Self Control

I'm forever lecturing myself.

Fine, I talk to myself in general. Hey, it who can be better for conversation? You can only argue as long as you can keep coming up with rebuttals. And no matter what, you always win. It's a pretty sweet deal, really.

Anyway, as I was saying, I lecture myself quite a bit. Like when I open the freezer and the music swells as a perfect halo of light frames the seductive curve of the ice cream carton.

I will have self control. I will have self control.

Or maybe when I launch Lord of the Rings Online and there's a high end raid about to start. It's going to take a few hours to complete. I will have self control. The raid goes well, very well in fact. And they want to know if I am up for another run. Glancing at the clock, I tell myself that I will have self control. I will have self control. I will have - "OK! Just a quick Bio break and I'll be ready to go!!"

 {-_-}

I will have self control.

I will have self control when I look at that lovely, golden, smooth stick of butter.

I will have self control when I want to sit on the couch and stare at Facebook whilst my brain and body rot together in wretched happiness and loathing.

My point is, I'm always telling myself that I will have self control. But the reality is, I've already got self control. It's not something that I have to get. I'm not a slave to my will or lack thereof. I already have bucket loads of it. You want to know how I know?


Paul told me so. Mmmhmm. We're good friends, Paul and I. At least he talks a lot and I try my best to tune him out. Usually what he has to say hits a little too close to home. Like this: 
          

          But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,       

          faithfulness,gentleness and self‑control. Against such things there is no law 

          Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions
         and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.                                                                                                                                                                     

                                                                                              Galatians 5:22-25

Did you catch that? "But the fruit of the Spirit is..." 
Not "will be."
Not "you'll someday get______." 
Not even "if you pray really, really hard maybe someday you can be like a monk in Tibet and have super human self control." 


It is. The fruit of the Spirit is self control. And I've already got that. So, by the same token, I already have all the self control I need.


How beautiful. Another gift. You know, the more I dig into scripture, the less I feel like a victim and the more I feel like a bit of spoiled brat. A princess, if you will.

And that's really cool since I have always loved princesses. 

Here's to Knocking on Mordor's Gates

I'm always thinking that I want an epic adventure. (Because pain and starvation and facing all the odds would be fun? 0.o I know, I'm weird.)

Today I had this idea that following Christ is like an epic adventure. Like Frodo Baggins leaving the Shire, we have to separate ourselves from the world. Not because the world is horrible and evil (ok, it is - just read the news) and we are better than it, but rather that we might save it. (Well, Jesus has already saved it, but most people don't know it. They keep walking towards death and despair.)  My point is, God does not call us to something comfortable. He calls us to the narrow path, the uncomfortable path.

And like Frodo, we cannot carry our faith and not be changed. The Shire, though he loved it, held little joy for Frodo when he returned from Mordor. All his hope became wrapped up in the Undying Lands to the West.

The truth is, I'm already living an epic adventure. I just have to remind myself of that sometimes. My little hobbit hole can get pretty comfortable and I forget that all of Middle Earth still needs saving.

So to speak, of course.

Edit: Please try not to judge my theology on this post, nor the fact that I just compared my faith in Christ to ring bent on destroying its barer. It's just an incomplete thought that I felt rather intriguing. 

Mushy Rice

Last night I made dinner. And not to toot my own horn, but it's actually pretty rare that I make something that doesn't turn out fairly well. 


Last night was one of those nights.


I'm not sure if I just added too much water, or if my rice cooker (bless its little pot belly) doesn't do well with Trader Joe's Basmati Rice Medley.  Whatever the case, it came out mushy - not unlike oatmeal, or even cream of wheat. So here I was with a rice cooker full of glop that really wasn't...well, it was gross. 


I just couldn't throw it away. All that lovely rice, carrots, onions and orange peal! I hemmed and hawwed for a little bit before suddenly remember one of my grandmother's more delicious, if not altogether healthier, breakfast foods. Fried cream of wheat. I sat there on my bouncy little kitchen stool, intrigued. 


Why not? It's gloppy enough to stick together. It's got a good flavor. So...why not?


I got so excited at the thought that I rushed through the rest of my dinner, burning my tongue on my mushy rice. I love a good experiment in the kitchen! Or anywhere for that matter. So after we washed and put away the dishes, we got down to business. I just had to rescue this poor rice medley - it deserved so much better.


I rolled the rice out into little balls, then pressed them into patties while my sous-chef cut squares of butcher's paper to stack them on. (On a side not, I know I'm very lucky. Some people have to settle for bland pool boys while I get a sexy sous-chef. Be jealous, ladies. Be very jealous.) Anyway, we got everything mashed, smashed, stacked and stashed and called it good. I still wasn't sure about it all, but i figured, fry anything in enough butter and it will taste like heaven! (You know when the Bible talks about the streets of Heaven being paved in gold? I'm not entirely convinced that it's not butter.)


I even had dreams about it.


I got up this morning, doused the pan in butter, carefully placed my precious patties in the pan and waited. And waited. Annnnd waited. 


Finally the moment arrived. I slid the golden rice cakes onto my plate, the crisp edges crackling merrily. 


Oh.


My. 


GOODNESS!


The flavor, the texture, all of it was sublime. 


So there's my tip of the day - if it's terrible, fry it in copious amounts of butter. :)

Edit: I just had a funny thought - I've redeemed my rice! I took something gross and made it into something oh so tasty. And God is doing the same with me. :) I started out pretty gross, and right now I'm not too terribly delicious, but God is currently mashing and reshaping me (I think Paul used the analogy of clay but rice is more applicable to me). Someday, He'll be finished with me and I'll be positively exquisite.

Until that day, I'll be content to be the rice in His hands. 

My Blogs are Like My Poetry

A funny statement, I know. But if you knew me quite well, you would know that I only seem to write when tragedy strikes. Or when something really interesting happens. I'm sorry, I just can't get into daily blogging. Who cares what color my socks are - or even if they match? My life's just not that noteworthy. But for now excitement has struck again, so I must dust off the 'ol blog.

We've moved! Again. To anther state. Again. Sometimes I like to pretend that God transposed a number or two on my delivery date. I think I ought to have been an Indian maiden before the discovery of The New World. Or maybe the Indian blood that runs through my veins is more potent than the rest of the hodgepodge my heart sloshes around. Who knows. All I know is that my feet get itchy and I can't stand staying in one place for long. I just need to MOVE. To change everything. To reinvent myself. I think some refer to it as a gypsy soul, but I prefer to think of myself as a member of some migratory Indian tribe. :0) It sounds much more romantic. And less dusty.

This time I've gotten just a bit closer to my Indian roots and my elvish fantasies. We're in Oregon. And I have to say that I LOVE it here! Trees and trails and waterfalls! You could step off the trail and utterly loose yourself in the trees - and many do. Not that that's a particular goal of mine. It's just a feeling of freedom, of...wildness. Yes, the wildness that sometimes rages in my heart. Like a wild herd of horses that longs to run for the sheer joy of it.

But where was I? See how even my thoughts run from me? Rude.

Ernie and I are here in Oregon, starting a new life. I can't help but feel like a newlywed again. Like this time is the first time we've ventured out on our own. It's different somehow. We're different people. I feel as though I am a wholly new person in the last month. Like I've been re-made from the inside out. Have you ever seen Dr. Who? I feel like a new Dr. (I would hope that I could be as cool as David Tennant.) It's exciting! Exhilarating! And just a bit intimidating.

Ernie has a new job. It's fantastic to see him so excited about it. :0) He seems a new person too. More confident, more...Just more. :0) I'm so excited to see where God will lead us next! He is faithful beyond measure. None of this would have been possible without His hand directing every step.

What about you? Do you get itchy feet too? Or do you ever feel you were born in the wrong age? Similarly, what would you think of being a Time Lord? (I think I'd rather like it.) Tell me! I want to know what you think.