You Know Your Diet Needs Help When...

...the most vegetables you've eaten in the last month consisted of the tomato sauce on your pizzas, and the sauerkraut on your Reuben sandwiches.

A Love Note

Years ago I called my parents desperate for money. They mailed me a check with the enclosed note. The first line is from my Mom. The next from my Dad. The note hung on my refrigerator for years. During a visit, my sister Cassie (begrudgingly, it seems) added the last line. This is something I'll treasure forever, and I wanted to share it with my blog friends.

A Very Spooky Story

With the weather turning very fall-like, I thought it would be nice to do some baking. There was a new recipe for Layered Pumpkin Bread from Kraft Foods that I was wanting to try.

When I went grocery shopping last week, I purchased all the necessary ingredients, including a package of Neufchatel cheese.

On Tuesday evening, I did my baking and the bread turned out to be delicious. I recommend you try this recipe out. Because of the cream-cheese layer, it's a little more special than your normal Pumpkin Bread, and it doesn't require any added spreads like butter.

But here's the SPOOKY part. This evening, I reached in to the refrigerator for something when I noticed the package of Neufchatel cheese I'd just purchased on Saturday. And since I have no recollection - recent, near recent, or otherwise - of any other purchases of Neufchatel or cream cheese of any kind, HOW OLD WAS THAT PACKAGE I'D USED??????

Murphy's Laws on Meatloaf

1. The chances of dropping the chopped onion on the floor is directly proportional to the number of onions you have left.

a. Corollary: The chances of said onion dropping in a pile of dog hair is directly proportional to the need for said (last) onion to the tastiness of the recipe.

2. The chances of noticing you forgot an ingredient after you've already started mixing the meatloaf with your hands is directly proportional to the goopieness of the mixture.

I'll let you know how it tasted later.

I am Doubly Blessed

I found this old clipping while cleaning out my spare room.

Feels Like Winter

If "to everything there is a season" then I'm in winter. And my experience with Erie weather tells me sometimes winter can last nine months. I know that there are some days that are colder than others and there is an occasional warm, sunny day thrown in; but winter in Erie...you don't expect much. And as the winter drags on you begin to dread getting out of bed.

Such is the way I feel right now.

I'm tired of the dark, lonely days of winter. The iciness cuts into my bones, making it hard to stand against the frigid blasts of cruelty and selfishness, the sting of accusations against my cheeks. I know there's the sure hope of spring and summer, but they seem such a long way off and I'm cold today.

I don't know how to pray. Should I pray for a shortened winter? Should I pray for a warm coat and hat to get me through this emotional winter? At times, I feel tempted to take matters in to my own hands and just crank the thermostat of anger and revenge way up. But there's a cost to that, which I'm not willing to pay. I thank God for His wisdom in understanding this. But I can't make any guarantees that I won't slip on the slick sidewalks of temptation and fall flat on my face.

I guess this is where grace comes in to play; the God-granted ability to navigate the snowy obstacle courses without slipping, sliding and falling. Surely the hinds running through the high places encountered snow on those mountain tops. At least I'm on the flat grounds of Erie.

Come spring. Come Lord Jesus.

The Burgeoning Storm

A storm brews inside of me.

My barometer falls

While the pressure inside me builds.

My heart is ready to release its torrent of anxiety

And destroy whatever is in its path.

How does one stop the onslaught?

How does one hold back the wind and the rain?

Left unchecked, it will uproot me

Leaving me to wither and die

And become but tinder.

Rescue me, Lord.

Save me from the cyclone.

Shelter me from the wicked winds.

Keep me dry and rooted

In the security of Your arms.

-Anonymous

The Heart of a Parent

The last 12 Octobers, my thoughts drift and dwell on my Mom. It's only natural since she died October 30, 1994. Today, I remembered a time in 1979, when I took a job at Conneaut Lake Amusement Park for the summer. The job required me to live at the park-supplied housing, which was not all that great. The work as a ride operator was less than challenging, the hours were demanding, the working conditions horrid, and often required the assistance of "Ecology Boys" to clean up after accidents. I HATED IT.

The morning after my first day, I called my mom sobbing, asking her to come get me. She told me things would get better and that I had to stick it out. The job didn't really get better, but I did stick it out and eventually, I no longer cried myself to sleep, made some friends and learned to deal with it. )In fact, that was my first up close and personal experience with Christians.) My dad later told me my mom said it was one of the hardest things she ever had to do.

Of late, I find myself asking God to come get me. Things here on earth are less than ideal. People are mean. Life can be so incredibly lonely. I want, I need the safety and comfort of my Father's House. But He tells me to wait. Things will get better, He promises; but in His time, not mine. And I think that even though He knows the outcome, it must hurt him to see His children suffer.