouragement or  grace so that they will be able to find themselves “ready to serve” without boiling over. 

 Two:  If you wonder if you, or someone you know or love, are truly ready to take the next step, go a new direction or make a change,  just “toss it against the wall” step out, step up, give it a try….    If It Sticks, it’s Ready!