You want to put Chocolate on WHAT???

The clock strikes 4:00pm. It's time for the daily pantry paradox. You know, that time in your day where you have to figure out what to cook that won't take too long, that you haven't eaten sixteen times this month already and that will leave you with leftovers for lunch.



Now, maybe it's just me - but I've found that the cooking shows on the Food Network are a bit misleading. Where do I get the pre-chopped and measured food that makes any recipe a snap? Maybe I got screwed in the purchase of my home, but my kitchen most definitely did NOT come with mess hall midgets that do my dishes, prep my ingredients and make sure my refrigerator is spotless and organized at all times. So, in their absence, I'm left to do all the heavy lifting and hope that the reward for my labor is not an emergency phone call to the nearest pizza place.



This culinary quest has found me in vegetarian cookbooks, clean eating cookbooks, "too healthy to taste like anything other than cardboard" cookbooks, "I'm fat and you can be too with three simple ingredients" cookbooks and out of sheer desperation, the Hamburger Helper aisle at Walmart. We've eaten some pretty interesting meals, my husband ever the supportive spouse has learned that "not my favorite" goes a lot further than "eww gross" and for the most part, he'll try anything once. He's been surprised by his own delight on more than one occasion - so he trusts my judgment. And any lapse in the aforementioned judgement can be forgotten with a large pepperoni pizza.



I'm fascinated with recipes that put ingredients together that I never would have matched in a million years. Last summer, I made a blueberry barbecue sauce. Brian was intellectually horrified by the whole concept - but in the end - it became a summer favorite and we were left to wonder who comes up with these ideas - and who are the poor souls who man their "test kitchens"?



Tonight's' epicurean escapade? Chocolate Spiced Pork Chops. No, I'm not kidding, and because I've been to Savannah and seen the line, I'm guessing Paula Dean knows what she's doing. I'm taking one for the team and exploring just what would happen if Miss Piggy and one of those M&M guys had a baby. Who knows, maybe my palate will be pleased. Or, maybe I'll be driving to Little Ceasars for some cheesy, saucy goodness. One never can tell.

Lord, you continually bring people together in my life that are like chocolate
and pork chops. I cannot see how they could possibly work together - but through
you, I know the resulting dish with be a treat! Help me to trust your
expertise and not let my fear keep me from feasting on your masterpiece!

Chocolate Spiced Pork Chops

(Recipe found in Paula Deen's Chocolate Celebration magazine)
Makes 4 servings

• 2 tbsp firmly packed brown sugar
• 1 tbsp Italian seasoning
• 1 tsp onion powder
• 1 1/2 tsp unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 1/2 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1/2 tsp ground red pepper
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp ground black pepper
• 4 (1 1/2 inch-thick) bone in pork chops
• 1 tbsp vegetable oil

1. Preheat oven to 350
2. In a large bowl, combine ingredients (through black pepper). Rub mixture evenly over pork chops.
3. In a large cast-iron skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add pork chops, cook 3 minutes per side. Place skillet in oven, and bake pork chops for 8 minutes.

I can't HEAR you!!!

Trips to the mailbox are a treat at my house. Hubby and I have been known to race down the driveway, elbowing each other out of the way like a pair of Nascar wannabees. I'm not sure why, usually our rusted out, broken flag wavin' mailbox opens only to an abyss of bills and junk mail... but sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes, the winner of the letter box luge gets the chance to strut into the house carrying the unexpected. Whether it be a rebate check, a card from a friend, a party invitation or a magazine - these breaks from the mail room monotony are mini parties. And if you're lucky enough to be the bearer of the bliss - well then, grand poo bah - the party is in YOUR honor.



This practice has changed some since I've been home. Most days - Wednesday through Saturday at least, I'm the only one home when the little white harbinger of good tidings pulls up at the curb. I still dance when I find something exciting- but I have no audience. (except for a few neighbors that have more than enough evidence now to send the men in white coats for me). Today was once such day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing - and I was positive - literally trembling with anticipation - that today would bring a surprise. I mean, how could it not with yesterday being a postal holiday? A day without mail practically begs for the unexpected to follow on it's heels.



As I sifted through today's mail - I felt my spirit shrinking as the pile of junk mail rapidly expanded on my counter. Wait. What's that? A gift card? I'm of the school that if it looks too good to be true - it is. So, expecting nothing - but curious enough to at least open the envelope, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was in fact a gift card. An $800.00 gift card. For hearing aides.



For those of you who don't know me - this type of mail has been a longstanding joke at my house. Being several years (light years, even) younger than my husband, he gets a special kind of glee over the mix ups that have me as a card carrying member of the AARP, a monthly recipient of my social security statement and a mail list member to companies that brought you such fine products as the "Lark" and the "alert one medical alarms". I'm not entirely sure how I've become the poster child for skin care - I'm really 80, just check my mailbox, but like most things - as long as it gets people laughing, who am I to complain?

Today's mail got me thinking though. Do you remember as a kid hearing your mom call you down for dinner and pretending you couldn't hear her so that you could finish watching Night Rider (insert cheesy sitcom here)? More recently, my husband has taken up the "I didn't hear you" excuse as his personal get out of jail free card. Never mind that he knew I was speaking and could have come in the kitchen, or asked me to repeat myself. He didn't hear me, so he's not responsible. Perhaps I should use the gift card for him....

But I digress...

Often times I think we insist on our own inability to hear God's voice so that we can be off the proverbial hook. If we don't listen, we don't hear His Word cautioning against that job that we really want, that trip that we've been planning, that hobby that seems mostly harmless. It's these same practices that find us struggling with life's big questions and wondering why God won't speak. Is it that He won't speak or that we've just become so fabulous as tuning Him out?

"God speaks in the silence of the heart. Listening is the beginning of prayer."
-Mother Theresa

Lord, in a world where IPODs are in every other ear (the one not full of the Blue Tooth), help us to take time out to stop the noise and listen to the music of your voice.

to be His shadow...

He hadn't been home long. Ten minutes, tops. We were sitting at the kitchen table, steaming plates of food before us, ignoring the cacophony above our heads. I can't remember what we were discussing. What I do remember is the pause. Fork suspended between plate and palate - his other hand midway between one gesture and the next, his head cocked ever so slightly to the right, which if course made his eye roll toward the ceiling seem like something out of a fun house. "You always said you wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little feet" he said with his famous wise-ass grin. I'd like to say I smacked him - food splattering the walls as he dove for cover. But alas - I try to be honest in my bloggings. I didn't smack him. I simply flashed one of my "you think you're soooooo funny" smiles at him - tight lipped and sharply contrasted to the disgusted look in my eyes. I tried to take solace in my dinner. I upped by chew volume some to block out the chaos over head. We made conversation, we laughed at our tales of daily adventure and for a moment, it didn't matter that our peaceful life - the one we'd become so accustomed to- had been replaced with the frantic patter of four tiny, trouble causing feet.



It's always amazed me to watch the lengths that our Creator will go to to get my attention. He's sent complete strangers to me in parking lots of grocery stores, allowed seemingly catastrophic events to surround me, used fights, used agreements, used apathy, used passion. Oftentimes, the road I'm on when I finally "get it" is miles from the road He had me on to begin with - which of course would have been more direct. But, as most of his children, I seem to gravitate toward the spiritual "scenic route". During these frequent trips out into the wilderness of "my own path", I've met bosses that could fill an entire book on how NOT to manage your business, I've linked up with traveling partners that would just as soon rob you blind than take the night watch. I've danced to the wrong music, I've cried more tears than I can count (although He counts them all) and don't even get me started on what I've done with my money. But in the end - for every time I've raised my eyes towards heaven in disgust, "Where are You?", there is a lesson, sometimes painful, but always one that reveals just a little more of my Daddy.



It's because my feet are callused from these wilderness journeys that I'm trying to pause before shooting my best withering stare upwards. What exactly am I supposed to learn here? Sure, this sounds like a practice that could very likely put me into sainthood - but again, believing in honesty - lets get real. My main motivation is this: the quicker I learn my lesson - the quicker the "class" is over. Get it? Got it!



Back to that pitter-patter. Think Buffalo rampage on Berber and you've got the soundtrack at the Bunker house. The culprit? Stinky, our newest four legged addition. I'd forgotten how much I hate the kitten stage. I can't take two steps in my house without two tiny but surprisingly strong paws gripping my ankle. If I'm at the desk, she's at the desk - if I'm in the bedroom, she's in the bedroom. Stairs are a joke. No holding one railing - you best hold two or kitten and scratching post (yes, that's how she sees me) will go toes over tea cup.



I took a bunch of pictures today of my little nuisance. As I sit at my desk, she can most frequently be found pulling on every single wire, or digging through the office garbage. The control freak in me wants to punt her because she's making a mess - but the "patient child of God" in me (yes, even I didn't believe there was one of those in me - but there is) can't help but think how sweet it is that no matter where I go, no matter what I do - she just wants to be there.



"Do you pursue me like that?" Whoa. Now, I know that I'm sleep deprived from playing referee between 180 pounds of dog and 3 pounds of cantankerous kitty - but I'm pretty sure that wasn't a hallucination. And, even if it were - it's a good point. Do we follow God everywhere - no matter where - no matter what He's doing - just to be with Him? Are we so content to just be near him that we ask nothing but just to "be"? Or, do we take the tact of my older cat - and only come around when we're hungry? Only take the time to pray when we're struggling for answers, when we're in a jam we can't fix, when we "want"?



Lord, I ask that you change our hearts. Teach us contentment that comes from wanting merely to "be near you". Lord, may I follow you wherever you go even if the most comfortable place for me to lay my head when we get there is in a garbage can.

Grace-full Ballet

This is how it came to me:

The stage is stark and bright with black dance step patterns on a tango scuffed floor. She comes out timidly - dressed in sweats that reveal nothing of her figure and reveal everything about her state of mind. She is awkward and gawky - she steps from dance pattern to dance pattern, her feet heavy her movements jerky and uncoordinated. There is music playing but it's as if she cannot hear it, she cannot feel the beat. And the lights go out.

The room is utterly silent. A small spotlight lights just her - no longer in sweats, she wears a light blue form fitting silk dress with flowing pieces on her arms and legs. The light plays off her golden hair, off her face, off the silver sequins of her dress. She is radiant.

Somewhere distant a piano tinkles. The sound is soft, but insistent as if the piano's maestro is being pulled away against his will and is expending his last efforts to continue to play the song. As the first of the notes kiss her ears, she moves, her movements flowing and large as if her bones have become rubber and her inhibitions have turned to sugar, dissolving in the water of performance.

She points her toes and bounds across the stage - virtually blind to it's contents - she moves as if compelled - as if being pulled into the dark. The maestro has regained his instrument and the music begins to gain in confidence - it's melody as sweet as the spring rain. The audience, their rapt attention focused on her lithe form holds its' collective breath. She leaps higher than should be possible for her 5'1" frame and seems to hang in mid air. Her partner, as invisible to her in his dark clothes and makeup as he appears to the audience has caught her frame and he spins her - effortlessly. She is a vision in cerulean.

She charges back across the stage, this time seeming to float as she is bolstered by her partners strength - her toes motioning a run but never so much as whispering against the floor. The music crescendos and turns in on itself, spiralling outward in all directions as if this moment, this movement is the beginning of time. He dips her and she seems to be weightless. She slides down him and onto the floor. The music, no more than a whisper at this point seems to waft across the stage like fog. His arms, black marks around her brightly lit carriage engulf her and they come to rest - entwined and at peace. The music stops. Time stops. And for a brief moment before the audience is on their feet nothing moves but the souls of this place.

**

I am not a dancer. I am addicted to dance- to music- to the passion behind it - to grace. There are moments when I can close my eyes and imagine myself on point - my buffalo-esque movements transformed into gazelle grace in an instant and I am off - twirling, spinning and leaping. But eventually I must open my eyes.

The vision of this unnamed dancer was not prophetic of my future on the dance floor. The vision was a reminder of what happens when we "turn off the lights" of our logic and reason and with a confidence only borne of simple faith we leap into the arms of GRACE. We cannot always see our partner in this dance - but we can feel His presence on the floor as surely as we can hear the music that sustains us.

Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance. ~Ezra
Pound

Lord, remind me that my very soul atrophies when I venture onto life's stage without my dance partner.

Walmart Waltz for One

"Mommy,why is that lady dancing in the parking lot?" Eyes full of concern, head full of questions - I'm sure little Johnny had made up his mind that this little red head had more than a few screws loose. Not privy to his mothers answer, but witness to her tucked head, furtive glances and speed walk, and to the tightened grip on her son's arm, I can only imagine it was something to the effect of: "Don't stare!" (As if staring can make crazy contagious).

I'm not crazy...anymore. That's what the meds are for anyway.

Honestly though - I had a perfectly reasonable explanation for busting out a tango for one in the parking lot of Walmart this morning. Today, the first official day of the Bunker's new budget - the first official day of money envelopes with cash (once it's spent, it's gone) - the first day I've been out of the house by myself since last Saturday because I finally had money to put gas in my car... As you can imagine, I had an errand list a mile long. First stop: gas.

After gas I made a quick phone call to Petsmart to see how much a 35lb of dog food was. We live closer to Petco - and since gas is 100.00 bucks a gallon - a girl has to shop smart. 35lbs of Science Diet at Petsmart is currently 37.99 plus tax. Ouch. So, I stopped in at Petco. And then I promptly had a heart attack, died and am writing this blog from heaven. Petco wanted 48.00 for this selfsame bag of dog food. Are you kidding me? Since I have $40.00 budgeted for dog food this month I was NOT shopping at Petco.

Next stop: Walmart. Now, for those of you blessed to live near a Walmart Superstore - you know that this meal is best tasted at 5:00a during the week - before the throngs of screaming children come in. I don't know where all these children come from - or where their parents go while they run up and down the aisles, but noon on a thursday before a holiday is not the best time to shop. But I digress. $90.00 in my wallet - I braved the elements.

Deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo... oh heck - I'll just check on dog food. $24.99 for 40lbs of Beneful original. I'll take it! (and my fear that my dogs would not like their new food evaporated the minute I brought it in the house - they haven't left it alone).

Fast forward to the checkout lane - mere moments before I disturbed a innocent little boy and his mother. My budget for dog food: $40.00 - my expense: $27 and some change. My budget for groceries: $90.00 - my expense: $97.27. For those of you who know me - that's unheard of. I was so proud of how well I did - I danced all the way to the car. I car danced all the way home and then danced while I put everything away.

We won't even talk about the fact that we're talking about a white girl with NO RHYTHM who was just lucky she didn't fall and break her neck. Medical bills are NOT in the new budget! I'm sorry doctor, I don't have an envelope for stupidity.

Follow the Leader

What if you came home today and Jesus was sitting on your couch? After the initial pleasantries - sweet or unsweet tea? chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies? (and yes, in the south - these are always on hand whether you are expecting company or not) - what if he's here to invite you on the trip of a lifetime? You'll see places you've always dreamed of and you'll meet people you never thought you'd get a chance to. Talk about an adventure! The only catch? You have to leave now. Not five minutes from now - not tomorrow morning once you've had a chance to pack - you need to leave now. Never mind the laundry in the washer, never mind the fundraiser you promised you'd chair this month for little Johnny's class. No, you can't get your hair done first, no you can't pack - nothing.

At this point the obsessive compulsive control freak that hangs out in my bathroom mirror starts to twitch. I'd like to think that if Jesus showed up and said lets go that I'd follow Him anywhere. But being honest, my mind, which God created, would linger possibly longer than a few seconds on the - "give me a sec to finish this", "let me just grab this". I'd have to, at the very least, put the uneaten cookies in a Tupperware and make sure the tea is back in the fridge.

In Matthew 9:8-10, Jesus met Matthew while Matthew was at work. He was sitting in his "office", on the clock - as it were - and Jesus said simply, "Follow me". Matthew, not giving a second thought to his career responsibilities got up and followed Him. How many of you could just walk away from your job without so much as a passing thought to how the universe would continue to turn without your income?

In Luke 9:59, we see someone a little more like me, and quite possibly you. Jesus tells a man to follow him and the man replies, "Lord, first let me go bury my father". Jesus told him to "Let the dead bury the dead". Obviously nothing is more important that proclaiming the kingdom of God. And yet...

For years, Brian and I have been living paycheck to paycheck. This is not logical, it's not even reasonable - but it is what it is. The rational part of my brain screams that our lack of planning and our lack of discipline have landed us in this rut, but to be honest, I've stopped listening to the rational part of my brain when it comes to money. C'mon - I look good in these jeans - and that couch is just too darn comfortable to leave in the furniture store, right?

My stress level at bill time couldn't get my attention. My ever increasing credit card bills couldn't get my attention. Arguments about money just annoyed me - but NOTHING was waking me up from our lifestyle.

"Follow me". Two words. A calling on my life more real than any physical conversation I've ever had. And guess what? I couldn't go. I want to go. I want to finish my degree, I want to preach, I want to teach. But the stack of bills, the unbelievable debt chains me right where I'm at.

THAT got my attention. I realized not only that I'm hurting myself with my debt and spending habits - but that I'm hurting God and my relationship with Him. We were all created for a purpose - and we each are a part of the body of Christ. If I paralyze my part because I'm chained to debt - then I impede the progress of the body. Whoa.

Brian and I have made a commitment to the Dave Ramsey Total Money Makeover. Just taking that step together has revolutionized our marriage and our finances. Our goal? Debt free, except the house payment in 4 years.

My questions are changing. I'm no longer asking God how I can possibly follow Him when I have so many bills. Now I'm asking him how much more I can do for the kingdom of God now that the bondage chains of debt have been broken.

Next time Jesus shows up on my couch - the tea and cookies are "to go".