My apologies.

Wolfies.
I am terribly sorry. My absences are unacceptable.
If you were here I would hope you would throw something at me and call me all kinds of irresponsible names.

Ha.

But I promise you, it was not without reason.
No.
So one of those big projects I was telling you about a few weeks ago involved something I agreed to do months ago. Like when it was still winter.
That being the case, I pretty much didn’t do anything for it until about three weeks ago because when I agreed to it so long ago I figured I had all the time in the world. Which, doesn’t surprise me because….. well…… that’s how I do things: with just enough time.

What I had said a sure “yes” to was helping some friends out East by catering a conference they put on.

A five-day conference.
For 130 people.
Yeah.
That’s right.

Because as you well know this is exactly the kind of thing I say “yes” to for no good reason other than this is an experience I want to be able to say I have had and that I want the skill set it will produce to be securely up my sleeve. Even if it does seem to be a little excessive.

All that being said, that’s where I have been: cooking food for people I don’t know in the middle of nowhere in the woods without any kind of cell phone or internet service.

And it was awesome.

Not just the no cell service and no internet (although there was something very freeing about forgetting I had a business and email for a week), but all of it. The food and the running around and the crazy hours and the being with people I don’t know---all of it. Loved it.

However, I must add that it was not without its ups and downs.

No. In a blaze of something only God would think was a good idea, I got sick. On the first day. Like, “I-need-to-go-lay-down-for-14-hours” kind of sick. I know. I was thinking the same thing you are.

Only maybe more shocked. Because I haven’t gotten sick in six years.

But, would you believe that it was, like I suspected, a very good thing?

And then, because He is just so good like this, he gave me the MOST AMAZING kitchen staff to help me and save my culinary life. Over and over again. These people showed me undeserved grace and favor in ways I, honestly, have never felt before.

I mean, why would they be good to me?!?!

 They didn’t know me from Eve, they owed me nothing, and frankly, I hadn’t done anything good to them. Yet, there they were, being the willing hands that can only be produced by servant hearts.
They were beautiful people, and God uses his people.

Then of course, you can’t come away from a week of cooking without having one frantic, panicked, scared, and utterly desperate situation.

Which I did.

But. Again. I. Was. Saved.

By an amazing God who gave his amazing people amazing ideas.

And as all the madness was being put under control by people who were not me, all I was able to do was sit. Sit on a stool, having a metal whisk-burned hand placed in a bowl of milk, watching unfold before me a rescued disaster that should have been any chef’s moment of pride, and do nothing. Just nod and say, “Yes, good job. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Because, see, here’s the deal: If going into last week I had any thought, any concept, and ulterior motive that I was somehow going to “be in control,” or think that it was somehow ME who had cooked for however many people; if there was any notion in my head that I was going to somehow take some “credit” for the work I did, that all was pretty well shot to pieces in about the first 6 hours.

And then again 30 hours later.
And then 27 hours after that.
And then the next morning, too, just for good measure.

Because truth be told, it wasn’t me. Not one bit of it. Sure, maybe they were my plans and my recipes, but beyond that….well….I was sitting on a stool with a burning hand in a bowl of milk.

And that’s what I could take credit for.

For burning myself.
But not for rescuing my hand.
No. I couldn’t even take credit for that.

I guess it just brought to light the fact that Believers really are a body; we need each other. Brains are no good if they have no hands to complete the work.

I know that full well.
And what good are hands if there is no heart or muscle to activate it?

“If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be?  But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be.  If they were all one part, where would the body be?  As it is, there are many parts, but one body.” (I Cor. 12:17-20)

 

Babies, we need each other. I promise you, you cannot do this life without people. Without a body holding you up, consoling your tears, or putting your burning hand in a bowl of milk.

~~

Before I jetted East, I had a bit of a photoshoot.
No surprise there.
Here are a couple snap shots.

 

Faithful to Remember.

To say that I was startled would probably be a bit of an understatement.
I don’t know how I never knew this bit of information.
And I don’t know what is more startling, the fact that this exists or the fact that I have failed to tell you about it yet.
You are probably more startled that I haven’t blabbed to you about it yet. Because we all know I know how to blab to you.

Did you know that when you stand on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem and look towards the Old City that there is nothing between you and the temple but….graves?

Yeah. No joke.

And when you are walking down from the Mount, what is on the other side of all the walls?
Graves.

Tombs, if you will.
One right on the top of the other, they just keep going. Grave after grave after white grave.

How did I not know this? I feel like I have been a Christian a long enough time that I should know. I feel like I have seen a lot of pictures of Jerusalem in my day.

But, alas, I didn’t.

Our tour guide (who was amazing, btw. If you are ever going to Israel, or planning a tour for a group, message me. You have GOT to have this guy) made a passing comment about how you can tell a lot about a culture by their cemeteries.

Typical lifespan.

Populations.
Wars in the culture.
Lifestyle.

And as I was looking around at all of these graves—Jewish graves—(there is only a small section of Christian graves and Muslim graves) the thought occurred to me, “In this case you can tell a lot about their God, too.”

No doubt my mind was teeming with things I learned from my one year at Bible college. My Old Testament history professor would be so happy to know I have retained information after all these years.

But about their God?

Yes.

See, long ago there was a man. And his name was named Abram. And Abram was old. And Abram’s wife was old. And Abram and his wife didn’t have any children. And Abram and his wife weren’t going to be having any children (I feel like we all forget the road these two were currently walking when we meet up with them in the story) because they were old—I already told you that.

But one day God spoke to Abram and said something along the lines of, “Leave your home; go away from where you are and from what you are used to. I will show you where you need to be, and I will make your name great; you will be a blessing.”
Like any good man, he did what God told him to do.

And one day they came to this land and God said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” (Genesis 12:7).

But, remember: there was no offspring.

So time passes.

Conflicts come like any life.
Relationships get restored like sometimes in life.
But no baby makes an appearance.
And the years keep rolling on.

 An old, childless couple when the story starts, Abram and his wife are older still. Childless like before.

Then one day God spoke to him again telling Abram that he is a Protector, and that his reward will be very great (Gen. 15:1).

But Abram remembered something. Didn’t God at one time…years ago…say something about some piece of land belonging to…some offspring?

But, remember: there was no offspring.

And, remember: they are old.
Which does not bode well in the children department.

So Abram says to the Lord one day, “Umm….Lord….I don’t know if you are aware, but….ummmm….we still don’t have any children. There is just this nephew who will inherit the land.”

And what does God say to him?

“This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir.”

But, remember: there was no son. There still was no son. There had never been a son, it doesn’t seem possible that there will ever be a son. There is no son.

If you are like me you will find yourself at this part of the story saying in a bit of an impatient, irritated tone, as life just seems to be continuing on for this old couple, “BUT WHERE IS THIS SON YOU KEEP SPEAKING OF?!?!!?”

Trust me, they did too. They had to have.

It’s human nature. We are an impatient people because we are not a people of limitless time.
So when God says something is going to happen we usually nod our heads up and down and go “Yes, great, where do I sign? See you Monday morning.”

But no paper work shows up to sign.

And Monday comes and goes and time passes and conflicts come and relationships get ruined and sometimes they restored and life happens and still no papers show up to sign and another Monday goes by the wayside.

Have you ever felt that way? Like something isn’t adding up? Like there is another end of a bargain still needing to be held up and it’s not yours?

And we keep asking figuratively, “Where is the son?”

Back to the story. On a clear night God takes Abram outside and shows him the vast multitude of stars.
I assume it was something like this.

 

And God makes a bold promise: “Look to the heavens and number them, if you are able to number them…So shall your offspring be.” (Gen 15:5)

And life continued to happen for childless Abram and his wife.

But then they tried to manipulate the situation.
And they pushed their way and they didn’t wait.
And they made stupid mistakes.
And I would think that the promise would be void at this point because I do those same kinds of things and always feel like God’s promises should be rendered void unto me.

Yet, in spite of all of that I have to remember: God is not like me. And one night God showed Abram the stars, and that night God gave him a promise.

Wolfies, if there is one thing I have to say to you it is this: God is faithful to remember his promises.

Of this I am a witness.

Because one day this summer I stood on the Mount of Olives and all I could see, piled one right on top of the other, was God’s remembered promises.

More than I could count.

More than my eyes could take in.

Probably more than any human knows.

Shining a blinding white in the sun the way a star shines in darkness.

But, I am guessing, that like how he knows the unknowable number of stars in the sky, God knows the number of times he remembered his promise to Abram.

He knows the name registry of that cemetery the same way he calls each star by name.

Because God is faithful. He does not make promises he won’t keep. He does not hear prayers and not answer them-not always in ways we want, but he answers in the way that is best. He does not forget our plot in life, he knows all his plans for our life, he knows how he started us and he knows how he will bring us to a beautiful finish.

Because he is faithful.

He can be taken at his word.

See, a long time ago there was a man named Abram. And Abram and his wife were old and they had no babies.

But one day God said, “Some day I will give you a baby.”

And one day God was faithful to his promise.

And then, true to his character, he kept being faithful…

Long Arms.

Hi Wolfies!
I feel like I need to apologize for having been so absent lately! I have a few really big projects I am working on and…well…. pretty much it’s taken over my life.

I never want to leave my studio.
I don’t want to hang out.
I just want to work.

Which, is a good thing and a bad thing. A good thing because I am getting a lot of really cool work done.

A bad thing because it’s beautiful outside. And I never leave my studio.
For those of you who don’t live in climates where Fall is simply the most beautiful time of the year, and where you don’t understand Anne of Green Gables quote:

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

then let me apologize for the following slew of pictures.

 

 

In the little bit of time I did vacate my studio and take these pictures, I got that overwhelmed feeling again. Much like the feeling Ihad when it was wild black raspberry season.

Oh, and did I mention it is also walnut season?

Turns out I have walnut trees. Which is awesome. But now I need to figure out how to harvest them...after I figure out how to leave my studio.

 Anyway, I digress.

Last weekend my dad wanted me to help him pick apples at a friend’s house.

So off we traipsed, though the looming clouds suggested a coming storm.

My dad makes a mean applesauce and come this time of year it’s like he goes into a trance. But it’s a trance that produces beautiful, pink, cinnamony goodness, so we are cool with it.

My poppy.

I had never picked apples with him before, though. When we got to our friend’s farm I was immediately put on the alert as they have this dog.

And you all know how I feel about dogs.

I don’t feel good things about dogs : )

No. Unfortunately.
They….scare me.

And the ones that don’t scare me shed hair on me. So, put together some fear and lots of dog hair and you end up with my dismissal of almost the entire species (I say “almost” because there are….4…dogs who have made their way into my heart).

 

But my dad, being the good dad that he is, says “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you. See: ‘Hey pup!!’” and then he reached out and pet the silly thing.

While that made me feel better, knowing that my father wasn’t afraid of dogs and that the dog didn’t want to maul my father, I wish it would have made the dog feel that he could bypass the part where he comes over and smells my legs.

Alas. Twas not to be. So I just stood there with my eyes closed and prayed he went away.

Which he finally did.

(Praise the Lord)

And then I finally was able to open my eyes and move out of my statue-esque pose.

Not to be delayed any longer, I started at the first tree I saw and just went to town.

Pre-polishing.

Post-polishing.

 

Did you know that different kinds of apples taste different?
Yes, I know that sounds super elementary, but I am serious. And I don’t mean that they all just taste like apples but a little different.

No.

Some apples taste like my perfume.

Some taste like the smell of flowers.
Some taste like grapes.
It is absolutely incredible.
And did you also know that when the wind knocks apples off the tree it gives them bruises?

Yeah.

Totally.
So know that if you buy an apple from the store without a bruise on it—that baby didn’t fall off the tree because it was ripe. Nope. That sweet delicacy was picked as it still clung to the tree limb.

You know, since I have come back from Israel, as I read through my Bible everything seems so much simpler. All of these concepts that we here in the West try to figure out and write theologies about, etc. don’t seem complicated anymore. Like the “to live is Christ” concept: not complicated.
Those things are said in normal, everyday language.
Because the gospel is for all people; normal, everyday people.
No surprise then that as I am picking apples suddenly a spiritual truth dawns on me and now seems…simple.

Sometimes apples are really high up on the tree. Much too tall, even for my taller than average frame, for me to pick. And even though I climb up into the tree, or stand on a bucket, or get a ladder, I could never reach them.

But some really smart farmer, somewhere along the line, came up with this little contraption.

And really, it’s not little at all:

This is what I like to call, The Apple Picker.

Because it picks apples.
It gets all those high up ones that no one else can.
I let my father use it the whole time; he seems much more up for the job.

Which, as he was calmly picking apple after apple and I was running around, literally jumping off the ground to pick the apples I could reach, the thought occurred, “How great it would be to have such a long arm; you could reach things nobody else could reach.”

And that sounds strongly familiar; like one of those verses we try to theorize about: “Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save….” (Isaiah 59:1)

Wow.
It’s that simple.
I can run around frantic, jumping and climbing ladders and standing on buckets and stooping lower than normal,  trying to pick up all these things and people and concepts and apples that are BRUISED FROM THE FALL, yet still will never able to reach some things; I will never be tall enough, strong enough, I can never climb as high as I need to get to them, but…. But surely a God with a really long arm could reach them…
Nothing. Nobody. There is not a situation or soul alike that can’t be reached by a Father with a really long arm.

Wow.

Not complicated.
Isn’t that just the most beautiful thing to know?! That God has a really long arm??! An arm that IS long enough to reach all those we sometimes feel can never be reached.
Hallelujah, he is taller than all the trees.

And I stared at the overwhelming bounty, knowing that I could pick pick pick all day long and still there would be apples on the trees, I though, “You know, of all the apples that get eaten in the world-- I bet it’s like less than 1% of them are picked by the people who eat them.”

It’s not because there are not enough apples, or not enough people, or not enough places to go get them. No when it comes to apples, and here I go again, when it comes to….everything else…. the harvest….well…the harvest is plentiful. There is enough to go around.
But picking apples is work. I mean, even in the cold and wind and slight rain, I was sweating.
And who wants to sweat and work to get the harvest? Not many. Most want to get the unbruised kind that get delivered to them.
So, I guess I could say, “The workers are few.”

Ta-da.

Sorry, Wolifes. I had to do it.

Do you see, though, how REALLY, this stuff isn’t complicated? The gospel and God’s call on our life, is in everyday language?

Like, so simple enough that someone who had no knowledge of anything other than the simplest concept in the world (i.e. gardening—or picking apples) could fully understand what Jesus was talking about:
God can reach anyone with his really “long arm,” but he wants us to be workers in his fields, making something out of that which is bruised by the fall.

Which, yikes.

Because faith is a whole lot easier to theorize about than to practice.
But, the simplicity of the gospel and its call on the Believers life leaves little room for excuses. This stuff is simple to know; and I feel like we will be held responsible for that which we know.

Let’s trust in his long arm…and ignore the bruises.

Set not.

During lunch today I was on one of those social media sites, which, does anyone else just get really bored with those most of the time? Anyway. I was browsing the webs and came across something that, after I had perused it for about 5 minutes I was like, "What am I doing? Why am I looking at this? This is garbage..." and I promptly exited out of it.

No. It wasn't THAT kind of garbage.

But it wasn't good.
Well, it isn't what the Bible calls "good." The world is fine with it.

But I don't want to be fine with it.

Which is why I hated that I could stomach it for five minutes, you know? I have much too high of a tolerance for it.

Gag.

As I went about the rest of my work all I could think about was Psalm 101:3 that says "I will set no vile thing before my eyes."

What a resolution.
And it's super tricky to do that in this day and age. Because what seems totally normal and celebrated today in most parts of the world and my culture alike, really, if we are honest, probably just straight up goes against the Word of God.


But...but....I don't want to go against the Word of God.
I don't want a heart that desires those things. I don't want to be able to stomach it.

Anyway. That's my thought for the day and my challenge to all of you: Let's stop putting vile things before our eyes, shall we?

Love you all. Happy Wednesday.

~~~~
Here are two little bits of what else I did today: