Worth the Effort?

The first decision was whether to remove the thin brown skin from the chunks of milky white coconut. Most websites said I should remove the skin. However, one or two said it provided good roughage and trace elements,and could be grated with the white meat. After the recent spate of deaths from contaminated cantaloupes, I was already feeling a little worried about eating the coconut we had broken open, scalped of its white center, and gathered in a bowl. I decided to cut off the thin brown skin. First I tried a paring knife. It worked, and I should be able to finish paring all the chunks by the time my grandchildren enter college. By the way,  as of yet, I have no grandchildren. So then I tried a potato peeler. All I succeeded in peeling was a thin layer of my thumb.

I decided to trust the internet sites that said the brown skin could be eaten.

Next, I set up the food processor and rummaged through the cute little attached drawer at its base. Ah, here was a disc that said "grater". I had never used anything but the chopper in my food processor. In truth, I rarely use my food processor. And if we must be totally honest, I rarely go beyond the basics with any food. I leave the processing to people who know their way around a kitchen. I pulled the instructions out of the handy little drawer. I followed the steps carefully, and when it was all assembled, put a few chunks of coconut into the food chute. I turned it on and a button from the top popped off, a spring went rolling on the floor, and a small plastic tab fell onto the counter. This little dime sized plastic tab that was supposed to hold the top on had broken. My $200 food processor was useless. Not to be deterred, I saved the pieces and put them aside for Asherel to look at later. Then I got a roll of duct tape. I put the coconut in the processor, and duct taped the top closed. I pressed "pulse on". Bits of coconut chunks got wedged in the inadequately secured food tube. I got out the food chopper blade of the Processor, emptied the coconut bits to a bowl, put on the new blade, and returned the coconut bits with their brown lining to the Processor. In five seconds, the coconut was chopped into tiny bits. I tasted it, willing to fall on the sword for my family should this coconut be tainted like the killer Cantaloupes I had read about. It was good, though a little chewier than store bought coconut. When I didn't drop dead, I decided to proceed.

"What are you making?" asked Asherel, walking in the kitchen. The counter and floor were covered with bits of coconut. A pile of dismanted food processor parts was tangled in the sink. I presumed she meant besides a mess, so I answered, "I don't know. Maybe macaroons."
I returned to the computer and looked up "fresh coconut recipes". I finally found one for chocolate macaroons with only 4 ingredients. The instructions included the word easy, which is a critical component in all the recipes I follow. I followed the instructions step by step.
Oh... 3 cups of coconut? My 4 cup measure was currently unavailable, filled with chicken gravy. I held the bowl of coconut up.
Yeh, I think that is about 3 cups. I dumped the coconuts in the mixing bowl.
Oh, why doesn't it say how much chocolate to use? The amount of chocolate was apparently up to the cook's discretion. I poured in a half bag.

I spooned the mixture, teaspoon by teaspoon, onto the pan, and then set the oven timer for 20 minutes, as prescribed.
Twenty minutes later, I took the baking pans out of the oven. The macaroons had spread out to a thin, flat layer across the pan. There were 12 bumps of coconut every few inches across the vast chocolate plain.
"Smells good!" said Arvo. He looked at it.
"I don't think it worked," I said.
Asherel, lured by the smell of chocolate came into the kitchen. She grabbed a spoon and scooped up some of the spreading chocolate with the coconut mound.
"Yum!"
Armed with a clever idea now, I waited for my family to leave, and then I began scooping globs of the cooling mixture and forming them into balls. Then I stuck the balls in the refrigerator. I only got about 20 macaroons for approximately 4 hours of labor, counting the coconut cleaving from the previous day. However, I ate one. Delicious!

Sometimes, one's effort expended exceeds the results to such a degree, that one has to wonder, why bother?  I know there were times during childbirth I felt that way, and there were certainly times during child rearing I felt that way. There have been  vacations I have planned that were disastrous in the end. There have been camping trips that took hours to prepare for, pack, set up camping sites, gather food,and cooking stove, and pots and pans, ...and when we arrived at the campground, all it did for three days was rain. And we sat in the soggy tents on soggy sleeping bags, playing cards, while the rain formed rivers of mud around our tent. Was it worth the effort, given the results?

I know I am not alone in this. Poor Paul of the Bible was overwhelmed by his efforts to transform the Galatians into Christ followers. They showed initial zeal and enthusiasm, but as soon as he left them, they returned to their old ways, and were seduced by false prophets. All his effort seemed to go to waste. Unlike his other letters of the New Testament, he doesn't greet them with his typical words of delight and encouragement. He is ticked off! He leaps right into berating them, asking them how they could so quickly abandon the wonderful truth of Grace, and return to the fruitless methods of legalism to work their way towards God. In the end, we never learn if the Galatians heeded Paul's warning. The church of Galatia is not mentioned in Revelations. Had it disintegrated ? In the end, was it worth Paul's effort if only to lose them?
In verse 4 of the book of Galatians, Paul speaks of a present evil age. He is reminding all of us that there is a present darkness, but then assures us that victory will come in the end. We must finish the job. We must persevere, until the victory is secured. He reminds the Galatians in the closing of the letter that there is a new creation, a new world. The old world will vanish. Don't give up.
His letter is a reminder that we can fall away, we can lose the victory if we stop short of the finish line. In the end, it is worth the effort. It is worth the struggle.

"Can I have another macaroon?" called Asherel.
"No, I am putting them in a glass trophy case next to Anders' international gold medals," I answered.

Galatians 4: 3-4, 8-11,14-16
³ Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, ⁴ who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father, ⁵ to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.  ⁸ Formerly, when you did not know God, you were slaves to those who by nature are not gods. ⁹ But now that you know God—or rather are known by God—how is it that you are turning back to those weak and miserable force^]? Do you wish to be enslaved by them all over again? ¹⁰ You are observing special days and months and seasons and years! ¹¹ I fear for you, that somehow I have wasted my efforts on you.
 ¹⁴ May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. ¹⁵ Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything; what counts is the new creation. ¹⁶ Peace and mercy to all who follow this rule—to the Israel of God.

Intentional Relationships

It was clear Lucky was choking on a bone, and unless I took action, all our struggles with this stupid dog would be over. However, I leaped to my feet and asked Asherel, "Do you think the Heimlich maneuver works on dogs?"
"Try it," she said.
So I hugged the choking dog around his midsection and jerked quickly
upward. Lucky yelped and swung around ready to bite me. But he was still hacking. So I did it again. He yelped again. No bone came flying out of his mouth like it does on the cartoons, but he stopped choking. He looked miffed about the Heimlich thing.

I had time to reflect on that act of saving my dog in the wee hours of the morning as he awoke me to bark bark bark at an owl.

One night of disrupted sleep would not matter much, but I had been up almost the whole night the evening before. It was National Prayer Day, and our church had members sign up to pray for one hour for the entire Prayer Week, 24 hours a day. I had signed up for one of the less coveted times- 6 a.m.  I didn't want to set my alarm and wake Arvo when he has to be up by 7 each day, so I just set my internal clock. My internal clock, like the rest of my internal apparatus, is neurotic, however. And so every hour, on the hour, I would wake up  to see if it was 6 a.m. yet.  Since I was so tired half way through the night, I decided I better do proactive praying as long as I was awake, just in case I slept through my designated 6 a.m. time.
Some of my long hours of prayer started like this, "Dear Lord, you who know all things, know that my allotted prayer slot is 6 a.m.  However, if I sleep through that time, can you please pretend this is my 6 a.m. prayer? Maybe record it and play it back at that time to fill the gap?"  And after praying for our nation, our leaders, our world, our churches, our family, our friends, our stupid dog barking at the owl, I would fall asleep .....briefly. Then I would awaken, look at the clock, see it was not 6 a.m., and decide I better pray another proactive prayer since for sure I would miss my appointed prayer time now.

I had noticed that many of the wee morning hours were not filled when I had signed up for my 6 a.m. slot. So as I prayed, I was glad to know that in case they had remained unfilled, someone was approaching the Throne of Grace while everyone else was getting their beauty sleep. That someone continued to awaken and pray all night long, until finally I opened my eyes, and it was 6 a.m at last. I had not let my church down. I prayed for my allotted hour.

Praying all night is not as hard as you might think. When I fully commit to staying awake and not letting my mind wander, to completely give over my heart, my concerns, my praises, my thoughts to God, it seems easier to focus than when I am about to go to sleep and am saying my Goodnight prayers. The mind is a traitorous thing, and tends to wander at the first chance it gets. More than once I have started off with great intentions, "Oh Lord of Heaven and Earth, may your Name be praised...." only to meander instantly into thoughts of whether roast beef is best cooked with a foil cover or not. (By the way, I still haven't figured that one out....anyone care to comment?)

It is not that I want to take prayer casually or flippantly or distractedly. It just seems I can't help it. But I noticed this phenomenon last year when I signed up for a slot on National Prayer day to commit to a full hour of prayer at a designated time. I was not only able to stay focused, but didn't want to stop when my hour was up. I found myself in an attitude of prayer all morning, and even into the afternoon.

Intentional. That is the key. So little of my attempts at relationships is intentional, including my relationship to God. That is why my weekly meeting with our old friends at the nursing home is so important. It reminds me that relationships don't just happen. They have to be cultivated. They require maintenance, love, effort, care, and intentional connection.

Like I mentioned yesterday, I was a negative space wall flower growing up. I hovered on the edges, too shy and too different to easily connect with others. I am still shy (inwardly at least) and Lord knows I am a wee bit different, and often my interests don't mesh well with normal people....However, I have learned that when I reach out intentionally to others, often enough, lovingly enough, and persistently enough....they eventually reach back.  In fact, I think God is our guide in this. If anyone is intentional in relationships, it is He. Look at the Bible and how His people ran from Him time and time and time again. And yet He never shut them away from Him, and He never gave up. He may have chastised them, but He was always offering a Way to return to Him, and He never ever stopped beseeching them....or us.

The least I could do in return is be intentional in a few moments of earnest prayer with Him. And maybe then go out and be a little more intentional in my relationships with those around me. There are two common ailments to mankind that I think we do have a bit of control over- boredom and loneliness.  I think both are cured by the same method- reaching out beyond our own molecular space with intention to bump up against something or someone created by the God who knows how hard it is.

Lucky was still glaring at me.
"Hey, sometimes what helps you hurts a little!" I said, as he licked the crumbs from the rug.

Psalm 18:16
¹⁶ He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
   he drew me out of deep waters.
Psalm 119:48
⁴⁸ I reach out for your commands, which I love,
   that I may meditate on your decrees.

Light and Strong

The trebuchet team snagged a carbon fiber hockey stick for our trebuchet arm. In the name of science, they attended the Charlotte Checkers hockey game, noted the moment a stick was cracked, and raced to the hockey team to beg them for the broken stick. I wasn't there, but I bet I know how the discussion went:
"Can we have your broken hockey stick?" Josh pleaded.
"Are you nuts! These sticks sell for $500 or more a piece."
"They don't do you any good broken."
"What do you want it for? Cracking it over your brother's head? We don't condone violence, ya know."  Here they chuckled and bashed each other good naturedly on the knee caps.
"We have made a trebuchet and the arm is oak....strong but heavy. We made the Science Olympiad State competition with our strong team performance, but we are still flinging only about a third as far as we need to fling to have a shot at medalling at States."

The hockey players looked at each other, their eyes glistening with tears. They knew about the desire to win, and they loved the concept of warfare, which of course the trebuchet was designed for in the Middle Ages. All you need to do is attend one minute of any hockey game to know that these folk understand combat.

"Well, all right, you can have the stick. Do you get extra points for bruising the other contestants?"
"No, it's not really like hockey in that respect."

They grinned and skated back on the ice, smacking and hurtling the other team members out of the way with their $500 carbon fiber sticks.
"Wow," said Josh, "If our hockey stick arm throws stuff that far, we are gonna win!"

We test the super light, super strong stick today. It is a stronger arm, though half the weight of our oak arm. I love the image of this strong arm that could possibly hurl things 60 meters. It reminds me of the strongest arm I know. That arm is invisible but it reaches down, and snatches the worst of us out of the grip of destruction and sets us down safely an eternity away from the ravages of sin, if we let it. It holds us lightly, but its reach is infinite, and its strength can never be broken.

"Do you think all this effort with the new arm will be worth it?" asked my team. One nodded, one shook his head.
I shrugged. I thought of that other arm, strong but gentle, and so light upon us, beckoning and withholding the full power of His strength, longing to pull us toward Him but letting us decide which direction we will head.


Psalm 79:11
¹¹ May the groans of the prisoners come before you;
   with your strong arm preserve those condemned to die.

2 Chronicles 15:
⁷ But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded.”