Trading Comfort for Freedom

When I was in school, I never liked to ask questions in class. I was a terribly shy little girl, and I hated talking in front of people. I kept my questions to myself because I knew that if I raised my hand, other people would look at me, listen to me, and (gulp) hear my voice. Plus, I knew from experience that someone else would usually ask the question that was swirling around my mind; if I just waited a little bit, my question would usually be asked and answered. At that time, I didn’t really mind too much if any of my questions went unanswered because I thought I would eventually figure it out anyway.

When I got a little older, I didn’t mind volunteering answers in class, although I still wasn’t too keen on asking questions. When I knew the answer, I was confident, but I continued to keep my questions to myself because the last thing I wanted was for everyone to know that I didn’t already know the answer. After all, I was the girl who knew the answer. I was the sort of student who teachers called on because they knew that I knew the answer. Yes, I was that girl.

But by not asking questions, I missed an opportunity to learn, to discover, to renew my thinking. Back then, that stuff didn’t matter very much because it was overshadowed by fear—of drawing unwanted negative attention to myself. Of not liking the answers I received. Of other people knowing that I actually didn’t know everything already. Of admitting that I didn’t have it all together.

Now as an adult, and a teacher at that, I realize the value of asking hard questions, and I’m ready to face my fears. Not in the classroom, but in life. I’m starting to ask a lot of questions—tough ones, perhaps, ones that will make me uncomfortable sometimes, I’m sure. I’m willing to take the risk though, because the more I learn, the more I want to learn. The more I discover the truth, the farther my life seems from reflecting it. The truth is that I’ve gotten used to being comfortable, and I’m getting uncomfortable with how comfortable I’ve gotten—how comfortable we’ve gotten. But, the truth is this:

Comfort is not the goal. Freedom is.

Susie Larson said that. She spoke at our church's women's retreat recently, and what she had to say was so simple, in many ways, but incredibly timely and profound. 

When Joey and I first got married, we were full of resolve to living a well-rounded, healthy life in which we were committed to nourishing our bodies, staying active, keeping our minds sharp, and engaging our creativity. Almost two years later, our lives don’t really reflect that passion much anymore, at least, not as much as either of us would like. The fire in our hearts seemed to be stifled by circumstance. The embers of the fire are still glowing, and another thing Susie said stoked the fire. She said, "Our circumstances do not define us. We were made to be freedom fighters." So simple. So true. As a result, I have been asking myself questions lately, questions that I am posting for you all to see because I believe that finding the answers to them are that important. I’ve been sitting on these things, not sharing for quite awhile because I know that putting the questions out there means that I’ll have to start living out the answers as I find them, and again, that means getting uncomfortable. But sometimes comfort is overrated, isn't it?

So here it goes:

What would happen if I turned the TV off? Would I find that I actually do have the time to do the things I say I want to do? Would I write more? Would I read the book that’s been sitting on my nightstand for the past six months? Would I finally use the sewing machine that’s been collecting dust, the one I’ve been so eager to use but just never have?

What would happen if I set the kitchen table and sat down to eat dinner with my family, instead of taking our usual seat in front of the TV with our food on our laps? Would we have something to say to each other, or would we sit in uncomfortable silence?

What would happen if I took a walk before dinner? After dinner? Would I really miss out on much?

What would happen if I took the time every day to cook healthy meals from scratch? Would I run out of time? Money? Energy?

What would happen if I took all the extra money I spend on convenience and added it to my tithe? Gave it to a local charity? Put it in savings? Added to my little girl’s college fund?

What if I read the Bible? You know, consistently? And what if I did what it says?

What if I believed that I really am God’s temple? Would I treat it kindly? Would I stop giving myself a hard time and start giving myself some respect?

What if I wore a dress in the middle of the week just because I felt like it?

What would happen if I took what I learn and actually did something about it?

What if I taught my kids good habits from the start, so that I don’t have to break their bad habits later?

What if I spent more time talking to my friends face to face rather than through texts, emails, or Facebook?

What if I didn’t purchase things without knowing the story behind them? If I sought out the story behind them, would I uncover ugly truths? Would I spend my money the same way as I always have?


What if I stopped mindlessly putting my money toward the things I say I am against, and start mindfully putting it where our heart is?


What would happen if I spent a little extra time thinking about what I do and why I do it, instead of going through the motions I have become so comfortable with?

What would happen? Really? Are the answers worth the risk?

I’m inclined to believe they are. And little by little, I'm going to fight for freedom in these areas because I'm choosing that in the end, Susie is right. Freedom is the goal.

Project 31 Day 26: My Legacy

"What do you hope your grandchildren will say about you someday when you are gone?"

I've been pondering this for well over a week, trying to come up with something short and sweet that captures everything I hope generations after me will say about me and the life I lived. But I couldn't do it. Finally, I decided that a disjointed list of seemingly unrelated things is okay.  One beautiful, sweeping statement about what kind of legacy I hope to leave just won't cut it because I hope my grandchildren know me well enough to say lots of things about me--some funny, some quirky, some sweet and moving, like...

She smelled good. Not like an old lady at all.

You know how some families dread going to Grandma's house? Not me. I loved visiting her.

No one will ever make a better chocolate chip cookie. But if I'm lucky, I'll make them just as good as she did. 

I loved watching her dance in the kitchen with Grandpa. She couldn't dance worth anything, but Grandpa didn't care, and neither did she. I hope my husband and I love each other like that when we are as old as they are.

Her laugh was infectious. I cry when I laugh just like she did.

She loved life; she squeezed everything out of it that she could, and I know Jesus is going to greet her with open arms and say, "Well done."

With her, I felt safe and loved.

She taught me how to sing "I'm a Little Teapot," and she always had the best tea parties.

She couldn't carry a tune, but I loved listening to her sing.

She swore she didn't have favorites among us grandkids, but secretly I believe she liked me best. At least, that's the way she made me feel whenever I was with her.

I hope she knows how much I love her.

She believed in me, and she taught me to believe in myself. 

She made things beautiful.

I loved spending time with her.

I loved it when she read stories to me. She always did all the voices.

As much as she loved me, as much as she loved my mom, and as much as she loved Grandpa--she loved Jesus more. And she loved people the way He loves them.

I'll miss her.

PB & J Muffins

PB & J muffins--yep, like the classic sandwich, but these just might be better. (Plus, they're made with lots of good-for-you organic ingredients) The first time I made them, I used strawberry banana jam (which was a perfect combination, if you ask me), but this time around I used plum jam because it's what we had in the cupboard. You could certainly use whatever you happen to have on hand, or whatever your particular favorite jam happens to be. The recipe makes about 12 regular-sized muffins, but I think they'd be great as mini muffins too, especially if you're making them for little tummies. They're best just minutes out of the oven, washed down with--what else? A tall glass of cold milk.

Ingredients:
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoons salt
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 cup milk (I used skim)
2 large eggs
2/3 cups sucanat or rapadura (natural cane sugar)
1/2 cup natural peanut butter
2/3 cups pureed banana
1/2 cup jam (approximately)

Method:
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Line muffin tins with paper baking cups. In a large bowl, mix together dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt). 

Add milk, eggs, sugar, peanut butter and bananas to the bowl. Using an electric mixer, combine ingredients together (on low speed) until just moistened.

Fill prepared muffin cups evenly with half of the batter (each cup should be about halfway full). Put 1 1/2 teaspoons of jam in the center of each muffin. (As you can see, it doesn't matter if it's perfect...).

Use the remaining batter to top each muffin cup and sprinkle the tops with a little bit of sugar.

Bake for about 20 minutes (or until toothpick comes out clean). Let cool in the pan for a few minutes, and then transfer the muffins to a rack.

 

I love how crackley and gooey they are when they first come out of the oven. And the smell? So good. Not sure much beats the smell of freshly made muffins in the morning.