How Martha Saved My Mondays

Oh Martha. 

She's a little crazy. I mean, let's not forget she went to prison. Also, how on earth does she sheer her sheep, knit her own sweaters (after dyeing the yarn in her acai berry blend) and possess intimate knowledge of heirloom hydrangeas? 

Scary right? 

But let's face it. Give Martha butter and she can bake. Her cookie recipes (as well as pies, cakes and breads) are the best. I will not prove it to you picture by picture. This is not that kind of blog. Nor will I poll my audience. I will not be "the girl who ate every cookie" and blogged and later wrote a witty novel about it. I'm just saying. She puts a teaspoon of cinnamon with chocolate chip-peanut cookies. She whips up snickerdoodles without cream of tartar. Citrus cornmeal shortbread...genius. 

A few years ago, my friend Dana introduced me to Martha's baking. She gave me this book. People come to my house and look at like a coffee-table book. It has a pictorial table of contents for every cookie organized by texture. Read that last sentence again. Yes. Light and Delicate? Cakey and Tender? They are all here. 

A few months ago, my husband introduced me to Mondays...in a new way. He started co-leading a small group Bible study. Though Brian let me know it was not mandatory that I go, he really encouraged me (and the 3 kids) to go. Now, I don't want to make it sound worse than it is. It's Monday (right after a working Sunday...something I'm still getting used to), 25 minutes from our house, trying to participate (without frustration!) while my kids are hungry/tired/bored/disturbing the study. I didn't like it. I had a bad attitude, a case of the Mondays. 

Enter Martha. I mean, enter Jesus using Martha. 

I decided to start making cookies for the Bible study. Turns out cookies make people happy (including me as I come having tasted a few before the study). So, I started making a new cookie each week. Pretty soon, anticipation was building. What cookie is next? 

I don't think people come to the Bible study for the cookies. I don't think it hurts. If I'm honest, cookies got me to come a few times. I went out of obligation. I went with a job to do. But as I baked, God changed my heart. Maybe I found my purpose. Maybe I got into a routine. Whatever it was, God used Martha's cookies to get me over myself. 

Now I love Mondays. I really do. The community is coming together and people are seeing Jesus! It's still hot and right after an exhausting Sunday. My kids still interrupt and need me. And sometimes the cookies don't turn out just right. But (never thought I'd use this comparison) Jesus is better than Martha. He knows what He's doing. And I won't go into a baking/recipe analogy for sanctification. This (thank God!) is not that kind of blog. But He will use even cookies to point me to Him, what He's doing and how He will use me (and butter). 

Picture of the Week: Asian Molly

I like to think that my girls are seeing themselves as not so different than the people around them. It's still strange to my ears to hear Lydia or Molly refer to this place as "home". America is a place we visit. It's a place with Grandma, Chick-fil-a and dreams of riding bikes on smooth streets. But they don't have dosas or mangoes. This is home. For now.

So you can see where I'm going with this: The Magic School Bus, exactly. We have this book, "The Magic School Bus Gets Eaten". A magical story of food chains and how you can connect green pond scum to a tuna sandwich...get on board and let's find out! Ok, the story is not important for this post. It's the pictures. Molly...my blond-hair blue-eyed Molly, loves to point herself out as one of the characters in any story we read.

In this story she is the fifth kid behind Ms. Frizzle. That little girl in the pink wetsuit. On every page, she will find that girl and point her out, "That's me!".

Notice the girl two kids behind "Molly"...the one who looks like my Molly.
"No, Mommy. That's not me."

Who am I to argue about the self-perception of a two-year-old who's lived most of her life in Asia?

On Toil: [or "What's with all the worms, rotten eggs and poo?"]

There are worms in our eggs.

One I cracked last week was totally black. Rotten, stunk up the whole house.

Isabella has had terrible poo (may or may not be related).

Something mysteriously gnawed one of my cucumbers in the night. Our road has been dug up for repairs. One of the repairing trucks literally fell through the road.

Sometimes I feel this curse of toil. Adam got the bad news that because of his sin, work would no longer be easy. The ground would fight back. Eve got that whole pain in childbirth thing. That's real. Believe me. But also, as a helper to an Adam, I am not immune to his curse of toil. This curse affects me as I make a home. Home fights back.

Some of it's living in another culture. Some of it's having three young kids. Some of it's just my laziness or unmet expectations or selfishness. Some of it's rotten eggs. I mean, it just happens as I make my banana bread. And it's continual. Spinning like this merry-go-round.

But let me not despair into fatalism. All is not meaningless. And at the same time let me not make my battle with the worms an analogy of God's faithfulness. It's real. It's gross and frustrating and pressure-cooking my sin. It's covered by grace. Because we can expect toil but we can also hope in the promise of God working all things for our good and His glory. God will not redeem rotten eggs, but He will redeem me. He has promised to transform me more into His likeness (whether that's thanking God for rotten eggs, making a list of gratitude for all the not-rotten eggs, asking what Jesus would do with a rotten egg, or just processing my thoughts on a blog...I don't know yet).

I can hope with certainty in His promise. I can expect toil. Home will fight back with all it has. And yet, I am not home yet. I look toward that Home where there will be no fight, no wasted time, no fruitless work, and certainly no worms. 

Picture of the Week: Bake Sale

Alison and I accomplished a lot on Saturday morning. We got our kids out at the park (the "frog park": the one with no frogs but potential to have them because it has a small area of standing water, and some grass...that you cannot walk on). We met neighbors and realized we actually know quite a few people in our community. We ate baked goods (and sold them). We made 1800 rupees (about $30).

Clearly, the money wasn't the driving force.



Our little community hosted a "flea market"...which basically means you can rent a table and sell whatever you want. Alison and I baked. Pumpkin bread and cookies are kind of an oddity here. So in between the pani puri (look that up) and embroidered elephant purses, we were the sellers of exotic imports: things-baked-with-butter. Our cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles sold quickly. Our kids found interesting caterpillars and flowers. And we felt like part of this community. Despite our uncommon goods ("Sooo, the snickerdoodle doesn't have Snickers in it?"), I dare say we didn't feel so uncommon.

I am starting to love this city. There are good many days I don't. But Saturday was a day that God gave me joy in where He's called me.

And all that butter didn't hurt. 

Isabella's Birthday Party (Video)

Isabella's ONE year old Birthday Party from Brian Stock on Vimeo.