Worlds Apart

I’ve just returned from two back-to-back trips that left my mind swimming.  Two weeks ago I went with a team of five others to serve on a week-long mission trip at the El Hogar orphanage in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  12 hours after I returned home, Tim and I took Rachel and Scott on a once-in-a-lifetime three day vacation to Orlando. 

Within the space of 24 hours I went from the Third World to Disney World.  Less than a day after I saw children scrape their plates to get at the last bit of their meager dinner of refried beans, I saw families leave huge piles of uneaten food behind for someone else to clean up.  I went from watching a child without a family play happily with nothing but a piece of yarn, to watching a child melt down because his mother wouldn’t buy him a $110 Harry Potter robe. 

The trips, and my responses to them, were extreme.  I spent a week serving the poorest of the poor and came back filled to overflowing.  I spent three days surrounded by extravagance and indulgence and came back…tired. 

There’s nothing wrong with Disney World or Orlando or fun.  I believe God loves us and wants us to enjoy all the goodness He has to offer (which is plenty!).  I loved being able to treat the kids to such a fun holiday and I am grateful that we had the resources to go on this kind of trip.  But I thank God that I had the opportunity to serve in Honduras first.  It gave me some perspective. 

Jesus came so that we can “have life and have it to the full.”  I shouldn’t mistake a “full” life with a self-indulgent life.  I don’t want to spend all my energies making me and mine as comfortable as possible before I comfort those in need.  Yes, I want to give good things to my family, but they are not the only ones who deserve my attention.  I can’t give only when I have “extra” money or serve when I find the “extra” time.  I want my giving and service to be common in timing and uncommon in generosity.  

And I want to teach that to my children.  I want them to know the difference between the fleeting giddiness that comes from a theme park ride and the true joy that comes from serving.  There is nothing wrong with the first, but there is something profound and wonderful in the second.  I wouldn’t want them to miss it for the world, Disney or otherwise.

WWJS (What Would Jesus Sell?)

The other day a friend of mine was telling me about a Christian female singing group she thought I’d like.  So I whipped out my handy-dandy iPad (now that I am finally a woman of the new millennium I can do that kind of thing) and Googled ‘em.  Though I couldn’t find a website under their group name, I did find something fairly close.  So I clicked on it. 

The webpage that came up was dedicated to “beauty you can believe in.”  It was filled with photos of bronzers and brushes, lipsticks and liners, plus exhortations to exfoliate (with “natural scrub recipes!”).  It looked so much like the Ulta website I figured I was in the wrong place.  Oh no, I thought.  Their website was taken by a makeup company and now their fans won’t be able to find them. 

But then I looked further and realized, with horror, that it was their website.  I had to search the page pretty thoroughly to be sure. But there they were, tucked down low on the right side of the page. 

There was not one word on the page about God or Jesus.  The Holy Ghost?  A total no-show.  Heaven forbid a mention of heaven (however, the page did offer to show me a technique where I could look seven years younger in two weeks, which led me to wonder: if I kept going, could I look 14 years younger in four weeks, and maybe even 21 years younger in six weeks?  Now that would be a blessing). 

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not looking for them to use Jesus as their celebrity spokesperson.  But if they’re a Christian group, I just figured they might actually want to mention His name, or maybe even offer a little shout out to His Dad.  Dunno, it’s just a thought. 

But the part that really made me kooky (I know, how could you tell?) was that they are selling makeup!  Oh, ewww.  It just depressed me. 

I am not going to name them or their website (although the whole “look seven years younger in two weeks” deal is tempting.  But I would be soooooo disappointed if after two weeks I only looked six years younger).  I’m sure they are good Christian women.  I even bet they have beautiful voices and make lovely music for the Lord.  And I completely understand they have to find a way to support themselves and merchandising is one of the ways many Christian artists are helping finance their ministries.  But of all the things they could hawk, they chose makeup?  Don’t we women have enough “you’re not quite good enough” messages to worry about without our own people turning our spiritual lives into beauty contests?  In the immortal words of Jesus: Oy vey. 

All that being said, I’ve come up with some ad ideas for them.  How ‘bout:  “Jesus loves you, but He’ll like you better with a little blush.”  Or:  “You lay your foundation on The Rock, and we’ll lay our foundation on your face!”  Ok, last one:  “All your sins are forgiven, and our concealers can hide all the evidence!”  

Please feel free to add your own ad lines below.  

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I’ve decided to end my blogs with some of my favorite recipes.  The challenge is going to be to tie them in with my ramblings.  But this one was easy.  This recipe from Peg Bracken is a staple in our family, one my mother made frequently when I was growing up, and one everyone I’ve ever served it to has loved.  I paired it with this blog because it looks awful (definitely in need of  beauty treatment), but tastes great.  Enjoy!

Skid Row Stroganoff

8 oz uncooked wide egg noodles

1 beef bouillon cube

1 garlic clove, minced

1/3C chopped onion

1T oil

1 lb. ground beef

2T all purpose flour

1t salt

1/2t paprika

6 oz can mushrooms, drained (whole, slices, pieces , whatever you have on hand)

1 can Campbell's cream of chicken soup (don't cheap out, get the real stuff!)

1C plain yogurt (or sour cream, if you don't have yogurt.  Sometimes I use half yogurt, half sour cream)

1.  Cook the noodles like you always do, just add the bouillon cube to it as they cook.

2.  Brown the beef, garlic, and onions in oil.

3.  Add flour, salt, paprika, mushrooms.  Stir, and cook on medium heat for 5 minutes.

4.  Add soup, and simmer on low for 10 minutes.

5.  Stir in the yogurt, keeping heat low so it doesn't curdle.  Heat through.  Serve on noodles.

A Woman of a Certain Age

Apparently, 2011 was the year I came to the sad realization that I have reached “that” age.  I hate to call it “middle age” because it sounds so… well… old.  But simple math tells me that, unless I live to be 150, I can no longer ignore the fact that I am, indeed, middle aged.  Crap!  Who let that happen?!?

Accepting this fact has been difficult.  I mean, I know it happens.  It happens to other people all the time.  I’ve read about it in magazines in line at the grocery store; I’ve seen it on television, in between reality shows.  The scary thing is that now those things are happening to me.  Ewwwww.

I’ve reached the age when:

• I can no longer count my gray hairs because I just don’t have that kind of time. 
• I can pluck at the skin on the back of my hand and watch it as it takes its time to move back into its locked and upright position.
• my teenaged daughter has waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay prettier lingerie than I do, but I have waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more hairs on my chinny-chin-chin than my teenage son. 
• I produce all sorts of groany, creaky noises when making sudden moves (truth is, I produce those noises when I make any moves, but I can cover up the non-sudden move noises with a well-timed cough).   

It has become an odd experience to really look at myself in the mirror.  When I do, I see the girl-formerly-known-as-Annie, but the heavier, saggier, and well, OLDer version.  It’s like looking in a fun house mirror, minus the fun part.  Plus no funnel cakes.

My aforementioned teenage daughter insists she will NEVER have plastic surgery.  I made that same vow too, years ago, but now I’m considering reconsidering.  Who knew back then that you had eye pads that could get fat?  For Pete’s sake, who know we had eye pads?!?! 

And eye pads aren’t the only pads in my new old-fogey world.  I’m just sayin…’

In my younger days (and I’m old enough to be using phrases like, “in my younger days” un-sarcastically), my conversations were about sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.  Now they’re more apt to be about taxes, what’s wrong with the world, and my latest failing body parts.  I use the word “apt.” If these aren’t indications of “a certain age,” what is? 

But though I regularly get mail from AARP (hey, what’s the use of attaining a certain age if you don’t get the discounts?!?), I don’t feel any more grown up than I did when I was in my 20s.  What’s up with that? 

I have all the earmarks of being a grown up.  My parents and most of the relatives on the upper branches of my family tree have gone on to their greater reward; I’m on the top layer of my family’s genealogical cake now.  I’m married, have children, own a house and two cars (well, I share them with the bank).  I run my own business.  I use the word “earmarks.”  And yet I still wonder what I’ll be like when I grow up.  How much more “up” do I expect to grow (especially since all my body parts seem to be headed in the opposite direction)?    

But there are a few benefits to this older-ness.  I can now mutter to myself with impunity.  I get a lot of exercise going in and out of the same room because I can’t remember why I went in in the first place.  But the best part:  I’m way too old to be cool, which gives me the freedom to embarrass my children by singing loudly and dancing inappropriately in public (I figure it’ll give them something to talk about with a therapist later in life). 

They should be getting nervous about my heading toward actual old age...

Christmas time is here...

Christmastime at Chez Akins means crafting and baking till you're covered in flour and glue.  Tim is the baker, I'm the crafty one.  Every year Tim makes some positively sinful chocolate chip cookies (our own special recipe), some mouth-watering potato chip cookies (a recipe I snagged from my aunt Peggy Missildine), and when he has time, a batch of buttery rich Empire biscuits (a delicious Scottish shortbread sandwich cookie with jelly in the middle).  We've had a lot of requests this year for the potato chip recipe, so here it is:

Aunt Peggy's Potato Chip Cookie

1.5 C sugar
1 lb. butter
2 tsp vanilla
3.5 C flour (sift before measuring)
1 C crushed potato chips
powdered sugar

Heat oven to 350*.  Cream together butter and sugar.  Add vanilla.  Mix flour and potato chips together, then blend with butter mix.  Drop by spoonful on greased cookie sheet and cook for 15-20 minutes, or until golden brown.  Let cool, then sprinkle with powdered sugar.  Mmm, mmm good!


This year we also made reindeer cookies.  Cute, marginally a pain.  You need Nutter Butter cookies, red M&Ms, small pretzels, chocolate chips, and a small amount of icing (for "glue").  Use a little bit of icing at the top of the cookie and place two pretzels on either side for the antlers (the photo only shows one, don't be fooled, they're cuter with two).  Dip the flat part of two chocolate chips into the icing and place below the antlers for eyes, dip the red M&M in the icing and place at the bottom of the cookie for the red nose, and voila, Rudolph!  (FYI - Gotta move fast with the M&Ms and chips, or they'll melt in your hand).  Here's a picture (not actually ours.  If had a better camera, I'd take a picture, but that'll have to be next Christmas) to give you the idea.

Every year the kids make Christmas gifts for family and friends, and this year is no exception.  Scott made an ice candle, which is so easy and turns out really great.  You need wax, crushed ice (we don't have an ice maker that makes crushed ice, so Scott got to use a rubber mallet to smash the ice, which of course was his favorite part of the whole project), a wick, and a cylindrical salt box (for the mold).  Cut the top off the box, and hang the wick off a pencil (make sure it goes all the way to the bottom). Then alternate pouring in melted wax and crushed ice.  The ice keeps the wax from forming a solid shape, making it look lacy and exotic when it's done.  When you're finished, let it cool in the sink ('cuz it will leak), and then peel the box off the candle and you're good to go.

But the best new project this year were the "snow globe soaps" Scott made (Rachel will make some, too).  I got this from the blog "Alphamom.com."  All it takes is an ice cube tray, a few cute little Christmas-y trinkets (the operative word being "little"), glycerine, soap dye, and a grated up bar of white soap.  For 5 soaps we melted 6 cubes of glycerine, used 1 drop of blue dye (add dye 1 drop at a time for the right color, as the colors are really saturated), and grated half a bar of white soap.  Melt the glycerine and add your drop of color.  Pour that into the ice cube tray until about 3/4 full.  Let it cool for a little (not long, just enough to form a skin, like a minute, maybe) and put your trinket in UPSIDE DOWN.  Then sprinkle grated white soap (for snow on the ground, get it?), and pour the rest of the glycerine on top of that (to make a smooth bottom.  And really, who doesn't want one of those?!?).  Throw it in the freezer for 20 minutes, and then pop 'em out of the ice trays.  I challenge you not to say, "Awwww..." when you see the completed soaps.  Here's a pic from Brenda Ponnay's (Alphamom's) website:

And now it's time to go watch a Christmas movie with the fam.  This year we've already watched Charlie Brown get his sad little tree; enjoyed Jim Carrey stealing and returning Christmas; laughed at Natalie Wood acting like a monkey with Santa; traveled with Rudolph, Herbie, and Yukon Cornelius to the Island of Misfit Toys; and of course, seen Mary have a baby (oh yeah).   Still to come:  Will Ferrel dressing funny, Bing and Danny singing and dancing, and Jimmy Stewart discovering how he's changed his world.  I'd love to hear your Christmas time traditions, if you'd care to share...

The Time of My Life

     About a week ago, Tim, the kids and I were discussing economics (true story).  We've been reading Whatever Happened to Penny Candy? by Richard J. Maybury (highly recommended) and learning about inflation, recession, and depression.  Somehow the discussion about economics led to one about time.  It was a remarkable conversation that became a Holy Ghost moment, one of those inspired and inspiring times that can't be planned, scheduled, or forced.  They just happen and I'm grateful they do.
     We were talking about resources - money, jobs, education, food, shelter...y'know, stuff.  And Tim and I were explaining that, while all those things are useful, even necessary, they are all replaceable.  One can always make more money, get a new job, receive additional education, forage for another meal.  You can replace a house or a car or even a spouse or a child (scary but true).
     But then we started talking about time, the one commodity that God sets limits on.  He metes out an allotment to each of us that He alone determines.  We cannot buy it, sell it, trade it, share it, borrow it, or lend it.  We cannot stretch it or shrink it, reduce, reuse, or recycle it.  Each one of us is given a specially selected supply of our own time, and the opportunity to do with it as we wish.  We can spend it wisely or we can squander it.  But once it's gone, it's gone, baby, gone.
     I have begun to think more about this, as my time goes by.  I'm in my 50s now, and while I'd love to live to a triple digit age (with caveats, of course.  And chocolate.  LOTS of chocolate...), the odds aren't really in my favor.  Which means that my time is more than half used up (ye gods!).  But that's not the part of the conversation that blew my mind.
     The thing that filled me with awe and wonder is that in heaven, there is no time.  The one thing He limits on earth, the thing that gets us all itchy-twitchy down here doesn't even appear as a blip on the heavenly radar screen!
     We spend a good portion of our time getting all bent out of shape over it.  How many times a day do you check your watch, trying to play your own personal version of "Beat the Clock"?  And if you don't think you have an issue with time, take my little test:  count how many devices you can see just from where you're sitting that tell time (without even turning my head I can see seven!  And you?)
     But we talked about the fact that in heaven, there is no time.  So there won't be any clocks, watches, timers, or stopwatches.  No rushing hither and thither, unless it's for the sheer joy of it.  We will forever enjoy being in the right place at the right time.  What a marvelous thought:  in heaven we'll enjoy eternity. 
     (And chocolate.  LOTS of chocolate.)

You Say Potato...

It finally happened:  we offended someone with our music.  Don’t get me wrong – it’s not like we’ve been trying to offend.  But someone finally lodged a complaint.  Not with us, of course, with the pastor.  According to the complainant, we are singing the devil’s music and the pastor is doing the devil’s work by letting us lead worship with “that” music.  Yikes!

The devilish ditty was the 100-plus year old, “Heavenly Sunlight.”  We used the original lyrics and melody of this much-loved, much-sung hymn, but gave the arrangement a much-needed style makeover.  And clearly that’s where we went wrong.  Although God loved the hymn in its original state, apparently He is offended by a Caribbean beat, and He considers steel drums Satan’s tool (I always thought the accordion was Satan’s tool, but what did I know?). 

I know, it sounds ridiculous when put like that.  But clearly it wasn’t ridiculous to at least one person.  Thankfully this complaint did not faze the pastor.  He told the offended person that our music brought joy to the congregation and encouraged them in their worship.  And most importantly, he believed that God found it acceptable and so the music was staying, steel drums and all.

While I’m glad the pastor backed us up, the situation disturbed me.  We don’t want to offend anyone; quite the opposite.  Our goal, our calling, is to help people worship, love, and glorify God in song.  To that end, in addition to writing our own songs, we like to take some of the old favorite hymns and give them a little musical facelift.  We do this to make them more accessible to modern congregations.  There are so many wonderful hymns but, much like my living room, after so many years they need a bit of sprucing up.  Is that wrong? 

I know there are lots of folks who think contemporary Christian music is the devil’s handiwork.  And truthfully, listening to some of the stuff that’s out there, there may be something to that.  But there is a lot of good music, too.  You just have to look for it.  It’s the same with the traditional hymns.  There are some great ones, but there are some sure fire stinkers in the old hymnals, too. 

But do we really believe that God sanctifies a particular beat and a specific instrument, and finds all the rest, if not offensive, at least unworthy?  Do pipe organs and handbells have the only heavenly okey dokey?  Are an electric guitar, steel drums and a backbeat gonna boogie us straight to hell? 

That’s ultimately what the contemporary vs traditional music argument comes down to.  I mean, leaving out the bad music (and there’s plenty of bad music on both sides of that argument), the difference between the two amounts to style.  I like a backbeat, someone else likes a Bach beat.  Neither of us are right, and more importantly, neither is wrong.  We’re just different.  You say potato, I say French fry. 

I am sad to see the division in the Christian world over, of all things, music.  That seems ridiculous to me.  Of all the things that can divide us, we're going to go down over music?  Oy.  Can't we all just get along?  Or at least sing along?