Proverbs 17

"The beginning of strife is like breaching a dam, so drop the matter before a dispute breaks out." (Proverbs 17:14)

We were all homeschooled. That means that we were all together, all the time. I had two younger brothers and a younger sister (and now another younger sister, but she fortunately did not have to endure all of us going through childhood, puberty, adolescence... you know, growing up).

I would love to portray my family as a paragon of perfection. But then I would be called into account for another lie, and I'd prefer to avoid that.

On our table were little tiny cards with picture clues to help us remember certain verses. This Proverb was one of these verses. The big fat word "Quarrel" was trying to bust its way through a dam. Perhaps it was my mother's engineer-like fascination with dams, but she very clearly communicated what happens when a dam breaks, that coupled with a "major on the majors" view of arguments was ingrained very early on.

By the time we hit high school, all mom would say was, "Starting a quarrel..." and usually the tone of the conversation would shift. The topic wouldn't change, but the style of communication usually took on a much more civil tone. (I stress the word "usually." Once again, we are clearly not perfect children.)

"You stole my jeans!"

"I would like to point out that this was only after you used my new running shoes."

"Starting a quarrel..."

(pause)

"I would prefer you ask before you borrow something."

"You totally made up that story about me!"

"It was funny! People laughed! It wasn't that bad. Sheesh."

"Starting a quarrel..."

"I will try to refrain my stories to true funny stories."

You get the idea...

Personalities, Literature, and Ice Cream

Me: Scott, you're like a Victorian novel. An incredibly excellent vocabulary so that I don't get bored, and a predictable plot line so I'm never scared.

Scott: Hey!

Me: It's true.

Scott: Okay, but you're also a little Victorian. No, I take that back, you're more like a Zane Grey novel.

Me: Ah, more of a 1920s or '30s style.

Scott: Yes, you have incredibly long, detailed descriptions of flora and fauna--

Me: Ugh. I always skip those parts.

Scott: Yes, but then you suddenly jump on a horse and go galloping off to save the world.

Me: Ah. Long periods of boring to provide rest after the crazy excitement.

Scott: Exactly.


When you marry a literature geek, and you're both running out of topics to discuss... Plus, how in-depth are you going to get, sitting on a curb, licking the first ice cream cone of the year?

Confident Trust

Today is my last day at work for a while.

In the spirit of true bureaucracy, my paperwork to renew my license was lost in a slew of red-tape, and within three months, instead of going through three steps, it only made it through two.

So I'm on a temporary "leave of absence" until this is taken care of.

I am not happy.

I think God wants to correct my pride, fear of man, and lack of trust in one fell swoop.

Pride: not having a license makes me feel ridiculous. Like an errant child who can't complete paperwork.
Fear of man: my boss' disapprobation, telling 21 families that I couldn't care for them/their children (broke my heart!)
Lack of trust: if this isn't resolved quickly, what is going to happen?

Hebrews 12 alludes to the "peaceful fruit of righteousness." I desperately need that today.

This is a very real instance of everything working for my good, in a way that does not appear (from a human standpoint) to be actually good. But what is my definition of "good"? I love comfort, success, and accolades. That is my definition of "good." But God tells me that "good" is actually becoming more like Christ. Any circumstance that makes me more like Christ is "good."

So today, I'm seeking to live peacefully, with the knowledge that my God is training me in righteousness. If I emerge from this stressful period more like Christ, then it will all be worth it. I must believe that.

I trust my God. He is in complete control.

And... if you have a license to renew, don't save it till a reasonable time. Turn it in waaaaay too early.

:)

Proverbs 14

Often working in a world of hurt and sorrow deadens my soul. My heart has seen too much grief, and this only through association. I watch people grapple with end of life decisions on a daily basis. I see persons from all walks of life confront the results of sin in one of its most public displays-- a hospital.

As I watch those who are suffering, pity begins to dry up. People are sinners. People are dumb. People run from God. People abuse their relationships. And as I watch, my heart hardens. I ignore the suffering I see, and instead treat people as another task, another item on my to-do list.

"The heart knows its own bitterness..." (Proverbs 14:10)

But suffering is suffering. People make choice I don't understand. People make choices that are blatantly wrong. People make choices that silently scream their lack of a Savior. But each act of rebellion, is an act of searching, an act acknowledging the need for redemption.

May my heart break for those who are lost in bitterness. May each act of sin, make our spotless Savior more prominent.

Dr. Courtney, Google, and Problem Solving

"Honey, I have green poop."

Announcements like this used to surprise me. Now I know that I'm married to a man who doesn't mind discussing the inner workings of his bowels, and who isn't squeamish regarding bodily functions.

"Really? How long has this been going on?"

It should be noted that this reply of mine verges on the heroic. My family doesn't talk about bodily functions, and I took their aversions to whole new levels prior to marriage. I work in a hospital, but I don't like talking about excrement, saliva, mucous, or urine. I can handle blood. (I'm very proud of my ability to handle blood.) After 10 months of marriage, I was at last calm enough to respond to poop information from my husband without an exclamation of horror.

"Probably about two weeks."
"Two weeks! Why am I just hearing about this?"
"Well, it's happened before, but it's always gone away--this time it hasn't gone away..."
"Okay, but two weeks?! Scott, I am your wife. I need to know these things." (Actually, I don't. I'd be perfectly fine never knowing them, but my husband seems to view concern about bathroom issues as a practical manifestation of love.)

"Well, I'm going to figure out what's wrong with you. Where's my computer?" I have now put down my toothbrush and am digging around on my side of the bed for my precious Mac.
"Oh, no, honey... Not Google. Please don't Google "green poop.""

But I was determined. I have spent a large part of my marriage trying to avoid topics about poo, but recognizing that my husband shared this confidence in love, I decided to solve his problem. Isn't that why guys share information? To solve problems? If a girl had told me this, I would have let her talk and worry and steam until she calmed herself down, but apparently men communicate in order to solve problems, not as a vent to their emotions. See? I'm learning.

"Okay... google: "green poop." Let's see..."
"I think that's going to be too general a term."
"Nope. Look. Green poo... Oooh! You could be allergic to gluten. Celiac's disease. I'm sure you have Celiac's disease."
"I've eaten wheat my whole life."
"Yes, and you've had green poo your whole life... Plus, see--it says it can develop at any time."
"Honey, I don't have Celiac's disease."
"Oh, look-- irritable bowel syndrome. Okay. That totally makes sense. I'd believe that you have IBS."
"I don't have IBS."
"It says gas, bloating, pain, green poo..."
"I don't have bloating, and I'm not in pain."
"I still think it could be IBS... Oh, oh, oh! Liver disease! You could totally have liver disease."
"Honey. There's nothing wrong with my liver."
"Oh my word, you're going to die of liver disease. I can see it. It doesn't always come from drinking, you know. You can just get it. Maybe you have a weak liver."
"I don't have a weak liver. Please close the computer."
"You know, WebMD says that there's only a small chance it's cancer. More than likely it's not cancer. Isn't that nice, honey? You don't have cancer!"
"I wasn't laboring under the delusion that I had cancer. Honey, I'm tired, please stop."
"Okay... how do we treat liver disease..."
"Courtney."
"Multi-vitamins. With iodine. Okay. Iodine... Hmmm. I can go to Target tomorrow and get some."
"Courtney."
"What if I have to live all alone the rest of my life because you die of liver disease? Thanks a lot for marrying me. I get less than one year, and then you die. I'm banking on getting at least eighty years out of this marriage, and then you go a bail early."

There was silence. And then a sigh.

"I do not have liver disease. I am not going to die. You can get me vitamins if you want. Please close the computer. You are not a doctor. We are going to sleep."

Next time he says he has "green poop" I guess I'm just supposed to say, "Huh. No way. Can you grab my slippers on your way up the stairs?"

Got it.

Proverb of the Day

Growing up, my mom was a wealth of Proverbs. She had a verse for everything. I mean, EVERYTHING. You want to sleep in--there's a verse for that. You don't pay attention--there's a verse for that. You make fun of your brother--there's a verse for that. And most of the verses came from Proverbs. My recent perusal of Proverbs has reminded me of my daily encounter with truth through my mother's faithful use of wisdom.

There are 31 chapters in Proverbs. There are 31 days in most months. In almost every chapter (and sometimes multiple times per chapter) my mother's voice comes to mind...

Today's Proverb was whipped out whenever we would finish a task in a half-hearted, lazy way. As she looked at piles of poorly folded laundry, barely clean rooms, and dinner dishes which were "soaking" rather than being washed, my mother would look at us and say:

"Like vinegar to the teeth and smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard to those who send him." (Proverbs 10:26)

We would then wash the dishes. Fold the laundry. And clean the room. Mom has a way with biblical confrontation....

Salted Caramel Goodness

Okay, ladies and gents... This is the most delectable frosting I have ever made. In honor of the wonderful Joseph Blake turning the ripe ol' age of 53, I made a black velvet cake, and loaded it with salted caramel icing. Delectable, and slam-you-upside-the-head sweet, I didn't ice the whole cake. Instead I filled the layers and iced the top.

To cut the sweetness, (and just because I love dark chocolate), I did dark chocolate baking curls over the top of the cake and then drizzled sticky caramel (just 'cause).

Just a word of warning: watch the pot like crazy-cakes while your boiling the sugar. The sugar went from crystal clear, to dark amber in the blink of an eye. Being me, I was busy doing ten other things in the kitchen, and I had several terrifying moments in which I feared I had burnt the yummy sugar concoction. Fortunately, it seems hard to ruin sugar, and everything turned out with elegant, sticky goodness.

Click for (time intentsive, but worth it) recipe: Salted Caramel Goodness