2013 - The Final Moments

We have arrived.

On our first Tuesday work day of January 2013, we went to an Indian/Mexican combo restaurant (weird, right?) in our town with a notebook and pen to set some goals for the year.  Included in our conversation was an attempt at a timeline for our then-imaginary album.  It looked like this:

It felt like we'd already made progress, and made the "How on earth do we do this again?!" feeling shrink for a day or three. 

That day feels like it happened in another era.  Two dreamers, eager to be a "real" band, embarking on a voyage on a very misty morning, where all we could see were a few feet of waves in front of the dock and no hint of land on the other side.  And here we are, a year later, with so many miles sailed that the shore we left is but a memory now.

Realistically, our time frame got adjusted several times, which was to be expected.  The April scratches (= a basic version of the song everyone can listen to while they record their actual parts on the song in the studio) became more like demo versions, trying to pass ideas around friends and colleagues to embody the little souls in each song.  We played our last C&J shows in May/June so we could buckle down and focus on the record.  Summer saw the scratches created, changed, and finished, with the help of musicians around us. 

August finally brought the beginning of the recording process itself.  First, the drummer laid down the foundations in the beginning of the month.  Then, the day we packed our ideas and clothes into the Civic and drove the 15+ hours to Port St Lucie, FL (note to selves: next time, do not go NEAR 95 south on the last Saturday of summer vacation, as everyone in the vicinity of VA will be doing the same thing to get to Virginia Beach).  We spent a week pouring every ounce of energy (and our blessed, saintly engineer's energy) into a tiny vocal booth, running into the wee hours of the morning and sustained only by the Lord, Mama Douglas's cooking (best. host. ever.), banana-peanut butter wraps, and Throat Coat tea.  Definitely mostly the Lord.  When the week was through, we hopped back in the car, drove straight through to Maryland, and woke up to our day jobs (Jenna's return to teaching from summer break!) the next morning.  We also managed to drag ourselves out to dinner to celebrate Chris's birthday that day!

Geoff (both guitarist and engineer) began work laying down guitar tracks as we worked on piano ideas.  Then, on September 10th, we got word that our dream mixing engineer had time to squeeze in a lil' ol' band like us in about a month.  Cue SUDDENLY RECORDING THE REST OF THE ALBUM ASAP.  We grabbed our bassist and our programming writer (also the drummer) and set up a makeshift studio in our church to track bass and piano parts.  As soon as we finished, we sent the tracks down to Geoff in Florida so he could get them edited and ready for mixing. 

We also realized that, if we wanted the album mixed and mastered properly like we'd been hoping, we needed to start our Kickstarter crowdfunding campaign, like, yesterday.  Chris put footage together and we launched the campaign to raise the rest of the funds we needed to make this step of the project happen.  We were able to set our goal comparably small to our entire budget, thanks to many private backers and donors who believe in this ministry and have partnered with us along the way.

At the end of October, Shane D. Wilson started work mixing our tracks.  We got the first 2 tracks two days later, went out and bought a pair of quality speakers so we could actually hear them, sat at our desk in our music work room... and listened with our mouths open, eyes shining, silent.  Until they finished, and we giggled like giddy schoolchildren.  We could not BELIEVE the quality he was bringing to our songs.  That week and the next were spent listening on as many sets of speakers as we could, taking notes, sending small requests for changes (and they were indeed few!), and listening more. 

In the process of this, we had been communicating with our mastering engineer, Matthew Odmark, since early October.  (We may have geeked out slightly when we realized he's a member of Jars of Clay.  Maybe.)  He received all of the mixed files in November so he could master the album for us... at which point he needed the name of the album and track listing.  Which we had spent approximately 15 seconds thinking about to date.  So, we spent a slightly crazed evening creating every possible mutation of an order for the 10 songs until we finally agreed that we'd found it. 

Chris works in many lists and doodles. 

Jenna works in sticky notes rearranged many ways.

Matthew mastered the album for us, we gave him a few tiny requests, and he finished it off.  Whew.

After 2 1/2 whirlwind months of much faster progress than we expected, December became a month of working on album artwork and building a new band website to help us reach more people when we release the album.  December also became a month of holiday crazy times, so progress has seemed more snail-like compared with the preceding months.

But, here we are, on the very last day of the year.  We have a tiny piece of notebook paper to look back on, where we took our best guesses at setting goals for how we could expect an album to develop.  And now, we could listen to the mastered version on a set of car speakers as we drove home on Christmas Eve, tearing up at the marvel of what has been created.  Not that we or the album itself are so wondrous - only that God can breathe His creative spirit into community and can birth something that seems impossible to two small people in northern Maryland.

We are tired.  We are proud.  We are humbled.  2013, you have been a challenging and stretching year.  We are grateful for it.  We look forward to completing the rest of the artwork, website, PR work, and distribution necessary in early 2014 to finally give this album flight, and then to plunging back into shows where we can do what we love: playing music together and hopefully ministering to people in small ways.

Blessings to you in 2014.  Could not say it better than this:

This is attributed to Brad Paisley.  But the image that had his name also had an incorrectly placed comma after the word "Tomorrow."  I will not abide such things.

Kickstart the New CHRIS & JENNA Album!

Well, everyone, here's our life right now!  We are amazed at how much support the project has drawn in such a short amount of time.  If you're down with what we're doing, spread the word to those you know - help us make this album happen!! 
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/696318513/new-chris-and-jenna-album

The illusion (maybe?) of "balance" in the battle for our days.

Readers, I come to you pretty undecided about this one.  So, I'm asking for your input.

 My brain right now.  In work + album mode.  Never.  Off.

We have seasons of life that demand different things of us, and seasons where we take different nuggets that we apply to the way we live.

In college, I learned what it means to overextend yourself to the point where you can do everything "well enough," but not really excelling or thriving.  To do everything simply because you can, and thus compromise sleep and relationships.  In the last semester of college, I gained freedom by finally saying "no" and quitting some things (gasp).  I was able to pour into people in ways I had not, and I felt more alive than when I was constantly doing work, hitting the pillow so late I couldn't even tell what time it was, and cramming more into my days than most would think possible.  I finally learned that "just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

I am a nightowl by nature.  It has taken me a while to get to a point where I can acknowledge that my mornings and days at my job are better when I go to bed sooner.  Sounds obvious, but it's totally opposite to my instincts.  So, at 29, I was finally going to bed at a slightly more reasonable hour in order to wake up and get to my job on time (ish).

But now, we are in album mode.  And for several weeks straight, we have gone to our day jobs, then straight to our recording site or home, eaten a quick (unhealthy) dinner, and plugged away until midnight-ish.  And then we wake up and do it all over again.

This is me when I think about my impending 1 am bedtime. But less of the athleticness.  Also less of the sculpted thighs.

(This is also me each morning when I show one of my kindergarteners an M and he enthusiastically says "T!"  No. This is an M.  It is the first letter in your name.  Just like it was yesterday.  And three weeks ago.  For the love.  I could write a whole separate blog... kindergarten teachers everywhere, you have my undying respect and loyalty.  This stuff is nuts.)

The going-to-bed-more-reasonably-and-pretending-I'm-a-responsible-adult part of me wants to die a little.  Ok, maybe more than a little.

But it's only part of me.  Because the other part of me that knows what our studio engineer/guitarist lives like, doing these crazy hours just about all the time, and how when he's questioned about his stamina/fatigue only points back to the Lord - that part of me is using him as a muse to get through it and questioning my approach to life.

I'm caught between the idea of rest, which God created, and "pressing on toward the goal" by going to bed when everything is done, not when I'm tired.

I definitely can examine what is unnecessary, what is wasteful, what fills my time but does nothing for the Kingdom, what someone else could do just as well if not better than me.  So, I know it's not helpful to fill time with superfluous things.

But what about when it's not superfluous?  What about when it's all related to things you feel called to do and things you don't feel like you have a choice about?

 Dude.  Gravity sculpture - no glue, no cement, no nothing.  I'm impressed.

I think "balance" is a common word in Christian circles.  We don't want people burned out on ministry, we get overwhelmed with our schedules, and we ask for prayer to help us get a better balance of quality time with our spouses, with children, with friends, with God, with ministries, with chores..... etc.

I feel like this is an art I have tried to learn through the past 5 years or so... and yet, Jesus doesn't talk about balance.  Ever.  Jesus talks about selling ALL you have and giving it to the poor, of a widow who gave all she had to the church, of a man who finds a treasure and sells all of his belongings to buy the field it's hidden in...  Jesus does go away from the crowds to pray, to be restored by his Father.  But those accounts are outnumbered by all of his healings, teachings, and traveling from place to place to love people and show them the way to Life.

And Paul?!  I'm fairly certain Paul wasn't refraining from traveling, writing his letters, speaking our in his jail cell because he needed some "me time."  And countless people are working tiring hours both here and overseas to reach people with the good news of Jesus and to fight for justice.  But we're told that we need to stay healthy with how we spend our time.  We're told "you can't be all things to all people."  Yet Paul says, "I have become all things to all men, so that by all possible means I might save some."  Which is it?!

So, where do we come to rest in this?  This divide between creating limits to care for ourselves so that we can care for others in the name of the gospel, and "keeping on" through our exhaustion for the sake of the gospel? 

I know I can think of a few central principles:
-Relying on God for strength and sustenance
-Having time with the Lord for refreshment
-Doing all things for the sake of the gospel, and no other motivations (selfishness, approval...)

Yet I'm falling short in some of the way these are lived out.  Is constantly pushing beyond limits a foolish practice that will leave us ragged and spent and keep us from our full potential?  Or is conserving and protecting simply an American approach to our lives and our faith?

What do you think?  Where are you in this??

Album Progress: the things we must learn to love.

"More frequent summer blogging," I wrote in our last blog post.  In June.  So much for that.  I suppose it's still technically summer, but my school year has started, so it's hard to feel that way!  But I thought about blogging, with warm fuzzy feelings and all, a whole bunch of times.  So, there's that. 

We have returned from a week of recording vocals in Florida!  We tracked at The Prayer Closet Studios with Geoff Douglas of Equilateral Services (and a musician in his own right).  Our good friend JD Lenick is triple-threat-ing our album with drums, percussion, and some killer backing tracks to fill out the depth and sounds on these tunes.  We arrived in Port St. Lucie on a Sunday and got to catch the tail end of the drum tracks being recorded.  Beginning Monday afternoon, we traded off the vocal booth all week long, fighting to complete a long list of things in one tiny week.

 

 VICTORY!  Major AND minor vocal parts finished = brief Sabbath rest on the beach!

 

We have musician friends who seem to record all the time.  Every time we talk to them, they're making a new EP or a new single.  Most of them also have connections that help them do this... but regardless, recording this album, for us, just does not feel like whistling and skipping into a studio to gaily throw down our song as rainbows and butterflies appear.  It feels like hard labor.  It is a labor of love, but definitely labor.  We love to play together, and we love connecting with people at our shows.  We do not always love getting really particular about our craft. 

A while back, I saw this Proverb posted by a fellow musician (Mathai - she was on The Voice a few seasons ago, and I've enjoyed learning more about her) on Twitter:

Boyyyyyyyyyyyy it stopped me in my tracks.  She said it was "God slapping me in the face - no better wake up call."  Me too.  The road to recording this album has felt like one big training course in this very thing. 

I grew up as, so I was told, a really smart kid.  They tested me in third grade and put me in the gifted and talented program at my school.  I remained in it all the way through high school.  I experienced a lot of literature, projects, and problem-based learning that I would not have otherwise.  It gave me a bit of an identity, and gave me some peers I could commiserate with (or compete with, depending on the day).  So, then I went to college and was in the honors program there.  Again, I was made to think and use my brain.  All of these were valuable experiences, and I would not go back and undo any of them.  But at the end of the day, here are some things I think I really learned in those 12-ish, formative years:

::enter the voices inside Jenna's head, circa 2006, some known, most subconscious and unrealized...::

-Things come easily to me for the most part.  This is how people recognize me.  This is where my identity lies.
-If something doesn't come easily, it doesn't feel natural or fit with my identity.  People will look at me strangely.  I will avoid those things when possible.
-Criticizing me suggests that my smart kid, capable, quick to learn identity is no longer true.  Which means I don't know who I am.  So I crumble.  (it also all sounds like yelling to me, which terrifies me, but that's another story...)
-My dad, and many of my peers, define my intelligence by my grades. Anything below a 97 is going to raise an eyebrow.  Gifted kids aren't supposed to get less than that.   (this was helpfully dismantled a bit in college)
-...luckily, I can get really good grades by cramming the night before a test/paper/evaluation.  I probably won't remember the information later or be able to use or apply what I learned, but I got my grade.  No questions asked.
-I am labeled as "gifted," so I can get special privileges, like leaving other classes to work on projects and extensions on papers because I "need them."  So I can make up excuses when I procrastinate and people will generally make an exception for me.  I usually make 'last minute' work out pretty well.

::end the parade of half-truths::

Now... apply all of that to being an adult musician.  People tell me I am good at singing.  I have been singing forever, so I can do it - to a point - without thinking.  So, focused, technical practice is not first thing on my mind.  My mom does not live with me, and so does not force me to practice like she did with my clarinet.  I do not have tests to pass.  So, there are not deadlines for me to achieve certain levels of mastery with my craft.  I have a limited amount of piano, glockenspiel, and ukulele skill.  Trying to do certain things with them does not feel natural to me.  So, when they get hard, I push them away and do something else. 

What's missing is a healthy dose of work ethic.  Weird, since I worked my butt off to make sure I kept the grades and the appearances I felt I needed to...  but somewhere at the end of college, I crashed, and all desire to work at things was gone.  (Maybe it was that being good at things was what my whole identity was based on and I couldn't keep up anymore?  ..nah.....)

Somewhere in the sifting of education and cultivation, I missed the boat of intrinsic motivation and the constant pursuit of excellence.  Instead of seeing whatever abilities I had as a tool to be used, I saw them as the point of it all.  So being smart was the end goal, not being able to use my mind to accomplish great things.  So, here I sit, a closer-to-30-than-seems-possible adult, who loves music and feels a convicting calling to pursue it and use it for God's glory, who also instinctually runs away the second it gets hard.  Who bristles when her husband bandmate corrects her.  Who balls up on the couch and shuts down when she feels incompetent.  Who avoids even starting practicing because she has a sneaking suspicion she might actually be bad at it, and she never learned how to deal with being bad at things.

"To learn, you must love discipline.  It is stupid to hate correction." 

Ouch. 

This grown-up is having to slowly, painfully learn what many of her elementary students have already grasped - that learning is not always about a brief pat on the back, but about the development itself.  That it's supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable for a while.  That having your inefficiencies pointed out is desirable, because it gives you a chance to seize them with determined joy and grow.  That doing something well "effortlessly" is a facade, because true skill is backed by a ton of discipline.  And learning to love that discipline can result in art that is beautiful and solid, not threatened by a lack of work or too much criticism.

To read more about the history of whom this quote is attributed to, go here.

To read the disturbing but memorable cartoon of what made me remember to say "whom" instead of "who," go here.

The original version of this quote, when I first read it, said "...miss two days, my friends know it."  Which, to me, is much more accountability-inspiring than thinking about critics.  The point is the same - and this is a kind of personal drive I have not known in my past, but I see it in friends of mine, and I aspire to honor the gifts God has given me with the same kind of zeal. 

...I started this post meaning to tell you specific details of what recording has been like so far.  I didn't quite know it would go this direction.  But, here it is.  The good news is I am writing to you in a reflective place: not the first realization of my faults, but standing in the middle of a massive project that has SO much potential, looking at the growth in these past months of willingness to listen, to refine, to practice, to struggle.  This album is indeed a labor of love, and I am so grateful for it.  I am grateful for the chance to learn to be a laborer, who puts the kind of work in that will make the harvest worth it. 

Much love,
Jenna

Back In the Saddle Again

So, my New Year's Resolution said that I'd write at least one blog post every month.  That lasted until April.  May was nonexistent.  But I wrote a bunch throughout Lent, so maybe that counts?  Or something?  Regardless, it's June, school's out, and I'm back.

To start us out for some (hopefully) more frequent summer blogging, a little insight into our hearts and passion right now.  We are creating our second album.  And we adore the tiny, fledgling fetus it is right now.  It will be our surrogate child for a while.  We are rather emotionally invested in it, which causes absolutely NO communication break downs or failures, in case you were wondering.  It also causes virtually NO stress about timelines, deadlines, skill, money........  ahem.

While these pesky human emotions and insecurities can indeed get in the way, we have something too important to get blocked and tramped down.  Chris, in a moment of clarity when we started to hit a wall one night, had us stop and begin writing a bit of mission/vision casting for this album.  In other words, why bother?  Why record these songs?  Below are snippets taken from these pieces of cardstock that we covered in various Sharpie colors, furiously attempting to translate our inner thoughts and desires to a set of visible and understandable characters on a page.

"There is an urgency in my heart for these truths. Clearly they've been said before, in very many ways. But this world hurts. It bleeds, groans, shakes, and mourns for something it long forgot, something Unnamed and ignored. But truly, it has a Name. A Heartbeat. A Face. A Voice. A Rhythm. A Disarming Force that in a breath can crumble every lie. And that is the pull of this album for me – there is Hope beyond what we've been fooled into swallowing. Far off, yet so near. A day unknown, yet this very moment. I want it to be a vessel the Spirit can reach right through and grab someone's heart. To still, to quiet, to awaken, to lead, to embolden...  A story of raw brokenness being transformed into freedom.

...

It is sure to unleash my insecurities – being able to play the instruments well enough, not understanding the process, being wrong, making mistakes... I want God to intervene for me and get me out of the darn way. Truly, I want this to be the start of a new chapter for C&J, and I'm not sure of all the pages (or any of them!)... but I want us to love people and to be instruments used as much as possible." 

  

"...God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering. Though musically a departure, it does feel like the spiritual successor to How the Fall Makes You Feel. The world is still a mess, but now we're not looking down at our feet, we're looking to the promise of God of resurrection through Jesus, of the righting of wrongs, of the redemption of mankind.

We look to that promise though it is still out of our reach and control. We wait for it patiently, hoping in the trueness of God's promise. While we wait, and the night stretches on, we ask God to lead us until the promise is fulfilled, until our faith is sight. We hold to His words, knowing that remaining faithful to Him takes, at the same time, all that we have, as well as what we lack. These songs, to me, communicate life from the no man's land. The time between the fall of man and Jesus' return. These songs are the cry of our hearts that in the midst of the battle, You would still be making us fruitful, making us more like You. They're songs written by people who are in these lands of suffering, for people in the lands of suffering. 

 

Artistically, my desire for the project's creation is that it would be joyous. Though personally, these songs mean the world to me, that's a huge burden to place on a recording. I don't want it to be so weighty that I feel as if my soul is at risk with every drum fill I don't love, or vocal take I botch. I think these songs could truly serve people, but not if we don't love playing them. Not if we're counting on them to make us rich, or build our fan base. I want to bring the wisdom of experience into the studio, for sure, but I don't want to bring in my baggage or jadedness. I'd rather count my blessings that God has allowed this vision to progress as much as it has. I'd rather serve in the creation of art than create art that will serve me.

...

So why this album? Why these songs? Why these people? Really, I can guess and reason, but at the end of the day, something in me says 'to make music.' I can't shake it from me anymore than I can unravel my skin. I thank God for the clarity and burden of a purpose. For “life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire. A boat yearning for the sea, yet afraid.” But it is my hope to make music that testifies to the mercy of God. I am thankful that God hasn't handed these dreams over to us, for a hope that we can see is no hope at all. I hope to always be working towards using art to shine light onto fragments of God's truth, and to not have too much, and thus be content, and forget what it is I'd set out to do at the start."

And so, we press on.  Glory to the One who is deserving!

Lenten Fast 2013: The End

What wondrous love is this, oh, my soul, oh, my soul

What wondrous love is this, oh, my soul

What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss

To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul

To bear the dreadful curse for my soul

Happy Easter!!!  On this day of resurrection, fasting ends.  Okay, some people say it ends earlier in Holy Week, but we surely did not need groceries before today.

So, at the tail end, here's a picture of The List:

 43 different items left, down from 70-something.  Still looks huge, no?

And here's the state of our cupboard:

 We can see the back of it.  And move things around easily.  This is progress.

Definitely emptier than the onset!  And yet, not as bare-bones as one might think after 40 days of trying to deplete it.  I still am convinced that our kitchen's food supply does NOT vary greatly from the majority of middle-class Americans, so I don't think we can only point the blame on Chris & Jenna's unique splurging lives and dismiss us as hoarders.

Since the last update, here are things I've observed in a fast of eating what we have instead of constantly accumulating more (with the only additions of milk and fresh produce):

Planning ahead is key, especially with the life we lead.  We hit a Wednesday night where we were leading worship for a college group and had to be there by 6:15-ish.  Chris gets home at 5:30, and I had an appointment or work stuff or something that prevented me from getting home early.  So we had a 45 minute window in which to load up our gear, print the set list and a few chord charts, and eat.  We had food to spare in the The Cupboard, but no time to prepare it.  So Subway got our dollar.  Had we been on it the day before, we wouldn't have had to indulge in convenient but pricier fast food.

We don't miss much.  It's so exciting to have a fridge full of healthy greens and blackberries ($1.29 at Aldi. Can't get over it.) that it's hard to feel lacking.  I will admit a few things I'm looking forward to come Monday: coffee creamer (been doing skim milk - just not the same, but I have lived), yogurt (have found a lot of yummy looking smoothie recipes that are begging for it), and maple syrup (we were out for months before Lent started, but now that we're actually using the pancake mix and searching out more consistent breakfast recipes, I am missing it.  Though this morning I discovered the joy of peach butter on pancakes.  I have no regrets.).  Chris has been nursing the last of the peanut butter for weeks, and I'm sure he can't wait for a fresh jar (any normal human would have consumed or tossed the half ounce that's left, but not this man).  Almond milk will be a welcome friend, too, and I bet Chris will be happy to replenish our chicken supply.  But really, that's about it.

We have had things for almost 2 years that we did not know existed and would have never eaten.  We had - count them - THREE packs of hot dogs in the freezer.  One of them was open.  Would we have ever made them?  Probably not.  (I'm not saying they were 2 years old - the ones we made tasted fine - don't judge.)  They became a joke item on my part, offering them to Chris as a dinner option, knowing he'd never want them.  How appalling.  We have also had a shake-and-pour Bisquick pancake mix for forEVER.  Maundy Thursday morning, it finally saw the light of day.  Why did we have this?!
In related news, I just saw something about making sure to discard any cake or pancake mixes that are past the expiration date b/c the yeast can grow spores, turn to toxic mold, and kill you dead.  ...We're still alive.  Hmm.

Muffin pans are breakfast-to-go's best friend.  Did you know that old fashioned oatmeal can be used for more than a yearly batch of oatmeal scotchies?!   Weird, right??  ...nope, just me?  Ahem...  I found this recipe for Baked Honey Oatmeal made in a muffin pan so that your servings are ready-to-go, and with it and some variations, we have had delicious HEALTHY breakfast every morning that we can grab, microwave for a minute, and eat in the car on the way to work.  (If you look up "morning people" in the dictionary/thesaurus, we will be listed under Antonyms.  "Creating" breakfast before 8 am is not humanly possible in our home.)  I'd like to thank our stoneware muffin pans - just spray with cooking spray, and no paper liner needed.

I want to eat healthier.  Only being allowed to buy fresh food makes me feel a lot better.  I'm not sure exactly what we were buying before that distracted us from this... which is likely the problem.  When there's too much junk in your life, you don't really know what any of it is, and yet you can't see the better things you're missing out on. 

Traveling on this fast is harder.  We had no restrictions on eating out.  We had to go away for 2 weekends this month.  Normally, I get us a big thing of trail mix, some beef jerky, and some cheese crackers and/or dried fruit for travel munchies - clearly within the milk/produce boundaries, though perhaps dried fruit could have been swung.  We could have stocked up on non-refrigerated fruit for snacks for this trip, like apples and bananas... But, we didn't.  So, we wound up spending much more on food on the road, and a lot of it was not very good for us.  Note to self: again, plan ahead, and think outside the box of routine.

There is always more than meets the eye.  Especially toward the end, I saw a lot of ingredients that didn't really fit together and was prepared to just eat pasta with olive oil and veggies for days.  Yet, Chris saw elk chili.  (And it was scrumptious.)  Typical of the "there's nothing to eat!" plague of the household with full cabinets, there was always something more available if we thought about it hard and got creative enough.

We have thoughtful, sweet friends.  Kira kept us (me) functioning with the gift of a can of unground coffee she wasn't using.  We don't have a coffee grinder... but a few weeks ago we had the light-dawning realization that a Magic Bullet could probably grind coffee just fine for two people who love it but are not coffee snobs by any stretch of the imagination.  (I have gone a step up that ladder by becoming obsessed with Furnace Hills Coffee, which is from a local roastery and may be a few bucks more, but employs special needs folks, uses fair trade coffee, and supports orphanages in Ukraine and development in Asia - um, YES.)  Jenn read my whining post about the Williams Sonoma hot chocolate and brought us fancy Twinings Drinking Chocolate - virtually the same thing - that she'd had and wasn't using.  Did we need these things?  No, but these women saw a need and wanted to fill it - fabulously, with things they already owned and acknowledged that they didn't need to keep, instead of buying us something.  (Coincidentally, have I touched the hot chocolate yet?  I'll let you take a wild guess...)

Gluttony is real.  We don't talk about it much in America.  We talk about obesity, we talk about health, we talk about food labels and companies and recipes and trends... but I think I'm realizing how deep gluttony has gripped our country (which is why we don't talk about it).  The urge to collect and consume constricts our hearts and blinds us to what we're really doing and to the needs of the people not only across oceans, but down the street.   I heard a group of high schoolers talking about Catholicism and the 7 deadly sins, and gluttony was one of the last they remembered as they tried to list them.  I don't know about you, but when I think of it I get a cartoon image of an overweight person sloppily gathering food in his arms and shoving things in his mouth (before you think I'm a jerk, I think it's because of this cartoon series).  I don't think gluttony is usually this obvious.  Really, this is the sneaky genius of most sin - we picture an exaggerated worse-case scenario of it, separate our own actions from that image, conclude "I don't struggle with that," and carry on.  I think gluttony has joined hands with greed and stealthily tiptoed into my home and my heart with the goal of setting up shop for a good long time.  As their cover becomes more and more exposed, they revolt (see my previous mourning sessions/temper tantrums over hot chocolate and maple cream - ugh.) and kick and scream against the truth that I. want. for. nothing.

There are people in this town and little ones near and far who are starving today.  And this grips my heart and pulls my gut to help, yet is also met with almost immediate hopelessness of 'not really making a difference.'  We all know that people are starving, and many of us are willing to occasionally donate to organizations who will do something about it.  But we don't often connect the actual contents of our own cupboards to their need.  The old "There are kids starving in Africa, finish your plate!" gets met with "Are you going to mail them my uneaten Brussels sprouts?!"  What does THIS have to do with THEM??  What we physically have seems to be disconnected from others' needs, because it is ours and in our house.  

But really, in a way, we can send those unwanted sprouts to Africa.

We could keep close watch on what we spend on groceries.  We could give up items from our carts that are impulses or more than we need while we're at the store, total what we would have spent, and give that money to those who have none, therefore literally giving to them what would have been our excess.
We could keep track of how much we waste and then a) alter how much we buy and b) commit to giving the equivalent of our waste to those in need - if we're willing to spend it on filling a trash can, we should be willing to spend it on aching bellies that could be satisfied.
We could meal-plan to determine what we'll actually use in our cupboards for a week/month/fortnight and then raid our cupboards for (quality, non-expired) items that don't fit the list and take them to a local food bank, shelter, or other organization in need ('in need' being the key part - if they already have 84 cans of peas but no green beans, then giving them my nine additional cans of peas is not truly helpful).
We could.

If only we would.

Thinking and living like this requires much more intentional thought and action than what our culture tells us we should have to bear.  Much more than my instincts give me.  But on this day, we read that Jesus defeated death.  He showed that where something is dead, it can live again.  Where selfishness abounds, there can be rebirth.  Where hopelessness prevails, there is yet hope.  Where blindness drives our days, scales can fall from our eyes to let us see the glory that comes when we loosen our grip on our stuff and use it to provide for our neighbors, brothers, and sisters.

From this point on, our fast is over.  Thus, the danger of returning to our old habits and patterns.  Neither of us want this.  We will begin buying other food items again, but ingredients that will help us make meals out of what we already own, rather than replacing them and shoving them back to the deep recesses of The Cupboard to rot and decay.  We will try to shop focused on what we truly need, rather than what we could have.  Because:
Just because we CAN have it doesn't mean that we SHOULD. 
(the antithesis of the American dream, folks..... also restated liberally from Jen Hatmaker in her book, 7.)

This, much more than mindless consuming, will God-willing show us glimpses of what the Kingdom is supposed to be like.

And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on, I'll sing on

And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on

And when from death I'm free, I'll sing His love for me

And through eternity I'll sing on, I'll sing on

And through eternity I'll sing on

Lenten Fast 2013: The Cupboard Fast, Part 3

When I started writing this post, we were 20 days into the 40 day fast (well, more than that if you count Sundays, which Lent doesn't, but with the nature of this fast, having Sunday as a "rest" from it didn't really seem appropriate. and would only amplify the gluttony of our cupboard.).  Then, magically, lots of time flew by and suddenly the end is in sight!!  Here are some highlights/bumps along the way...

Day 15 - Breakfast
We're not big sit-down breakfast people... mostly because we stay up too late every night and regret it every morning.  So really, I take that back - I ADORE sit-down breakfasts, and eat them once every 6 months at a Bob Evans.  Ain't nobody got time for that.
So, to get a grab-and-go item in our hands, I went to The Cabinet and baked pumpkin muffins.  For the second time in a month.  Yes, me, a muffin-baking queen.  If you were not aware that you can make pumpkin muffins with 1) a box of Spice Cake mix and 2) a small can of pumpkin and 3) nothing else - you are welcome.  Now I can eat one for breakfast each day.  And Chris can eat three.

Day 17 - Groceries
This was our first real grocery trip since Lent started.  A friend looked at me like I was crazy when I said this.  Yes, we went 17 days.  Yes, we still have food to spare.
Chris got to experience his inaugural trip to the Aldi that opened in our town.  We love a deal.  Ergo, we love Aldi.  We got our gallon of milk and lots of produce: avocados (59 cents!! ...so they're rock hard, we'll get them ripened at some point!), lettuce, spinach, bell peppers (all the fun yummy colors), blackberries, and a questionable buy of a large container of the blue Naked juice (it's produce... but liquified... this may have been bad).  We also bought frozen raspberries, cool whip, and butter, but these were ingredients for a friend's birthday cake, not for us.  (Though we did eat some... and oh my WORD.  Whipped up a raspberry sauce to drizzle on top and I thought I might die.)  Happily, the cake used up some cabinet ingredients like chocolate chips and cocoa!
Our grocery trip was, again, fast.  When the options are limited, I'm not traipsing the aisles in search of deals that might catch my eye.  Nor can I buy things I *might* make one day.
(author's note: it is now day 33, and I am still dreaming about this cake.  make it.) 

Day 18 - An Embarrassing Lenten Moment
Today we attended the Carroll County Maple Sugarin' Festival.  Evidently, these events do not only happen in Vermont.  Why any sort of partially outdoor festival was planned for March 3 is beyond me.  But I adore maple flavored things, and come 25 degree days or winds, I was going.  After looking at the Birds of Prey pavilion (...right), laughing at the people on a HAY RIDE in 25 degree weather, and "observing the maple syrup demonstration" by shivering and standing practically in the fire pit (so, after approximately 8 minutes of 'experiencing' all the festival had to offer), I steered us inside to the "Sales" portion of the festival.  The goal?  Maple sugar candy.  It is obnoxiously sweet.  And comes in tiny little 4-packs that can be instantly consumed and not stored away somewhere like a cupboard.  Therefore, they are within the rules, and I'm obsessed.  This was my objective for the whole trip.
In the "sales" area (quotes intentional), they had three card tables set up.  Two were sellers of woman-geared products that we don't need but can purchase by planning parties at our homes for our girlfriends and which guilt us into pouring out awful amounts of money to acquire unnecessary designer junk - okayi'mdone.  The third table was the extent of the maple sales.  We looked at the 12 bottles of maple syrup on the table (not 12 varieties, 12 total), blinked for a moment, and then I set eyes on a jar of "Maple Cream."  Like maple syrup, but cream.  For bagels.  English muffins.  Crackers.  Fruit.  Pancakes.  Toast.  Anything.  Ohhhhhh my heart.  I got so excited.... and then realized that maple cream would reside in The Cabinet.  And was not milk.  Or produce.  I looked frantically at Chris for a permissive "it's okay, we can't get this anywhere else - we can put it in a drawer instead of the cabinet - it's LIKE produce, it's made from trees - we'll save it for when Lent's over..." and got a big fat "Yeah, I don't think so, I think that violates the rules."  Ouch.  My crestfallen face caught sight of their price list... and lo and behold, MAPLE SUGAR CANDY was listed!  "OOH!  Where is your candy?!" I cried.
"Sold out," the guy said.
..."WHAT?!"
"Yeah, we sold out a little before noon, I think."
"...You opened at 10:30.  It is 1:30.  You brought enough candy for an hour and fifteen minutes?!  At a MAPLE FESTIVAL?!  And you are telling me you are the ONLY people who thought to provide anything like this???!!!"  [this tirade/temper tantrum was inside my head, thank God]
"Maybe we'll order more next year."
"MAYYYYYYYBE?!  ORDER??!!  You don't even make this stuff YOURSELF?!  You're a POSER?!"  [again, inside the head.  thank you, filter.]

And with that, since had no desire for the pancake brunch or face painting, we headed back to the car.  And friends, I POUTED.  Moped.  Flopped on the couch the moment we got home.  Ignored Chris's sweet attempts to draw me back into normal humans-who-aren't-three-years-old behavior patterns.
(Can I also point out that several days later this man told me he'd researched how to make the candy ourselves?!   Honestly.  I am spoiled by his ever-growing thoughtfulness and selflessness.  it's a testament - we were not always this way.)

Sadly, this is how God shows me where my happiness lies.

I get an idea, and it needs to be seen through to completion immediately.  Or else.  I wish to acquire, and I can satiate my appetite through a tangible thing that I can retrieve from some location and bring it to my home or my stomach.  If it is what I wanted, and if I am able to get what I wanted, then I am happy.  If not, all bets are off.  It's sad, it's embarrassing, it's true. 

Jesus, I want to be like you.  You threw fits only when people defiled your Father's house.  You mourned only for ones dear to you who passed away and for the fallen world you saw in its original glory.  You were rightfully saddened by those whom you saw were far from the Kingdom and those whom the rest of us neglected to love.  And you only wanted what your Father wanted, for each of us to have living water that would quench every thirst we could ever have and then some.

Keep breaking down those childish, selfish parts of my heart I love to think I can hide from You.

Lenten Fast 2013: The Cupboard Fast Continues

Here's the rundown of our life so far, based on only eating what we have and replenishing just the produce and milk if needed.  Don't be scared - I haven't written a synopsis of every single day.  You will reach the end, reader!  Prevail!!

Day 1: Ash Wednesday (February 13)
So very excited for the interactive meditation service our church provides on this night... and so very upset with my stomach for making me writhe on the couch.  No awe-inspiring Lent kickoff for us.  Chris made us turkey sausage he'd defrosted with sauteed bell peppers (both had been on sale) and served them on toasted hot dog buns he got for free from work.  Truly, one was plenty.  (I'd eaten mother nature's stomach soother of saltines before dinner - from The Cupboard. score.)  For lunch, I'd finished the other half of a can of soup, a stick of Crazy Bread (drool), and a banana. Chris ate leftover salad from the night before.
Fridge = 4
Freezer = 1
Cupboard = some saltines from cupboard.  Not really closer to crossing those off the list.  I don't think they'll ever deplete.

Day 2: Valentine's Day
Boring stuff first - lunch between two of us = leftovers and banana.
Last year, Chris surprised me by planning a date for us (key to my heart = plan something for me!) to Lebanese Taverna's Mezza night.  On Valentine's night, you pay a fixed price and get all you can eat small plates of most of their menu.  All. You. Can. EAT.  Therefore, we went again this year.  Why mess with a glorious thing?!  Our waitress informed us we'd out-eaten every other table she'd had.  Darn straight.  We don't mess around. 
Fridge = 2
Cupboard = none.
Restaurant budget = pretty much spent for February. So worth it.

Day 3
Lunch - leftovers, banana.
Dinner was leftover sausages on more rolls, and Chris concocted a chicken noodle soup from bits of a chicken we'd roasted, stock I'd made from it, and the classic veggies and macaroni.  The "concentrate" for it has been in the fridge for... probably too long.  We're not sick yet.  Hallelujah.
Fridge = 6
Items from cupboard = macaroni!
Leftovers = soup for later.
...are you getting a picture of the state of our fridge when we started?!  Holy leftovers!!

 These are not ours.  Ours are never that neatly arranged.  Please.

WELL!  You don't want to read more of THAT for 40 days.  Boring.  So, highlights from days 4 - 14:

Day 10
C&J talk about their work days.
C: "...and it went great, and I got two Snack Wraps from McDonalds for lunch!"
J: "Really?? Why?"
C: "We didn't have anything for lunch."
::cue crazy eyes from Jenna and heated discussion:: 
...marriage teaches you so much about another person.  Where I see multiple Lean Pockets in the freezer and Easy Mac and soup in The Cupboard, Chris sees two things he's already eaten once this week so are off limits and will not give him the energy to get him through the rest of his day.  Who knew?!
We were on our way to a taco and game night because our show in Reisterstown got cancelled at the last minute (please say none of you tried to go. tell us immediately if you did. we will make it up to you.).  We are generally abnormally excited to eat meals at other people's houses.  Lent is intensifying this, bar none.  I had to consciously engage a friend in eye contact and stop trying to fit more mango salsa than humanly possible in my tortilla.  Oh, mango salsa.  How incredibly fresh you are.  Wait - that's PRODUCE!  Store trip? Maybe??!!  (conscience/The Spirit says it's extravagant produce and not really the point.....)

Day 11
I had my first real sacrifice dilemma.  We wandered into Williams-Sonoma.  (WHY, you ask?  Are you some kind of masochist?!  Yes.  Yes I am.)  They had their hot chocolate on clearance.  Have you HAD Williams-Sonoma hot chocolate?!  It is a gorgeous tin filled with tiny delectable chocolate shavings and whatever additional flavor you select weaved throughout.  You cannot use water - you must melt it into milk on a stove.  And then drink molten chocolate.  It is HEAVEN.  In a cup.  And the Chai Hot Chocolate was $5.99.  I was trying to smell it through the metal.  I mean, we don't keep Hot Chocolate in The Cupboard!  We keep it in a drawer!  Totally separate!!!
J: "What do you think?????????"
C: ::shrugs:: "It's up to you."
Thanks for the wisdom and moral support.
In the end, I didn't quench the Spirit enough to fork over my debit card, so I put it down and walked out.  The spirit of the law, Jenna, not the letter.
Luscious hot chocolate.  I pine for you.

 

If you are not fasting from such things, get it before it's gone.  

And maybe mail me a cup.

Day 12
It's Sunday.  We have Bible study on Sundays.  Chris and I get one dessert a week on Year of Health guidelines (I will spare you my mourning and itemized list of moments of definitely NOT cheating).  We started The Cupboard List with at least 4 cake mixes.  I'm making a darn cake, even if I can't eat it.  I will not tell you how long this Tastefully Simple Apple Cake box mix has been up there. 
Come to find out, by "Apple Cake Mix" they really mean "Regular cake mix. Hope you have a ton of fresh apples handy."  Applesauce to the rescue!  And it's a Cupboard item, to boot!  GONE!  Powdered sugar will be a good sub for icing.  Throw in some old bananas and we have a pretty bangin' cake to force feed to our small group folk. 
(Addendum: it was amazing.  Yes, I ate a bite.  And I am despairing that we only had one of these in The Cupboard.  Come back, apple cake.  Fill our Cupboard with your excess deliciousness.)

Day 13
I went to the grocery store.  Technically, I broke the fast.  But these ingredients were not for us, they were to make a meal for a friend who'd had surgery.  We both feel 100% fine buying stuff for somebody else.  Can I tell you how FAST my grocery trip was??  I didn't wander to the clearance rack in the back or graze the aisles for sales on anything we could possibly use.  Chicken, noodles, mini chocolate cake, OUT.   (In case you're curious, our go-to quick meal for someone in need is a casserole of egg noodles, chicken cooked with spices, 2 cans cream of whatever soup, and whatever canned or frozen vegetable we have on hand, topped with crushed cheddar cheese crackers.  So, if you're having a baby or an injury soon - cat's out of the bag.  Also, the word casserole should be outlawed, because it makes people automatically think they'll hate it.  Call it Noodle Bake.  Except that also sounds gross.)
I did suffer from my constant inability to estimate quantity and volume - I swore one bag of egg noodles didn't look like enough, so I bought and cooked two.  Quickly realized it would come NOWHERE near fitting into one casserole dish.  So, we had leftover sinful noodles to eat ourselves.  Augh.

Day 14
We devoured said sinful noodles tonight!  With a jar of alfredo from The Cupboard and Old Bay sausage and veggies and cheese from the freezer - oh my gosh.  Had to forcibly sit on couch to avoid shoving my face in the leftovers.  Chris is especially good at thinking of yummy combinations of ingredients we have.  I don't know what he'll do when we run out of meat in the freezer.  I suggested we save edamame for then, since there's so much protein in it.
C: ::blank stare:: "I said MEAT.  I did not say protein.  MEAT."
...we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. 
I also grieved our Lenten goal of using what we have when we contributed to our American wastefulness tonight.  I pulled out a green pepper from the fridge - totally moldy.  Ick.  I hate that our produce drawers are opaque; if we could see through them, maybe I'd remember better.  Before we took the alfredo out, Chris reached into the fridge and produced a half jar of marinara and the Little Caesar's marinara dipping sauce from the Crazy Bread (please don't do the math. please.) to use, proudly offering them up for our meal...
J: ::look of horror:: "Um, that's MOLDY!"
C: "Where?  Where is there mold?"
J: "There!  How can you NOT see that?!"
::three minute investigation into proper evidence of mold::
Both containers went into the trash with the pepper.  I'm sorry, world.  I promise to be more vigilant about camouflaged pasta sauce and veggie drawers. 

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.

So, these are some estimates - the whole not-creature-of-discipline-thing means I've way lost count on some of what we've consumed.
Fridge = looking emptier for sure!  As we make these meals from what we already have, we definitely contribute leftovers to the fridge, which are getting eaten for lunches.  I was even okay when my fridge lunch meant the rest of some yogurt with some granola.  I'm a hot lunch girl.  But I lived.
Freezer = the perpetual avalanche is starting to diminish.  We have no shelf in our freezer, so it's basically a box on its side that we shove stuff in and slam the door as quickly as possible while praying the next time we open the fridge won't bounce the freezer open (have you played this game?).
Cupboard = 11 things gone!  Two have leftovers in the fridge currently.

Slowly, slowly, slowly purging our cabinets is putting me in a purge frame of mind.  I am revisiting my closet for at least the 4th time in 6th months to weed out more (it's embarrassing. truly.).  I have more of a desire for our apartment to look clean than ever.  (This is saying something.  Self-proclaimed clutter monster. And chore hater.)  And I feel lighter.  (Not from sausage and alfredo.  But from having less stuff, even if it's just a little.)

By the way... I'm finally reading this little book called 7 by Jen Hatmaker.  I saw her speak at a conference about 9 months ago.  If you do not read her blog or follow her on Twitter/Facebook, I highly recommend it if you'd like some serious truth and a good guffaw.  They gave us her book for free!  And it has sat on my shelf because I have been scared to death to read it.  I got convicted enough at the conference, thankyou.  Basically, she designs an experiment where she identifies seven areas of excess in her life and devotes a month to fasting from each one.  But now, I am facing myself and reading the thing.  I mean, Lent is as good a time as any, right?  I'm already fasting!  How bad could it be?!
And God is using her hilarious and brutal honesty to a) remind me how much I miss writing frequently and that He's given me that gift to use rather than ignore, and b) wreck my life.  I can literally feel things crumbling.  I can look around our apartment - which I swear, to the average eye, is not that full of stuff - and tears start welling up.  I wrote one song about this idea already, and it will be on the next Chris & Jenna album that will God-willing be made this year.  I started another one tonight.

I don't want to be in love with death
And if you'd ask, I'd tell you that I'm not
But peek inside my chest
And it'll tell you all the rest
Tell you that I am in love with death

I don't want to run after decay
But lookin' 'round my home, that's what I've done
Cleverly arranged
All the things I've toiled to gain
That show that I have run after decay

I swear, it's sweeter-sounding than what the lyrics suggest.  But that's the point, I think - the sweetness of life and hope for something more, juxtaposed with the ugly, selfish, self-preserving truth that disguises itself as yummy meals and trendy decor and new outfits and "necessities."  I haven't gone off the deep end and given the whole house away and sewn burlap sacks to wear.  ...yet. ;)  But I don't think we're meant to pray for comfort as often as we do.  Nor do I think we're always meant to perceive comfort as blessing.  Not blessing that we keep to ourselves and enjoy solely privately, anyway.

So, we're 2 weeks in to Lent, 4-ish to go.  If we've only touched 16% of what's in The Cupboard and we're 33% of the way through... eesh.  We have so much more than we ever realize.

Lenten Fast 2013: The Cupboard Challenge Begins

I love the church season of Lent.  Part of that probably stems from growing up in a "traditional, liturgical" church where the church calendar was serious business - it signified when to change the felt banners and candle colors and which section to mark with the ribbon markers in the pew hymnal.  I remember giving things up some years, like ice cream, and wailing to my mother about its absence while clinging to the freezer and trying to cheat.  Because, for real, a day without ice cream in my growing life was a day hard to come across.  (Chocolate chip cookie dough flavor with pancake syrup. weird. yes. but don't knock it til you try it.)  Amidst my griping, I also recall the Lenten soup suppers our church had on Wednesday nights, where two people from the congregation would each volunteer to make a huge tureen of soup for all those that would show up.  We'd have a short service afterward, and I don't remember those much, but I remember being introduced to Tomato Tortellini soup heaven.  Oh. my. word.  It was a cozy feeling for our church community to gather around a simple meal weekly for 40 days.

On to life today... I am not a creature of discipline.  Not in the slightest.  I fought my mother on every single clarinet practice session growing up, and I still fight with myself over piano practice that should happen yet conveniently gets replaced by more "pressing" things. (probably part of my love of being good at things instead of the things themselves - I highly recommend reading this blog post Chris wrote as a guest blogger for Off the Cuff Christian. The quote he references wrecked my life in a pretty darn good way.)  I let rooms of our apartment fall into total disarray and then belittle myself for my sloppy inattention and procrastination.  I get ideas of what to do with an evening, and suddenly 94 minutes have past and I'm still searching a Facebook newsfeed.  I walk into Target vowing that I will NOT buy another unnecessary albeit cheap piece of clothing, and 10 minutes later I'm grazing the alluring clearance racks.  So yes, discipline = not my tendency.

Enter Lent.  Defined.  Public.  Community-based.  Bleak midwinter.  No excuses.  YES.

When asked to give something up, it's easy to default to the ice cream, chocolate, alcohol, etc. vices that we enjoy.  Depriving ourselves of physical pacifiers definitely has merit.  But just the other day, we had a joking but lively dinner debate about what constituted "bread" and what did not for our friend that was going to give it up for Lent.  (Are scones bread?? Thoughts??)  When we come to this place of splitting hairs about what we can and can't have under our self-imposed restrictions, or when we drool into the freezer and whine and pout about our denial, we've missed the whole point of the sacrifice.  We have the chance to be emptied, to let the Spirit fill us and refresh us.  To let prayer and our Comforter be the thing we depend on in our moments of weakness instead of an immediate physical comfort.

I have also heard people say that Lent can be a season of taking things on, not just giving things up.  I saw a link circling around of 40 tasks to accomplish, a different one for each day, for the season.  I agree there can be good in taking on habits and experiences... but if you're telling me that in our American culture of absurd amounts of food, media, communication, possessions, money, transportation, you name it, that you can't find SOMETHING you could go without for 40 days, then I think our culture has fooled you as much as it's fooled me time and time again.  With doing a different thing each day for 40 days, I'm sure a lot of them are helpful and could be eye-opening.  But we are a culture of minute time spans who don't even want to watch a full 5-minute YouTube video.  This notion of changing things up daily, for me at least, feeds right into that self-taught impatience and ADD.  By all means, do it if you feel called - I am sure there are many for whom routine is normal, and shaking things up every day would let the Spirit work.  But I think we, especially young adults, hate to commit to things, and making a 40 day commitment can return us to roots of dedication and discipline we have long set aside.

Back to the thoughts leading up to our fast.  This year, Chris has been good about trying to get us to actually use some the groceries we accumulate.  He's been poking through the freezer and cabinets, pulling out things to throw together into a meal rather than rushing out for more ingredients to make a pre-prescribed recipe.  The man could create chili out of next to nothing.  To give you a frame of reference, he lived - willingly - for over a year in a place that looked like this:

Above: the cleanest and emptiest the "bathroom" ever looked. Yes, it was the entire, open basement. Yes, that's water festering on the floor.  He survived longer than I ever could.  He gets this whole "minimalist" concept that's foreign to the rest of us Americans.

And then he married a woman who grew up with a "Canned Goods Room" in her basement.  Family friends would joke about "shopping at the Laymans'."  True, we didn't have a 'pantry' in the kitchen.  So, instead, this is the Apocalypse Grocery Mecca Shelter of Things That Were On Sale So We Bought Twelve:

On the left: the chest freezer (which is the third operating freezer in the house, and it's filled to the brim), followed by shelves generally including cereal, bottles, granola bars, chips.  On the right: shelves of canned goods, juice, pasta, paper towels, etc.  Behind you on the right: more cabinets of canned goods.  And this is LESS than what was there when we were growing up. Not that it is not a closet.  It is an entire room.

So, having A bottle of ketchup was a foreign concept to me.  (Right now, we have three.  Big ones.  How big?  They were too heavy for me to lift with fractured ribs.)  How could you NOT buy at least five of something if you found a super good deal?!  STOCKPILE!!!!!!

In light of trying to follow Chris's lead, while he was at work the other day I compiled a list of (almost) every food item in the cabinets we use as a pantry next to our fridge.  I mean, I know we have stuff, but it didn't look like that much!  Here's the view:

This is what I came up with:

 It is backwards.  Not to prevent you from reading it.  

But because I took it with PhotoBooth and can't figure out how to reverse it.

People.  Seriously?!  There are things in there that I moved from my old roommate's house.  I lived there for over four years.  And yet I've given them exactly 2 seconds' consideration in terms of actual consumption.  This list does not even TOUCH what's in the fridge and freezer right now.  Look at all of that.  It's funny; on this tiny picture, it doesn't appear as long of a list.  But there are 71 DIFFERENT items on this list, and many of them have multiple cans/boxes in that cabinet.

And there are dear ones - some a plane ride away, some a WALK away - that would cheer if they had ONE of those items in their house to eat tonight.  One.

My heart twinges more and more each passing day when I see our overabundance and know that we are in the top 4% of the world's income.  That's a public school teacher and a children's library associate with musician side jobs - not exactly "high" salaries by America's standards.  But to millions, we are rich.  And I cannot abide another person saying "It just makes you thankful that we're fortunate and blessed, doesn't it?  Thank you, Lord, for blessing us.  Oh, and please, may You bless those less fortunate someday.  Amen."  NO.  It makes my stomach hurt.  For I do not think that God, who made himself human in such a way that he spent much of his ministry with no place to lay his head, is looking at me and saying, "Bless you, child.  I grant you the means to buy more spaghetti than you could eat in a year to build a fort in your cupboard, and that is precisely what you should do with it.  This is how I show you that you are loved."  (no, we don't have this much spaghetti. but we're in an apartment with minimal cupboard space. put me in a house with legit storage and I fear for my future and whether or not it will involve an episode of Hoarders.)  I'm pretty sure each time Jesus is confronted with any type of wealth, his directions are to give it to the poor.  I'm certain he gives US the tools to bless others with the wealth that already exists on this earth.

So, this is our Lenten journey this year:  We are allowed to buy milk and produce if we run out and are truly in need.  That's it.  Fresh produce is nourishing and part of our Year of Health guidelines (we instituted those after our 1st anniversary, when we realized how few of our clothes fit from the Fat Happy Lazy Married Times of year 1).  Milk is a beverage and an ingredient, so we will allow it.  Beyond that, we're restricted to whatever is in our cupboards, fridge and freezer for 40 days.  If we depleted almost everything, could we revisit and buy some essentials?  Sure.  Sadly, I bet we won't need to.  But maybe it will give us the TINIEST inkling of those so near us who have absolutely no choice about what they are going to eat for dinner - if they have one item, it's that; if they have nothing, they eat nothing.  And maybe, beyond thinking of them and saying a quick prayer before we chow down, we'll actually be moved to be Love to them and bring them what they need.

 

An American family of 4's food waste for a month. Oh, my heart.

(And no, we won't just go out to dinner if we think we have "nothing to eat" or don't "see" anything - the shameful, sinful response thought we both have all too often when we peek in that cupboard).  Last year, we gave up eating in all restaurants for Lent, and that helped us get over our cravings of quick, easy, cash-sucking, and often terrible-for-us food.  We'll probably go out a few times, but the goal is to eat here as often as possible.)

I plan to chronicle what we eat for my own curiosity - I want to see how lavish our meals remain despite these restrictions.  That blog post may come in pieces or all at once at the end - we'll see how long it gets.

Thank you, Jesus, for showing us that fasting can cleanse us and make more room for Your spirit in us.  I pray you do that in us - as our excess decreases, give us eyes to see what we truly need and what those around us need.  Please increase.

(On a side note, Jenna personally is fasting from her personal Facebook account for Lent.  If you've left her love there, you are not being ignored!)

Rest.

"At least one blog entry per month!" I crowed.  ...It's January 31.  No time like the present, eh?

I can be my own worst enemy - understatement of the year. (And it's only January!)  I have so many ideas swirling around that I get sidetracked from just PICKING one and getting to it.  Then I want to wait for the *perfect* moment (even now I jumped up mid-sentence to put sweatpants and heat milk for hot chocolate and light a candle...).  And ironically, I've probably had tons of perfect moments in the past few weeks (okay, no joke, I just got off this couch FIVE TIMES to perfect this atmosphere.  enough.  ON TO THE POST), because I've had more rest than I've had... well... ever?  Since I was a kid?

We haven't made a silly YouTube video about Chris and Jenna's Big Adventure: The Car Accident yet (hardy... har... har.......), but to sum up for you, a few weeks ago we were on the way to worship band practice on a Sunday morning and got redirected to the sidewalk across the road by a confused elderly man who hadn't noticed a stop sign on his cross-street.  A short ER trip and rides from friends later, we were home, Chris with the typical aches, Jenna with some fractured ribs.  There goes my "Never have I ever broken a bone" game card.

I had some moments of realization foreshadowing what this month has been like while still on the gurney in the hospital.  At one point, they were cleaning a room to get ready for me, and the EMT was gabbing about some really bad crash he'd seen in a nearby room, and people were bustling about... and I was stuck on the ambulance stretcher in a hallway, on my back, by myself.  Not much control when you can't get a breath deep enough to call out for someone or to tell them they're still spelling your name wrong.  A while later, I was finally in a room, but they had whisked me away from the crash scene without Chris, so I was alone, with no husband, no phone, no pain meds yet, and no method of really remedying any of these things.  And I'm ashamed to say how long it took me to realize that in lieu of these things, one thing I COULD do for the pain was to be praying and worshipping.  The song that came to mind as I began to do this is called "Be Still," by our lovely friend Jaime Carbo (you want to listen, I promise).  And really, it's all I could do - be still on my back and wait.  And I could concentrate on the source of Comfort, rather than my discomfort.

For the first week upon release, I had to stay immobile, pretty drugged up and home from everything.  I had a slew of amazing caretakers - Chris first and foremost, and others who drove distances and made great sacrifices so I didn't have to be alone when Chris returned to work.  If you know nothing about my life, let me sum up by saying a week lying on the couch is NOT how I have spent my time.  Ever.  You could count some of the time I was home this summer, but I was crazily consumedly crafting (consumedly - a word? it is now - i need it, it's alliteration) for my best friend's bridal shower and other events - in other words, my butt might have been still, but the rest of me and most certainly my mind was not.  In the first week of this recovery, narcotics made things a little hazy, but I know it was entirely constructed of rest.  Naps.  A movie or two.  Occasional internet.  Relaxed conversation with those who came by.  Not moving.  Rest.

The next week, by Wednesday, it came time to return to work.  "Okay, let's go!" sang bored superwoman Jenna, springing off the couch - I am not a lounge-about kind of girl, give me something to do!!

Fast forward to 3:45 that day, and Jenna hobbled out to her car a half-hour before the work day was over, groaning and pitifully running up the white flag.  After a phone call back to the doctor, more drugs, and some ice/heat on the ribs, half-days of work were in order for more of a transition.  Look at me, overestimating what I'm capable of - shocker. 

So the next week brought alternating days of sleeping in, pjs, long showers, sipping coffee on the couch with my Bible or the computer before rousting myself for work at noon.  The other days dragged me (stiffly) out of bed early, but brought me home for lunch and an afternoon of - Rest.  Not just rest, but GUILT-FREE rest, because it's exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

This pace of life is unfamiliar and strange to me.  And there is something healing in it.

Somewhere in all this, I read this blog post written by a girl who is faithfully observing Sabbath.  And the title cut me to the quick: "I Am (Not) Lord."  I read of how Kasey ran about like crazy, serving in her ministry and not being "able to afford" to stop, for there was so much important work to be done... and the revealing of how we make ourselves disobedient and "above" a God who rested and made rest for US when we refuse it.  It's counter-intuitive to our culture.  It's counter-intuitive to my mind.

And turn my nose up at the God who made me when I tell him I don't need His rest, thankyouverymuch.

(And then marvel when I snap at my husband, stay up too late doing nothing but staring idly at a Facebook newsfeed, have no energy to write songs, don't feel like taking care of our house or myself, get insecure about my lack of creativity, grossly envy the gorgeous original songs someone else posts, and inexplicably hit walls of frustration I can't even voice that just make me want to crawl into bed and speak to no one for days.)

PEOPLE - NO LIE - I just tuned into the song that was playing on my iHeartRadio stream and looked up, confronted by the title "Rest Easy" by Andrew Peterson.  Never have I heard this song before.

You  work  so  hard  to  wear  yourself  down

is what just sang at me out of the TV speakers.  Seriously.

I think I picked the right blog post idea.  Thanks, God.

I have noticed some of my selfish, greedy tendencies, often brought out by Chris's generosities (God bless marriage for making me holier, if not happy all the time).  I have an urge to hoard.  To protect.  To skimp.  And I have been learning how to surrender my heart in some of these areas... but I forget that perhaps one of the things I hoard yet waste most is my time, protectively hunching over it with a resentful, suspicious pout over my shoulder at one who would dare suggest I have time to observe a Sabbath.  Do I do fun things?  Things that are restful?  Sure - but not with the intention of a Sabbath set aside from work.  Those fun, rest-like things are events I've organized and crammed into my planner, or else done when I knew I had 5 more important things to do on a Thursday evening and so squandered my time away with the pangs of Guilt weighing it silently down.

Not freedom.

You don't have to prove yourself
You're already Mine

In rest, is freedom.  Freedom to allow God to provide for me.  To declare that what he has commanded of me and created for me is more important than the plans I design for myself, even those that I think are in line with His will and are meant to serve Him.

 upon arrival on our honeymoon - talk about rest!

I'm back at work full time now, so days will not be rampant with restful couch coffee time, free of guilt.  And as someone who drags herself crankily out of bed on a Sunday morning to practice with the band for two hours before church starts, helps to lead a church service, may have more band business to attend to after the service for the afternoon, and a small group Bible study in the evening, I cannot realistically call Sunday my "Sabbath" rest.  It is still dedicated to the Lord, but it is not true rest.

You're smiling like you're scared to death
You're out of faith and all out of breath

I come before you with this with unclear ideas of how to remedy this.  Because truthfully, I am scared.  I hold my feeble trappings of this life trembling in my grasp, trying to grip tighter and tighter as they start to slip through the cracks between my fingers.  I don't know how to set aside a large chunk time of time to TRULY free my mind from all responsibilities - not checking our band email, not hopping on Facebook/Twitter to update our status, not doing chores or resenting the chores I see undone, not running through my perpetual mental checklist - to give God room to refresh and restore me.

But I know that, despite some excruciating pain and frustration in these past few weeks due to these fractured bones in my body, I have also felt refreshed in ways that I have not in ages.

You don't have to work so hard
You can rest easy 

So again, God uses the most unexpected of circumstances to teach me the most unexpected lessons.  Perhaps not surprising to the outsider looking in on my life, but to the blind girl running on her hamster wheel living it, the simplest of truths can often knock me off into stillness.  And stillness is what I'm praying for - the freedom of resting in God's lordship over my life, presented to Him free of my own agenda for my time, and dedicated to His.