They Said This Would Be Fun: A Story of Misguided Baking Endeavors

Before the Dark Times. 

I am still in recovery, friends. 

No, not from the Snowmagedden we are experiencing in the Pacific Northwest. No, not even from having a toddler, being about 6 months pregnant, and having fibromyalgia. Although, all those things factor into the Tale of Woe with which I am about to regale you.

I attempted to make English muffins yesterday. 

Gluten free English muffins. 

And I thought it would be a good idea to start them at 4pm. 

4pm, my friends. 

Why, you ask? 

Because the need and desire and heart for breakfast sandwiches is STRONG. And powerful, overriding a bastion of common sense and knowledge that baked items made with yeast require TIME. Time, the very thing that a mother of a toddler knows is most elusive and fleeting of all, well, things. Especially around 4pm.

I think it all started with the Egg McMuffin. Let’s face it—those things are plainly delicious. And conjure up images of early morning road trips, pale orange juice from cool plastic cups, and cheerful, bright yellow wrappers. The Egg McMuffin is a pure thing, and should be thought of only with love and fondness. 

My next obsession with neatly presented breakfast food came from a little place in town called Torre Cafe, where the breakfast sandwich is indeed NEXT LEVEL. Fragrant rosemary bun. Ham or sausage or bacon. Perfectly scrambled egg. Melty cheese. Fresh tomato. Homemade pesto. A moment of silence for this culinary masterpiece that saw me through many a rough day. Pair it with a lovely handcrafted latte from this Italian gem of a cafe and all worries seemed to fade into a meaningless, faraway cloud. 

Fast forward to recent months—being pregnant with hyperemesis gravidarum in the first trimester. This means being incredibly nauseous ALWAYS which in turn means being hungry ALL THE TIME. When I could eat, I was SO HUNGRY. Breakfast sandwiches—even those filled with gluten, my usual arch nemesis, became very IMPORTANT. Full of satisfying carbs and protein—they helped me survive until reaching the 2nd trimester. Thank you, Starbucks and Crusin’ Coffee. You fairy godmothers. 

So here I am. Always craving the practically compact, yet delicious breakfast sandwich. I know I do better sans gluten in my life, and even in the Pacific Mecca of gluten free living, I haven’t been able to source a gluten free English muffin. 

SO WHY NOT ATTEMPT MY OWN, was my optimistic yet deluded thinking. Armed with 4 English muffin rings I received for Christmas (as I let my family know of my recent passion) and an online recipe that had over a dozen positive reviews, Toddler and I began yesterday, as I said, at 4pm. 

My usual style of baking these days is as follows: wet ingredients, dry ingredients, mix, dump, bake, eat. EASY. SIMPLE. 

And it started out easy. Mix dry ingredients together. Toddler and I are whizzing through this part—MERE CHILD’S PLAY. 

Boil milk and oil together—Ok, I have to do this part. And make sure Toddler doesn’t whisk all the dry stuff out of the bowl in her enthusiasm for the craft. 

Pour boiled mixture in with dry ingredients. Another mama-only activity. Toddler has moved on to other bigger things. I now must have eyes in the back of my head while I try not to scald myself with the boiling milk. Let sit for 20 minutes. 

Ooops, have made the water for the yeast and sugar mix TOO hot. Must let cool off. I run around after Toddler—it’s obviously time to play Grocery Store. I try not to think about the growing stack dishes in the sink. Or how the time on the clock is sped up to H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine speeds. 

Water now (hopefully) cool enough to add yeast and sugar. Wait another 15 minutes. Toddler asks nicely that I help put the Grocery Store back together so she can dump all items in her TJ Maxx paper bag. Must attend. Dishes continue to pile up, because that’s the kind of person I am. 

FINALLY add yeast mixture to flour-milk mixture. LET RISE FOR 30 MINUTES. It is completely after 5:15pm now and the thought finally enters my brain that oh, we are not having breakfast sandwiches for dinner. I let this go, although not gracefully, and search in my heart for what else WE COULD POSSIBLY HAVE FOR DINNER. I am sitting on a kitchen chair at this point, exhausted by my endeavors and making sure that Toddler doesn’t pull another kitchen chair over on herself or up to a counter and get burned or something. The dishes in the sink are now spilling over on the counter and I am ignoring their existence. 

Finally, I preheat the oven and oil up the English muffin rings and heat up a skillet. THIS IS IT. I add in two egg whites as the last of the ingredients and we are at last READY. This batter is really impressive. Hope is RISING. I am determined to see this process through, even though Toddler and I have each officially entered the Witching Hour, being hungry and grumpy coupled with not enough outdoor time. 

I dump the dough into the rings in the skillet and try to wait. Then Toddler pinches her pinkie in the little washer/dryer toy and needs my immediate nursing skills and the fox ice pack from the freezer. We sit on the floor and I do my best to comfort and soothe. Aware of time passing and my muffins probably needing to be flipped at this point, I notice from my position on the floor, that there is SMOKE rising from my skillet. Not a lot of smoke, just enough to make me freak out a little. I scramble to my feet, which takes a lot of effort given my with-child-ness, amidst a sobbing, clinging child. Uttering a choice word, I flip over the molds with not a lot of aplomb, and behold, MY MUFFINS ARE BURNED. 

All I can do is stare. 

It is 5:37pm. I have a whole bowl of batter waiting. The oven is ready to go. My child is staring up at me with tear-filled eyes and a sore finger. I haven’t decided what to make for our actual dinner, let alone started it. I suddenly feel bone-tired. The desire for silence, chocolate, and a nice, cozy murder show are suddenly very strong. 

AND YET HERE WE ARE. 

So I make some very quick decisions, influenced by my worsening attitude (“ENGLISH MUFFINS ARE STUPID ANYWAY”) and growing hunger and upset child. I use the last two ring molds in another pan, as the first pan has BLACK BURN MARKS. I start some boxed mac and cheese. I get my poor little love in her booster chair with some books and some water. I proceed to burn the last two muffins AGAIN because apparently I didn’t learn the first time. I finally am able to bestow the four sad muffins into the waiting oven and can focus on my mac and cheese. I ask Toddler if she wants blueberries. She says yes and dumps some on the floor. I keep my cool, against all odds. She eats the mac and cheese and tuna. Grim-faced, I throw the rest of the batter in a plastic bag and dump it in the freezer like one of the bodies from my murder shows so I don’t have to think about it for a while. I manage to get the muffins out of the oven without further incident and ignore their mocking presence while we get on with our evening routine. 

We all survived, I am happy to report. 

We even managed to make it to lunch today, when Toddler asked for some of the Muffins we made yesterday. I pull the least offensively burned one out, and split it in half. IT IS NOT BAD. I toast one half while she nibbles on the other. THE FLAVOR IS ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD. Texture not bad either! Oh yes, still burned a bit but TASTY. I mean, Toddler is eating it! 

So….SUCCESS! 

Will I ever attempt English muffins again, you ask? 

It is too soon to know for sure BUT this I do know: 

Definitely not at 4pm. 

Definitely not then. 

Here is the link to the delicious recipe: https://gluten-free-bread.org/step-by-step-to-the-best-gluten-free-english-muffins. May your luck and timing be WISER than mine!

When FOMO Threatens Your Christmas

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight. 

-O Little Town of Bethlehem

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 

-The Apostle Paul, 2nd Corinthians 3:17, ESV

REAL TALK. Christmas edition. 

Last night, I was super struggling with some Major FOMO* and its ugly cousin, Straight-Up Jealousy. I was leafing through Facebook, because that’s definitely NOT going to be a problem this time of year. Insert Eye Roll. Our budgets are tight this year (when are they not? Oh, and by budgets, I don’t mean just monetary. Energy and health-wise AS WELL), and I’m not even sure if we’re doing anything beyond putting the tree up and playing with the Little People Nativity set. Like, ANYTHING. Our tree is fake and we order presents on Amazon. So when Facebook shows me a beautiful array of dozens of Christmas tree hunts, dazzling Christmas light shows, frozen Christmas parades, and sweet Christmas cookie exchanges, I’m like whoa. Where was the time found to even get that done, on top of normal life living stuff? I mean, it’s only been December for about 5 seconds. So, like a normal person, I just sat on my couch and felt SAD AND SMALL AND SORRY FOR MYSELF. Oh, and it was felt in all-caps, I assure you. 

IS THIS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT, CHARLIE BROWN. 

I ASK YOU. 

Because it feels like everyone is out being CHRISTMASY and living SEASONALLY, and here I am, in my own particular set of limitations, struggling to get up and make dinner and make sure there’s clean underwear for tomorrow. Fibromyalgia and endometriosis take up so much of my time, I joke that I actually have more than one child to take care of. Well, it’s a joke and not a joke, if you get me. 

I have been thinking about that word, limitation, lately. Well, sometimes when I get a thought to myself, in the beautiful and giggly chaos that IS having a toddler. Mostly I hate all the limitations I have. The physical ones and the money ones and all the ones in between. They make me have to WAIT, something I’m quite terrible at. They make me slow down, something I’d rather not do, thank-you-very-much. They make me feel small next to my busy generation, which is invalidating. They make me have to prioritize, when I’d rather just have and do it all. 

Waiting. 

Slowing down. 

Feeling small. 

Prioritizing. 

When I look at this list, I feel annoyed. TO BE HONEST. This isn’t the To-Do List I had in mind for this season. But on better days, I can see it as a gift. Especially during this Advent season, which is all about the wait, isn’t it? I am forced to wait and slow down and prioritize. Even feeling small is a gift when it means I can have a proper perspective of myself in the world, when I can think of others as better than myself, as indeed I am called to, as a believer in Christ. I can only think this way because I am deeply loved by Christ, and that’s more than enough to sustain. It’s the only thing that can erase the fear of missing out. His love is the only thing that can redeem our smallness, our longing in the middle of waiting. It will allow us to give what we can, out of those very limitations and even brokenness. 

So if you’re feeling small this season, if you’re wondering if you should be doing more, if you’re feeling like the To-Do List will never be conquered, if your heart is longing for more this season, you’re actually in the right place. 

When we’re forced to wait, when there is no other choice but to slow down,we can begin to see it as a gift. Let Christ come to you, to me, in all our weary waiting. He is gentle with us. He is aware of all our limitations, and He wants to be our Great Helper. We wouldn’t see how we need Him, this Savior who was born to us in the city of David, if we didn’t have these limitations. These limitations can serve to remove our blinders of false productivity, of false busy-ness, of false hopes. When we actually accept our limitations, we can see how unlimited our Christ is, and the fears of all the years will certainly be met in Him. Our worries and fears will disappear in His great joy and delight in us, as we make room for Him. 

So I’ll be taking this Christmas thing one day at a time, just like I do in all the other seasons (although not always gracefully). I’ll be weighing what’s doable, what’s manageable, and what’s life-giving. I’ll be asking what I can give, in my limitations. And that will be enough and I won't have to compare my schedule to my neighbor's. I’ll pray that disappointments and all the waiting will only bring me closer to Christ and to His kingdom and to His people. As we celebrate His birth and the glorious realization of God being with us in our humanity, let’s rest and be refreshed in His limitless joy. 

*Fear of Missing Out; aka POSSIBLY THE WORST THING EVER WHEN YOU HAVE NO PLANS

We have a Very Helpful Toddler-Decorator this year. 

Bethlehem can be a crazy place. 

You can't see the mess jusssst outside the frame.  Hee hee. 

What I Wish My Doctors Told Me About Fibromyalgia and Pregnancy

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling. 

-G.K. Chesterton, In Defense of Sanity

I love you, O Lord, my strength. 

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, 

my God, my rock, in whose I take refuge, 

my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. 

Psalm 18:1-2

Sounds like the perfect clickbait title, doesn’t it? Which is exactly WHY I picked it! Bwhahahaha. 

Because you probably can guess what the answer is…

ANYTHING. 

ANYTHING AT ALL. 

That’s what I wish they would have told me. 

Well, maybe that’s not fair. What one doctor told me was “Pregnancy and being a mom is really hard anyway, and fibromyalgia will complicate that.” THANKS…THAT IS REALLY HELPING ME MAKE THIS LIFE-ALTERING DECISION. When I was researching pregnancy and fibromyalgia, all I really found was that studies show that fibromyalgia will probably make the first trimester even more intense, as far as depression, aches, and fatigue go. NO, REALLY. DID NOT SEE THAT ONE COMING. I do know, however, that it’s not true across the board, as a relative told me that her fibro improved immensely with pregnancy. 

So there you have it. My entire load of research, in one pretty unhelpful paragraph. 

Now that I’m 7 months pregnant, I can understand why there’s not more information out there. Pregnancy and fibromyalgia, at least for me, have often intersected to the point where I’m not sure if symptoms are from one or the other. THE LINES ARE BLURRED, MY FRIENDS. Very blurred. And I don’t really bother talking with my OBs about it, because the symptoms are so very similar, and what can they do anyway? “Oh, doctor, I’m EXTRA EXHAUSTED AND EXTRA ACHY!” “Well, that’s pregnancy for you! Exercise when you can and eat well and sleep well!” This is not to get all down on my OB team, because I LOVE THEM. They are AMAZING. But honestly, there’s just not much they can do.

So here’s a few things that I wish someone, anyone, would have told me about fibromyalgia and pregnancy. 

1) You won’t know what’s fibro and what’s pregnancy sometimes. Like I said above, they can feel OH SO VERY SIMILAR. Feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck? Everything hurts, even areas of your body you weren’t aware of before? Can’t sleep? Digestive issues? Everyone telling you look great when you feel like a gremlin? COULD BE EITHER. It’s easier to assume that it’s pregnancy, because then you can focus more easily on the AMAZING PART OF GROWING A HUMAN AND HAVING AN ADORABLE BABY AT THE END OF ALL THIS. PS. totally assuming my baby will be adorable. DUH.

2) What is recommended for fibromyalgia will sound EERILY similar to pregnancy advice. Because your doctor is RIGHT. Eat well. Pace yourself. Get enough water. Sleep and rest when you can. Exercise carefully, but definitely exercise. Ask for help. Manage priorities and let go of what’s not essential. Seek support from other people in your situation. Take a multivitamin and fish oil and magnesium and probiotics. What’s annoying is that it’s all PRETTY TRUE AND SOLID ADVICE. For pregnancy and fibromyalgia and LIFE.

3) Get the body pillow. B got me one of those U-shaped ones for Christmas and IT IS INCREDIBLE. I totally wish I had one of these BEFORE pregnancy. With all the mandatory resting I do, having the extra and total support is really nice. REALLY NICE.

4) Researching symptoms will completely stress you out, because NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT FIBROMYALGIA OR PREGNANCY. As in, lots of conflicting information and not very many studies. Sure, there are the basics, like no sushi or soft cheeses or alcohol or a lot of prescriptions, but most of your everyday decisions will be based on gut instinct and rapid texting with someone else who is pregnant or has been pregnant or someone who is your mom. And be prepared for all the opinions, both in person and online. Pregnancy and chronic illness both stir up lots of feelings and advice. This can result in lots of UNMERITED GUILT. So not unlike fibro, where you just have to stumble along and try to DO THE BEST YOU CAN, pregnancy is the same. I’m guessing actual parenting is QUITE like this, as well. Also researching baby registry items will stress you out, but that’s not really related to fibro, so NONE OF THAT HERE.

5) Realize that you are the only one who can give your baby the love they need. There will be a lot of freak-out times and insecurities about the future and taking care of your infant once they’ve arrived. Every parent-to-be goes through this, but with a chronic illness, these feelings get pretty intense. Just like you’ve managed your life and your illness (really, you have! Even when it doesn’t feel like it!), you will welcome your baby and figure it all out. I’m realizing more and more that just like in every role we have in life, being a parent means just doing what you can with what you have, and it’s going to be hard and messy and complicated and totally wonderful. Am I nervous? HECK YES. Do I already cry often? UM DUH. Am I worried about not being able to be what my child needs? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH. There will be days I won’t be able to get down on the floor and play or where we will just watch tv and eat easy food because Mom can’t get off the couch. There will be things I might not be able to participate in, because I have to pace myself and rest. But I am going to give my child all the love and help and guidance and compassion and mercy and grace and laughter I have in me. I am going to show my daughter how to take care of herself and ask for help and realize her worth isn’t in what she does, or in her accomplishments or appearance or housekeeping or goals or bank accounts or health or social standing. I am going to teach her to love God and love others, and that these two things, well, these make for a very wonderful life no matter else what we have to face. 

Oh, THAT'S what my belly looks like now. Thanks, Goodwill dressing room. 

My parents' cat, inspecting the cradle for safety purposes.

Hello, belly and bright sunny day!

$15 CHANGING TABLE. Because we are GENIUSES. 

My most common view these days.

The Joy of Not Being Surprised

"I don’t know, Nick! I’m not…Wonder Woman.”

-Bernard, Blackbooks

A cheerful heart is good medicine,

    but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

-Proverbs 17:22

I have a new tool in my Life Toolbox. It’s amazing. I’m not even sure where it came from, but it’s changing the way I see myself, my days, and my circumstances. 

You see, with fibromyalgia (or whatever THIS is), most mornings involve not moving for a while because of mysterious aches and pains. So I have some time to stare at the ceiling while it seems the REST OF THE WORLD goes on with its business. As you may imagine, my thoughts and ponderings in this time can get a bit WEIGHTY. A bit HEAVY. 

It’s pretty much proven that what we think affects us physically, although I cheerfully have no sources to cite for you (this isn’t college! This isn’t even in MLA format). The books and blogs and research I’ve read on chronic pain all deal with changing how we think, in addition to medication, exercise, healthy diet, finding the right doctors, reducing stress, etc. While we may not be able to have much control over our pain, we do get to choose how we think about it. There are some days I’m able to accept my pain and move on; there are other days where it’s all I can think about because it’s so DANG PRESENT. 

Ah yes, the TOOL. 

Here it is: 

This is not unexpected. 

Here we go AGAIN, Summer Flowers.
I will try not to kill you as quickly as previous summers,
but IT WILL NOT BE UNEXPECTED.

Now I realize that this phrase is subtle and quiet in demeanor, making it easy to overlook or dismiss, or maybe it sounds more like a bad line in an action movie when the good guy pops out of nowhere after the bad guy ordered his henchmen to “take care of him.” But! I’ve noticed that when I think this in the morning instead of the usual “Oh my gosh…this is so hard…I can’t move…why me… when will this end…what did I do yesterday to make this happen…when will this end?”, it makes a huge difference. You see, while it still doesn’t give me any false delusions of control (over chronic pain?! bwhahaha), it gives me some much needed perspective. You would think that struggling with chronic pain for years would help me in accepting my usual morning fate, but NOT REALLY. Deep down, I know I’m the Wonder Woman of the Greater Belllingham Area. However, not being surprised by my morning pain gives me a chance to still move forward. Thinking This is not unexpected stops the Splash Mountain plunge of self-crushing thoughts. It gives me the freedom to plan the next step in the day. I get to think “Oh! Right! I’ve done this before. I can do it again today.” I move on to think what I can do when I can get up. 

Ironically, another thing this tool does is give me permission to not expect a horrible morning, either. There is a very fine balance with chronic pain: you don’t want to be surprised by it, but you don’t want to make it worse by assuming it will be terrible. Because, as we know, thinking negatively makes pain worse. It makes everything worse, really. This tool of not being surprised by the difficult things helps me to be realistic, as opposed to needing to be rigidly optimistic all the time OR needing to be pessimistic to acknowledge the pain itself. There’s no need to have a stiff upper lip when you know your limitations and can work around them, just like there’s no need to give in to your limitations all the time. 

See how brilliant this is? I am so excited about this, I can’t EVEN. 

My jolly balcony, wherein I survey my domain.
But mostly read and drink iced drinks.

Because this tool can applied to other areas of life, too! Let’s take, oh, PEOPLE. People, all of them, bless their hearts, are going to let us down. They can’t help it. None of us can. And when we’re not as easily surprised by this, it makes it so much easier. When we can identify foibles and quirks and tendencies, we are free to let others off the hook. We are free to offer grace, mercy. We are free to have a hospitable heart and mind towards others. Thinking this is not unexpected can stem some of the inevitable annoyances and frustrations that comes with being a human with other humans. I am sure you are beginning to see the sheer GENIUS of this humble sentence. 

It also helps with needing to cancel or reschedule plans, as is always the case with chronic pain. It’s not unexpected to need to take a few days off from activities after a busy weekend. Having THE TOOL handy helps me not go insane when I look around the house at my waiting chores: a pile of laundry waiting to be folded, a sink full of dirty dishes, or realizing that because I haven’t wiped up the hair on the bathroom floor in 2.345 hours, it’s taken over that whole side of the house. I’m not a terrible person for not having my house look like something out of an HGTV show, because it’s not unexpected (regardless of if I have chronic pain or not!). Naming and recognizing my individual limitations helps me extend grace to myself, which is hard for this recovering perfectionist. 

Although I balk at the Words on Walls Trend,
I couldn't help myself with this one. 

When we can say This is not unexpected, we can even allow room for God to come through for us. The Apostle Peter says, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exult you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you (1 Peter 5:6-7).” Peter is not joking when he links casting our anxieties to humbling ourselves—he knows exactly what he’s saying here. It’s a real blow to our pride to admit, let alone embrace, that we can’t handle our anxieties and cares and worries alone. I’m realizing that it’s taking my whole dang life to keep giving my worries to Him. But because He cares for me, I can. The Creator of the universe, of the heavens and the earth and everything in them, cares for me! And nothing in my life is unexpected to Him—He is not surprised when I take back my worries, when I can’t move in the mornings, when troubles hit me upside the head. Even though I can’t explain why He allows pain in our lives, I know He is present in the very middle of it. And I have found that He is indeed enough, time and time again.

And so I hope this little phrase can be of some use to you, too. When pain hits you, when trouble mounts, when things are not going how you want them. It also helps in the little things. You know, when my flowers start to wilt 2 days after planting or I get an unexpected bill in the mail. Or when I open the fridge to look for some produce to supplement my carb-based, fat-based diet and it is no longer viable as a edible option. Not that THAT has ever happened, I mean. 

What are some tools in your Life Toolbox? What helps you get to the Next Thing in your day? I’d love to hear about them!

While We’re Waiting, Let’s Make Pancakes

I like to use 'I Can't Believe it's Not Butter' on my toast in the morning, because sometimes when I eat breakfast, I like to be incredulous. How was breakfast? Unbelievable. 

-Demetri Martin, comedian

When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, 153 of them. And although there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord.

John 21:9-12

The pure goodness of pancake joy. 

I’m going to be honest with you guys. It’s been a long season of waiting. Just standing around, well, lying around, to be even more honest. Waiting and longing and hoping and trying for physical wellness and wholeness. It feels like I’m waiting in the dark, and I am waiting for someone to flip the switch. In the middle of the long waiting, Ben and I try new things. We continue doing the good things, even though we can’t see results. We try to rest in the eye of our storms. We hang out with our family and friends. We listen to good music and watch good shows and make good food and go on good walks together. So we survive and strive and press forward even though our way is often veiled. 

Speaking of food (easily distracted over here), breakfast is definitely one of the good things. It's one of my all-time favorite times of the day and of LIFE. Breakfast food IS life, really. Think about it. All of the really good foods are contained under the Banner of Breakfast.

Bacon. Coffee. Pancakes. Waffles. TOAST. Hashbrowns. Omelettes. MIMOSAS. Doughnuts. Cereal. Cinnamon rolls. French toast. 

One evening not that long ago, I was searching the cupboards for some much-needed dinner inspiration, as we all do. I happened upon a half-used box of gluten-free pancake mix and thought YES. It’s been too long since I had pancakes in my life. I made a Smoothie Surprise (which is code for clean out the fridge and freezer and throw it in the blender and see what happens) and mixed up the batter. I married a genius, and he literally brought the bacon home to go with our breakfast feast. We slathered our pancakes with ricotta cheese and strawberry jam (highly recommend…we’ve been doing this on ALL the toast as of late) and peanut butter and maple syrup. Breakfast bliss, I tell you. 

So what does this have to do with waiting? Well, we still have to do stuff while we wait. Even while we wait and hope, we can still do things we love and make delicious food and be with those we love. We can still have pancakes. When we continue to move forward even in the dark, we will be strengthened and helped and encouraged. Maybe what we’re waiting for is hindering what we can do right now. In that case, we must find new ways and new things to love and do and make. I can’t run right now. But I can walk or ride my stationary bike. I can’t make cookies the way I used to. But I can figure out a new way to bake and create sweets. 

The disciples knew about waiting, too. About living and waiting and hoping and pressing forward. After the resurrection of Jesus, after he appeared to his disciples, Peter still needed to do something, to fill his time, or even to feel normal after all these mind-boggling events. And he went back to what he knew best—fishing. And of course, he and his friends didn’t catch anything, didn’t have anything to show for their efforts, as is so often the case with waiting. And what does Jesus do after this long night? He gives them not only a full catch of fish, but breakfast. Jesus cares about all our needs—He knows that not only do we need breakfast, we also need him to come and make all things right again. 

Jesus could have provided that full catch in the middle of the night, when Peter and his buddies were trying so hard. But by waiting, the disciples were filled with so much more than a hot meal, weren’t they? This whole experience confirmed who Jesus was—they didn’t need to ask who it was on the beach: “they knew it was the Lord.” And this is what we need in our lives, in all the mystery and the sorrow and the sudden joys—to know that it is the Lord who provides, who loves us enough to be with us. It is the Lord who makes our meals communion, who uses something as daily as our daily bread to reveal more of himself. While we wait, let’s look for him on the shore, trusting him to provide and sustain us in all things. 

Embracing Self-Care

And when I run, I feel His pleasure. 

—Eric Liddell, from Chariots of Fire

Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

    his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

    and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Even youths shall faint and be weary,

    and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

    they shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:28-31

Self-care is really hard. 

I don’t care if you’re single, married, have kids, have a goldfish, work full-time, are unemployed, or whatever. It’s hard stuff, taking care of our needs. 

Self-care is quite the buzzword these days, too, making it sound like yet another to-do item on the never ending list of Things Today’s Modern Woman Must Do. The guilt builds every day we don’t have a hot bath or practice yoga or read for 10 minutes. It’s easy to see the benefits of these things, of course, but who really has the time, or even the will to do any of these things? 

Clearly, I’m one of these women who struggles at the idea of taking care of myself. Of course. Most nights of the week, I TELL MYSELF, THIS, THIS will be the night I have a hot bath before bed! This will be the night I turn off the TV and get myself down the hall to run that delightful and relaxing bath. Haaaaaaaaaa. Yeah, no. Every night, the comfort and sheer impact of routine usually keep me rooted to the couch. And it’s easier to hit Next Episode. Ah, maybe tomorrow night will be different. And so it goes.

But I’m not even just talking about adding in something new, like listening to Mozart before bed or drinking hot water and lemon in the morning…before coffee (sidenote: what.). I’m talking basics here. Getting enough rest. Eating good and delicious food. Taking time to seek out good and encouraging people-time, or taking time to seek out good and encouraging alone-time. Taking time to read the Bible and pray. Pursuing hobbies and interests. Engaging in energizing movement. 

Having chronic pain over the past few years has made me seek out self-care like never before, even though I’m not a natural. I found myself struggling with just the day-to-day running of things, and I couldn’t coast by anymore. I had to adjust, find more ways to take care of myself, to be intentional. Oh, I guess I DO need to go to bed early. Oh, I guess I do need to lay off the sugar and the excessive amounts of caffeine. The list goes on. There has been so much trial and error, so much balancing and adjusting. 

It’s been strange, discovering that it’s good to take care of myself. I know that might sound weird or pompous, but it’s not. I believe most people don’t really believe this. Judging by how run down, ragged, exhausted, and anxious our culture is, most of us are running on steam. And that is terrible. It’s terrible because when we are perpetually exhausted, perpetually at the end of our rope, we are not really ourselves. We are merely surviving. And don’t get me wrong! There are seasons of survival, seasons of coping, seasons of grief. And that’s ok. If we find ourselves in that sort of a season, I pray we can all reach out and get the help we need. 

But when we live out our days and our years, our precious time, by running ragged from one thing to the next, we lose the joy of truly being ourselves, I believe. We stop knowing ourselves, and we lose ourselves in the lists and errands and deadlines and commitments. Perhaps we do this out of guilt. If I’m not busy, if I’m not doing things, I’m not worthwhile. If I’m not pushing myself to the brink physically or emotionally, no one will think I’m doing my best. If I’m not making everyone around me happy all the time, I must be doing something wrong. This is so untrue! While it is best to think of others first and to care for the needs of others, how can we care from an empty cup, as the saying goes? It is not written anywhere we are not allowed to care for ourselves. As a matter of fact, Jesus himself says to love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Luke 10:27). Paul says to look to the interests of others as well as our own (Phillipians 2:4). 

Here is the thing. We are not doing anyone any good when we don’t take care of ourselves. There are no awards for Least Self-Care. You see, it’s all about our motivation, our heart, as most things are. If we don’t take care of ourselves as a way to manipulate or feel like we have one over on everyone, that is just plain wrong. When we want to play the martyr or shock others into sympathy, we are not truly ourselves or acting from a place of trust or faith in God. I have felt this temptation many times in my chronic pain—to not take care of my appearance or let my healthy routines slide so others would actually believe me when I say I feel terrible. Or to work through an event or even keep a job, just so I could prove to everyone that I am a worthy person. 

We are not meant to live our lives in guilt or fear or trying to force sympathy. We are meant to live in freedom, to be ourselves as God created each and everyone of us to be! Each of us, each individual human being, is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). We are each worthy of dignity and care and consideration: we are image-bearers of God himself! If we are in Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). For freedom, He has set us free (Galatians 5:1)! This is good news for all of us. This means we can all take a deep, deep breath. We can rest in the truth that we are each worthy because God has made us worthy, and if we believe in Christ as God and Rescuer of the world, we have nothing to fear. Not even our own sins and foibles and past mistakes. We will never be found out because God has given us His own righteousness, and given us new life. 

And we must see that God doesn’t want us to burn ourselves out. He wants us to be salt to a flavorless world, to be a shining light to a dark world (Matthew 5:13-14). He made us all different and beautiful, each with a certain way to shine light, to be salt, to be something that makes others look back to God in wonder and joy. One way we bring glory to Him is simply to be who He created us to be. Do you love to dance? Dance! Do you love to garden? Garden! Do you love to draw? Draw! Do you love to host and have people over? Host! Do you love to play music? Play! Do you love to cook? Cook, and invite me over!

Instead of making self-care another weary and impossible chore (because we know that it will always slide to the bottom of the list), let us remember the essence of it. Let us remember that it’s not merely some added thing to do. It’s actually much smaller and bigger at the same time. It’s allowing time and space to be who God created you to be. It’s about embracing what you love and letting God shine through that. And it will look different at different times to different people. It might be taking that bath one day, or reading a favorite book, or watching a new show, or just sitting in the park with the sun on your face. It might be saying no to yet another activity, it might be staying home from church sometimes. It might be saying yes to something new, to someone new. It might be forgiving an old hurt, it might be forgiving yourself for an old mistake. 

In this way, I believe transformation will come to each of us. One of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner, wrote in Wishful Thinking, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” and this is so true. Your deep gladness, the things you do that make you feel alive, the things you do to offer care to yourself, God uses. Don’t ignore your passions and the things that bring you joy, because God longs to use them to help the whole world. Make time to be intentional, to be creative, to be whole. We have no idea what joy and hope will come to the world when we are truly ourselves. 

Going to get fancy drinks at your favorite coffee shop is highly recommended. 

It's ideal to have a favorite restaurant, too!

Sometimes making yourself a cup of tea in a Batman mug can do wonders.

Baking is my JAM. 

Sometimes nothing but the water will do. 

Peanut butter pie is ALSO my jam. 

Get outside sometimes. It's so good. 

Favorite beverage in a favorite mug...mmm, ritual.