Last week, Luci and I scheduled a cooking night with a couple of the non-Christian young ladies. In the past, we've had them teach us how to make some of their traditional foods, but this time we decided to do an American meal--oven-fried chicken and mashed potatoes with apple pie for dessert. Only one of the girls came, but we had a lovely time making faces into Luci's webcam and discussing the difference between Orthodox adherents and Protestants while breading the chicken and smashing up the potatoes.

And then there was the pie. I lay no claims to culinary expertise, but generally I can follow a recipe. Therein lay the problem. I've learned from past experience that pie crusts + me = rubber. There's just no such thing as a flaky Michelle-made pie crust. So, since Luci didn't have much experience with pie crusts, either, we decided a press-in-the-pan was definitely the way to go. I was in a hurry, so I pulled a recipe for the filling from a cookbook, grabbed a streusel topping from somewhere (I know, I know...how tough is it to make a streusel topping?), and copied down a press-in-the-pan oil pastry recipe without so much as a second glance at it.

Historically, I believe, press-in-the-pan pie crusts are considered beginner level baking. Good grief, there are four ingredients. I gallantly volunteered to peel the apples while Janae measured out the ingredients for the pie crust and Luci sliced the peeled apples. It wasn't long before Luci noticed something odd about the pie crust--"Is it supposed to look like that?" Uh oh.

Janae wanted to add more flour--it was just too sticky. Actually, it was soupy. Sort of like pancake batter. A cup and half later, it was like really sticky bread dough. And it filled nearly half the pie pan. Luci was losing confidence. "Let's just start over."

Janae wanted to add more flour. "Just a little more flour."

I floured my hands and tried to sort of press it up the sides of the pan, but it slithered back down to join the giant blob in the middle. Game over. Somebody found a Ziploc bag (can't just throw it away!) and we slipped the lovely glop into it for scientific examination. Then we started over, and this time without a recipe. Pretty soon I had something that was the consistency of a rollout pie crust.

"Luci, do you have a rolling pin?" Ha ha. Why did I even ask? What could one substitute for a rolling pin?

Enter empty Coke bottle. We filled it with water for weight and ignored the ridges that created thin stripes in the pie crust. And then we transferred the pie crust to the pan. Sort of in pieces.

And that's sort of how it came out, too. It's okay, though--the filling was good, and the streusel topping was delicious. And now Janae knows how not to make pie crust.

Perseverance: When the Smoke Clears

John Bisagno is a retired pastor from the Houston, Texas area. When Bisagno was twenty-one, he was very excited. He was getting ready to graduate from college and marry the love of his life. He had also decided to go into full-time ministry. He was very optimistic about his future. One night, he was having dinner at his fiancée’s home. After dinner, he went outside on the porch with his future father-in-law, Dr. Paul Beck. Dr. Beck had been in ministry since he was John’s age. You could say he’d seen a lot of water go under the bridge. As they were talking about John’s future plans and dreams, Dr. Beck gave him some advice, “As you go into ministry, John, make sure you stay close to Christ every day.”

Young John replied, “Yes, sir. I know that’s important.”

But Dr. Beck continued, “You’re just getting started in this race. And it’s a very long race. You won’t hit the finish line until you’re in your seventies or eighties. The finish line is a long way off, John. But the goal of this race is to finish strong. And that’s the last thing that Satan wants you to do. That’s why you have to keep your heart close to Christ every day. It’s been my experience that for every ten men who start strong with Christ in their twenties, only one out of those ten will finish strong.”

That shocked John Bisagno. The staggering statistic left him in disbelief.

“That can’t be. Just one out of ten?”

“Unfortunately, that has been my experience. Some men are taken out by the love of money, others are taken out by theological liberalism, and many more are taken out by sexual immorality. Satan knows how to lay a trap and set an ambush. He knows every man’s weaknesses. That’s why it’s been my experience that only one out of ten will finish strong.”

John Bisagno was blown away by the remarks of the older man. He was so stunned that he went home and started thinking about his friends. They were all in their early twenties and all had bright futures. They were fully committed followers of Christ.

He was graduating from a Bible college, and many of his buddies. like him, were going to be pastors, missionaries, youth leaders, and worship ministers. He couldn’t believe that only one of ten would finish strong. The very idea shook him to the core. And it was then that he got the idea.

He took his Bible and turned to a blank page in the back. On that page, he wrote down the names of twenty-four for his friends. He knew these guys. Like him, they were all in their early twenties. The idea that all of them wouldn’t finish strong was unthinkable. Maybe Satan would pick off a few, but surely most of them would stick. These were guys who would be willing to die for Christ if necessary.

I heard Bisagno tell this story several years ago. It got very quiet in the room as he began to tell the end of the story.

“As the years have gone by, from time to time I have gotten a letter or a telephone call. And sadly, I have turned to the page in the back of my Bible and had to put a line through a name. I would always do that with such great sadness. The years have gone by and I am now fifty-three years old. Of the original twenty-four names in the back of my Bible, there are just three of us left.”

Twenty-four young men who were all in their early twenties. And thirty-two years later, there are just three of them still standing. The majority of those men had ruined their lives before they turned forty. (Steve Farrar, How To Ruin Your Life By 40)

Are we committed to the long haul? Are we staying close to Jesus every day? Statistics are descriptive, not prescriptive. Let's live to make this scary statistic false!

-Chelle

Seize the day, because you never know when you've made your last deposit into the legacy you will leave behind.
--Alistair Begg

Lemming syndrome

Lemmings are really stupid. These little artic rodents follow each other off cliffs into the
frigid Atlantic water, often to their deaths. Thousands at a time die of cardiac arrest (because of the cold water) or drowning; Ms. Lemming, the pop queen, who just won a Lemmy Award with her new album, just randomly decided that it was fashionable to jump off the Lemmingwood community cliff...and poor Ms. Lemming drowned because her loyal fans crushed her to death.

I see a parallel between the habits of the Lemming and those of humans—especially
21^st century ones-- that is, we have a fatal habit of wanting to do what everyone else is doing.

But Christians are called to be different. We should expect people to think we’re
weird. Jesus was despised and rejected of men...why should we ask anything different? He told his disciples in John 15:20, “Remember the word that I said unto you, the servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also.” What greater glory than to follow in the footsteps of Christ?

‘Fitting in’ is a shallow, but attractive thing, and the temporary rewards of popular culture are not worth it. Look at the lives of Hollywood stars. Next time you go to the grocery store, just take a peek at the magazine rack at the checkout and you’ll see that a pretty face, popularity, and money, is not equal to a happy life! Current culture would like us to emulate those same stars, whose average marriage length, if at all, is 1 year. Look at the standards that much of the current music, movies and fashions impose upon us: immorality, impurity, unfaithfulness, instant gratification, ect, ect.

How can the world see “the hope that is within us” if we act and dress and have the same habits and standards as everyone else? Paul wrote about the importance of this witness to the Philippians:

Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel, and not frightened in anything by
your opponents. (Philippians 1:27-30)

So, how do we combat the Lemming Syndrome?

By filling our minds with truth from scripture: “above all taking the shield of
faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked; and taking the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God; praying always with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and watching thereunto with all
perseverance for all saints.” Ephesians 6:16-18

So, are you suffering
from Lemming Syndrome?

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just,
whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if
there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think
about these things.” Philippians 4:8

Italy, part 2

Next Stop: Ravenna, a pretty town north of Rimini about 50 miles. Because Rimini is really nothing to look at--literally--it was voted by the constituencies of our party to take a day trip by train to this beautiful spot.

A main street in Ravenna

I have completely forgotten the name of this church, resulting from an overpopulation of churhces in Italy...but in my mind the most beautiful one in Europe. The pictures I took don't do justice to the beauty and intricacy of the mosaics on the ceiling and walls.

mosaics are made of quarter-inch tiles cut from precious stone.

This church was built in the 1400's...I forget exactly when.

Note the painted stripes on this street--they are bike lanes. Everyone bikes everywhere; old ladies, moms with small children, girls wearing spike heels, men in business suits....

heels+cobblestone streets=disaster. For me, anyway. Obviously not for the local ladies, I guess, because 99.9% of Italian women wear heels.

Tommy's European division.

Italy, part 1

Buonjorno!
Here are some belated pictures of our trip to Italy. First stop: Rimini, a trashy beach town on the Adriatic Sea. Believe it or not, during the summer the population jumps from 100,000 to 1,000,000; apparently, it is the beach spot for Italians cool off during the brutally hot weather.

This bridge--amazingly enough, was built by the Emperor Augusutus in 21 A.D. It is still in use.

These are fishing boats which catch some kind of mussels...unfortunately, fishermen don't speak much English, so we don't know exactly what kind of mussels. At least we got to see them.

Our location on a teeny-tiny map of Italy.

This sign, obviously warning drivers to not drive into the water, amused me. I do not read Italian, which turned out to be slightly problematic. But--I got the point.

TPS Student Murdered

I'm sure those of you in The Potter's School have already received the news, but please pray for Emily Stauffer's family as they grieve the death of their daughter and sister.

Emily's dad's blog post

Local newspaper

The Other Day When I Was Walking . . .

. . . granted, it was at the medical school. But still . . . where'd they get it?

Sobering Thoughts.

"Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief, in departing from the living God.
But exhort one another daily, while it is called To day; lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.

For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence stedfast unto the end..."

Hebrews 3:12-14

This verse scared the snot --and the self righteousness-- out of me; and reminded me again that I live on time borrowed from the God who died in my place, and covered me with His Righteousness. What right do I have to seek my own agenda? What right do I have to do anything outside glorifying Him with every breath?

"Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."

Hebrews 4:16

~Kirsten

Give me Your eyes for just one second...

People. They are everywhere, in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Each one of them is so precious, so unique, so amazing. And yet so often I pass by without even seeing them.

Funny how it’s the little things that make you realize this. Thursday was a typical day of classes. We had just finished our first exam in Statistics, and I was walking back to my car when I saw a young woman out walking her 3.5 lb Chihuahua. She sits behind me in Abnormal Psychology, and she is beautiful in a wild, unkempt sort of way. Her hair is dyed an unnatural mixture of deep browns and black, although the darkness of it matches her clothes, her makeup, her nail polish, and the tattoos that cover her body. There are dark circles under her brown eyes—those deep, living eyes which hold a sadness that cannot be put into words. She greets me with a smile that is somehow sadder than tears, for it comes from the depths of a heart that has been hurt more deeply than I can begin to fathom. As we laugh and chat together for a brief moment, it hits me for the first time how very, very tired she looks, and how much sadness is pooled in the limpid wells of her eyes.

I have not spent much time getting to know this woman, but I know that she has small children, a live-in boyfriend with whom her relationship is on the rocks, a dead-end job which she keeps only to make ends meet, and frustrated, broken dreams that mock the harsh reality of who she is today. All of this pent up in the heart of a girl who cannot be much older than me.

The image of her face, with those haunting eyes, burns into my mind as we part ways.
“O God! How desperately she needs Your hope! Give me words to speak…”

Then there was the roly-poly little fellow that I babysat that evening. Joe is a gorgeous little guy, with huge, curiosity-filled brown eyes that scrunch up into little sparkling half-moons when his ready smile puckers up his round little face. He is just beginning to discover his temper, with the help of his three older brothers, and angry howling filled the house on more than one occasion throughout the night before he was safely tucked away in his crib. (His three older brothers, incidentally, have long since discovered their own tempers, which contributes immensely to the whole howling effect. There were moments when I felt a bit like howling myself).

As I held three-year-old Nic on my lap and watched Joey experimenting with his legs, trying to master the art of toddling, I thought suddenly of all that is ahead of both of them…all the beauty, all the harsh realities, all the maturing experiences that will shape their little lives and mold them into men. And what sort of men?
“God, their parents do not know You now…what is Your future for this family? May I be found faithful in whatever my role is to be...”

There are others…Joe’s happy parents, with all their dreams for the future, their baggage from the past, their uncertainty about what lies ahead for each of their four boys.

There is the painfully-young, single Hispanic mom who walks into the law office with the desperate look of a hunted tigress and says she must find a lawyer.

There is my office assistant, a young woman just out of school, who avows herself to be an atheist in the same bubbly, matter-of-fact voice that she uses to tell me about why she chose to become vegetarian.

Everywhere you look, there are people, and each one has a story to tell. Day by day, each story is growing a little longer. Minute by minute, they are drawing closer to the end, and what kind of eternity will they face when they pass through the portal that leads from this life into the next?

I am ashamed that I am so often willing to be silent, that I am so frequently frightened by what others might think. Do I really understand what is at stake here?

Too often, my actions are saying, “Ah, Lord God! Behold, I cannot speak, for I am a youth.”

And God in His great faithfulness, replies, as He replied to Jeremiah: “Do not say, ‘I am a youth,’ for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of their faces, for I am with you to deliver you.”

Perfect love casts out fear. It’s a promise.

May God give me the grace to love more perfectly, more completely, more unreservedly. Would that He would place a burden on my heart for the people who walk into and out of my life each and every day and give me the boldness to speak when I ought to, the wisdom to know when to be silent...

~Thea