Eileen's Lime Jell-O Delight

My mom, Eileen's, Lime Jell-O was her signature holiday dessert. My sisters and I continue to make it and give it a place of honor on our Thanksgiving and Christmas tables.

Ingredients:

1 large box of lime Jell-O (regular or sugar free)
1 20-ounce can crushed pineapple that's been chilled and drained. (RESERVE JUICE.)
2 small containers of heavy whipping cream
1 8-ounce package of cream cheese, softened (regular or reduced fat)
1 cup pecan pieces
1/4 cup pecan pieces for garnish

Directions:

Pour package of Jell-O in large bowl. Stir in 2 cups of boiling water until Jell-O is dissolved. Add enough cold water to the reserved pineapple juice to equal 1 1/2 cups liquid. Stir into the Jell-O. Let mixture cool on the counter for five minutes, then combine the cream cheese and about 1/3 of the Jell-O in a blender until smooth. Pour the cream cheese/Jell-O mixture into a 13 x 9 pan and stir in remaining Jell-O, pecans and crushed pineapple. Refrigerate until slightly set. While Jell-O is in the fridge, whip the whipping cream with sugar or artificial sweetener, to taste. Don't use Cool Whip. Its texture and taste don't work in this recipe. Once the Jell-O is slightly set, fold in whipped cream. Refrigerate overnight. Garnish with remaining pecans before serving.

The REST of the Story

I don't know how many of you heard last Thursday's BLT, but somewhere around the 24 minute mark in that show, Lynne and I started discussing the WBCL House Build partnership with Habitat for Humanity. My day to work the Habitat Build was this past Friday, and I told Lynne that I knew I would need a hard hat...no matter what I was doing. Like even if I was serving lunch, I was going to need that hard hat. I am, in a word: klutzy.

Lynne EVER so lovingly named me Stephanie Urkelette and said I would have to shuffle around the work site all day saying {all nasally of course} Did IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII do thaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? You know:

I joked on air about how I would ABSOLUTELY give the day my best Steve Urkel if only I had a pair of suspenders.

Rats.

I'm about to tell you why you should never "if only" on the air: because somewhere, somehow, your mama is always listening.

Indeed.

She fired off a message to me that she would be happy...HAPPY!!!!...to find my dad's green snowman suspenders so I could do this Urkel thing at the Habitat site.

What could I do? I had "if only'd" on the air.

And so it was that Friday morning, before heading north to the Habitat site, I did my best Urkel and made Ryan take a picture.

He asked why I wasn't doing this at the Habitat site, and I told him that I was far too chicken to GO dressed as Urkel. I packed all the stuff in the car and promised that if listeners coming to volunteer that day wanted to know where the stuff was, I'd put it back on.

He actually felt that was a really wise decision.

And boy was it EVER. I knew before I went that there were going to be over 20 volunteers at the site that day, but what I did NOT know was that not a single one of them was affiliated with WBCL.

They were college students.

All of them.

A class doing a service project.

Twenty-five college students and one Bekah.

When I came home and told Ryan the story of the day, I ended with Can you even IMAGINE if I'd showed up dressed like Urkel?

My face is red just thinking about it.

THAT would have been my Did IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII do thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat moment!!!

Write It Down!

I don't mean to bore you with yet another Italy story, but here's the reality: it was a Red Letter holiday on every level! So if you want to click out of the blog and get on with your day, boy, do I understand. I say go without guilt!

To those who've chosen to stick it out, I hope what I have to say is a morsel of goodness for your soul.

For our first trip to Italy, my friend Laura bought me a special travel journal.

I love the understated elegance of the simple compass/North Star icon. First day of that first trip, I logged my excitement with a sparse two words: We're off. Days Two and Three were also memorialized. Then...nothing. NOTHING! I stopped writing altogether.

That first trip was magical. But I don't remember many details. Seeing the David for the first time? That is seared into my memory. But specifics about reactions, responses, and experiences - mundane and monumental - are lost because I didn't write them down.

Fast forward nine years. 

We - my journal and I -  return to the land of my del Grosso ancestors. But this time, yes, this time every day is accounted for. Not as an exercise in legalism; but as an offering of thanksgiving.

September 16: We're off! (This appears to be my standard first day post, though I did add details about unruly preschoolers and their parents whose super power is the ability to tune out their progeny's whining and temper tantrums.)

September 18: Ponte Vecchio: colorful, bustling, BEAUTIFUL! Lit a candle at St. Michael's and prayed for healing for Perry and Joe.

September 20: Day Three of being 59! It's time to cook at a countryside villa...a white sanctuary with red doors and 360 degree views so stunningly perfect, they have the appearance of paintings. Leaving Florence tomorrow. MUST COME BACK!

September 24: Back to Michelangelo's church. An embrace of beauty. Reading Joseph's story in Genesis. He interpreted Pharoah's dream: 7 years of plenty, 7 years of famine...a famine so severe it would erase any memory of the good years. O, the importance of memory which is fueled and fed by daily praise & thanksgiving which brings God near -- though He is always present -- as He inhabits the praise of His people.

September 30: A spectacular fireworks display tonight, as if the city of Sorrento wanted to give us a special send-off. Ix-nay on the mousse-nay.

The Sunday after our return home, Doug and I met our traveling companions, Steve and Ellen, for coffee. They gave us a flash drive containing the 2,000+ photos they had taken of the trip. You know, just in case we had missed capturing something worth remembering with our measly 1,000 photos! As we were getting ready to leave, Ellen expressed a single regret about the trip: She hadn't written anything down. Oh, she has an iPhone and camera full of photos, but she's already forgotten the details of those twelve days., like my entry on September 30: Ix-nay on the mousse-nay. It means nothing to you, but for Steve, Ellen, Doug and I, it brings back hilarious memories of our final meal.

There were some nights, after a long day of sight-seeing (I know, wah!), that I just wanted to fall asleep reading my Kindle, but, instead, I made myself journal. And I'm so glad I did. Otherwise I would have forgotten the full accounting of each place. Not just what I saw, but what made that moment, my moment, instead of another vacationer's interpretation. And I would have forgotten the people: our tour guides including Nicholas, Carlo, Mario, Emilio; the toothy beggar who prayed with me outside Michelangelo's church in Rome; and the elegant hotel supervisor, Antonio, whose wife's ancestors, like my mother's, hail from the Azore Islands.

If the moments of an amazing trip can escape my memory, just imagine what common day gems I'm forgetting. Maybe it's time I treat my life with the same appreciation I treat a vacation and remember it in writing.

Make a List!

My first boyfriend and I began dating in college. We had a rather unconventional beginning to love, and practically nothing about our relationship was ever normal, but it's still a sweet part of my past, because it was the first time anyone had ever taken an interest in me and invested in me like that.

It is with a slightly red face that I confess we began dating as the result of the classic, "Do you like me? Circle yes or no."

Let me explain.

He and I had been "talking" for a while but had skirted that all-important defining talk, so we both bumbled about wondering how the other one felt and if there was something actually happening between us. It was all new for me, and I relied entirely on the advice of my roommates, who assured me that guys did NOT, in fact, "just come over" with gifts unless they were interested. {Mercifully they left out the additional detail of "especially after you answer the door wearing red plaid pajamas."}

One of my roommates was dating a prankster who took great delight in the awkwardness of our fledgling love. One morning, I returned to our apartment after my morning class, to find a note scribbled on the white board of my bedroom door. The note said, "Do you like me? Circle yes or no." I knew INSTANTLY her boyfriend was behind that note, and I cracked up.

Then I stopped laughing.

What if MY guy had stopped by the apartment that morning while I was gone to class and thought I wrote the note for him?

I do believe my face would have matched those garish pajamas at that moment.

I erased the note, but had no choice but to try to figure out if he'd seen it. Unfortunately I did not possess a single smooth cell in my being at that point, so the conversation went something like this:

Me: Did you stop by the apartment this morning?
Him: No, why?
Me {way too quickly, and an octave higher than normal}: NO REASON AT ALL.

Yeah that didn't fly. I had to confess and he ended up asking me what I would have circled if he really had left me that note.

{Enter the swirling notes of harps and little confetti hearts flitting from the sky.}

All of the above was simply for your entertainment. Here is what I really wanted to tell you;

I struggled pretty heavily with low self-esteem at that juncture in my life, and he made it his personal mission to try to help me improve. It was a monumental {read: impossible} task, but he was stubborn and persisted in trying to get me to see myself differently.

He was stubborn enough, actually, that he gave me an assignment.

"I want you to write 100 positive things about yourself," he said to me.

WHAT? I'm in COLLEGE! Do I not have enough homework? This could take YEARS!!!

He didn't give me years. He gave me until the end of the week.

Do you know how long of a list ONE HUNDRED THINGS can be? Excruciatingly long. I folded up some loose leaf paper and carried it around with me, scribbling down good things as they came to mind and spent more time painfully conjuring up things that could be deemed as good.

And then we met for a date in the campus coffee shop and I read him the list.

I have never forgotten that assignment. It was, I believe, the beginning of learning to love the girl God made me to be.

And I firmly believe everyone could benefit from something like this. One hundred is a LOT. But I would love to challenge you today to write a list of twenty good things about yourself. TWENTY. Write them down and look at them to remind yourself that you do have gifts and good qualities about yourself.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made - inside and out. Celebrate it!

Hats off to Antonio Gatto

Vorrei comprare un capello. I want to buy a hat.

That was my singular request during our recent trip to Italy. Everything else was up for grabs; well, except for a repeat visit to see the work that brought Ephesians 2:10 to life before my very eyes: Michelangelo's David.

And not just any hat. No, I wanted one made by Antonio Gatto.

I'd read an article about the renowned and respected Florentine milliner who, as a child, hid under the sacred vestments embroidered by his aunts, “watching their fingers dance on the cloth," while memorizing how to do basting stitches. He's a sculptor of hats, transforming some of the most humble materials - felt and straw - into works of art. But that wasn't my primary motivation for acquiring a hat made by Mr. Gatto.

No. I simply wanted a hat that fit my head. Women's hats come in one laughable size: fits all.

Uh, no. They don't.

You need a hat to survive cold, snowy, blustery Midwest winters. One with a brim is crucial for protecting your eyes. I've made due with all manner of one-size-fits all chapeaus. Made due is the key phrase here because once I pull the crown far enough down to cradle my head, the brim is below my eyebrows, requiring me to lean my head back in order to see. This gives me an excellent view of the sky but not where I'm walking, which has caused a few embarrassing stumbles. Thanks to my amico, Antonio, things are looking up for the winter of 2014 because I'll be looking straight ahead!

When Doug and I arrived at his narrow shop, just steps from the Boboli Gardens and Palazzo Pitti, we were tired, hot and sticky with sweat after a day of sightseeing. The store was empty. Not a soul in sight. Which hat would I buy?

Maria, Antonio's delightful assistant, returned from lunch and carefully helped me try on a handful of possibilities. Once I saw myself in the mocha felt charmer, the deal, as they say, was sealed...almost. I wanted a black hat. My only option was the mocha hat because Antonio makes one, just one, of each design. Using a combination of hand gestures, rudimentary Italian and Spanish, and the tried-and-true-but-totally-unhelpful technique a talking LOUDER, I was able to make Maria understand that I wanted a custom-made version of the mocha hat...one that was measured and cut to fit my head...in black.

Next thing I knew, she called the man himself, Antonio Gatto, and announced that he was coming to the store.

 Now.

These types of spectacular, perfect-timing moments don't happen to me. But on this day, September 18, 2014, my 59th birthday, I was graced with an I-see-you-treasured-daughter gift from God.

Five minutes later, in strides the short, compact designer dressed in caramel pants and turtleneck, sunglasses and cell phone in hand.

He's honored I want to buy one of his hats. Yes, he will make one for me in black but he doesn't have the materials in stock. He'll buy what he needs the next morning. Could I come back tomorrow night at 7:30 and choose a hue of black from the felt he'll buy in the morning? That will give him enough time to craft the hat before we leave Florence on Sunday. Of course, I reply. Before we say goodbye, he measures my head.

The next evening, a Friday night, Doug and I make our way across the Ponte Vecchio to old Florence, where Antonio's shop is located. Approaching his store, we see him sitting at his work table, bathed in the golden glow of an overhead light. We take a moment to simply watch him, this man who creates art that serves a practical purpose.

I was in for a shocking surprise: I wasn't there to choose fabric. Antonio had done that himself and had finished my hat!

He carefully placed it on my head and slid it, pressed it down into place. Oh. My. It felt like a warm caress.

“A hat by itself is incomplete,” says Antonio. “It is the person who completes it, by wearing it a certain way, giving it a soul and a personality.”

Dear Antonio. You don't realize that making hats is a ministry, but it is. It's a blessing of beauty and calling out the uniqueness of God's children, including me.

My beautiful 59th birthday memory is secure in my head. Better yet, it's secure on my head.

Dio vi benedica, Antonio. God bless you.

Kerri Zurbuch's Caramel Apple Cheesecake Bars

One look at the photo and you're off to the kitchen to make these mouthwatering fall treats! Be sure to check the variations for increasing protein and reducing fat, at the conclusion of the recipe.

Caramel Apple Cheesecake Bars

 Crust:
 2 cups all-purpose flour
 1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
 1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

 Cheesecake Filling:
 3 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
 3/4 cup sugar, plus 2 tablespoons, divided
 3 large eggs
 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

 Apples:
 3 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and finely chopped
 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

 Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

 In a medium bowl, combine flour and brown sugar. Cut in butter with a pastry blender (or 2 forks) until mixture is crumbly. Press evenly into a 9x13 baking pan lined with heavy-duty aluminum foil. Bake 15 minutes or until lightly browned.

 In a large bowl, beat cream cheese with 3/4 cup sugar in an electric mixer at medium speed until smooth. Then add eggs, 1 at a time, and vanilla. Stir to combine. Pour over warm crust.

 In a small bowl, stir together chopped apples, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Spoon evenly over cream cheese mixture. Sprinkle evenly with Streusel topping. Bake 40-45 minutes, or until filling is set. Drizzle with caramel topping and let cool. Serve cold and enjoy!

 Streusel Topping:
 1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
 1 cup all-purpose flour
 1/2 cup quick cooking oats
 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
 In a small bowl, combine all ingredients. I like to really combine it by using my clean hands to thoroughly combine the butter into the mixture.


To make the treats even better for you:

1. Replace the regular butter with room temperature Land 'o Lakes whipped butter.
2. Replace 3 eggs with one egg and 4 egg whites.
3. Replace cream cheese with Greek yogurt cheese (next to cream cheese blocks in dairy case).

Cheesecake Filling:
3 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
3/4 cup sugar, plus 2 tablespoons, divided
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Apples:
3 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a medium bowl, combine flour and brown sugar. Cut in butter with a pastry blender (or 2 forks) until mixture is crumbly. Press evenly into a 9x13 baking pan lined with heavy-duty aluminum foil. Bake 15 minutes or until lightly browned.

In a large bowl, beat cream cheese with 3/4 cup sugar in an electric mixer at medium speed until smooth. Then add eggs, 1 at a time, and vanilla. Stir to combine. Pour over warm crust.

In a small bowl, stir together chopped apples, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Spoon evenly over cream cheese mixture. Sprinkle evenly with Streusel topping. Bake 40-45 minutes, or until filling is set. Drizzle with caramel topping and let cool. Serve cold and enjoy!

Streusel Topping:
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup quick cooking oats
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened

In a small bowl, combine all ingredients. I like to really combine it by using my clean hands to thoroughly combine the butter into the mixture.

Throwback Thursday

Though the day on the calendar is 2 days away yet, it was 2 years ago today that this happened:

The day that Lynne told me we had problems with our phones and even went so far as to have our engineer, Craig, come in and mess around in the room next door to make me think he was fixing them. That Craig. He goes to every length for authenticity. The day Lynne told me she wanted to play a song and we would just have Ron sit in with us in case we had trouble getting the song on the air. The day she told me she wanted to add a topic just for funsies.

She didn't actually say "funsies." That's a Bekah word.

But we had no phone problems. While we did play a song during the hour, that wasn't why Ron joined us in-studio. And the extra topic for funsies was just to set up our conversation in such a way that she could easily transition to "By the way: you have a visitor.

Two years ago today, Ryan crawled down the hall and under the window...and I was none the wiser. {Heavily distracted by the frappe in front of me.}

He paced around in the morning guys' office while I yammered on about frappes and memories. And then this classic face:

I knew. I knew the MINUTE I saw him why he was there. We had JUST told my parents - and our church - we were dating. And there he was, ready to make it official forever. My first thought was Oh I hope my mother knows about this. {She did.}

And I, oh girl who sobs like a toddler through every moment of life, somehow managed to stay composed while Ryan delivered the most GORGEOUS speech ever.

I'm so glad I kept it together. Otherwise, we'd have a roll of engagement pictures to mimic this travesty from the wedding:

No one needs that.

He proposed and I squealed out a YES before he hardly had the question out of his mouth.

I keep a CD of this show in my car, and last week, I listened to part of it on a commute. I cried more listening than I did that day. But it was okay. I was alone and it was dark out and no one could see the above face.

How thankful I am for Ryan and for these past two years. How thankful I am he took a risk on me. How thankful I am he was braver than I and willing to jump right in and propose and get married so we didn't have to wait forever. How thankful I am that when I read through the words of his proposal {it's framed in our house} that he has been a man who has kept every promise.

Thankful that he loves me as Christ loves the church, and I ache for him to be able to show other men, through his words and actions, how to follow suit with the women they love.

Two years ago, life changed forever. In the most beautiful way.

That is Brave

I don't know if you had a chance to catch Wednesday's Mid-Morning when it aired...but it was an extra special one for me.

My first time to sit in Lynne's chair for a full hour - other than a BLT show. My first time to choose a book and read it and make notes and settle on questions and place a call to a guest before the show began. A guest I'd have for a full hour.

I'd love to tell you that I was Lynne-esque about the whole thing...cool and calm. But the reality was my hands shook through the entire thing, and had it not been for the literal ARMY of prayer warriors surrounding me...I am not sure I'd have made it.

Ryan took time to pray with me earlier in the week - praying circles around all the parts of first-time-hosting that made me nervous, and then he majorly spoke my love language before work, when he slithered out of the house to get me this surprise {which he doctored up with notes all around}:

And when show time came, I settled in knowing I had done all I could, knowing people were praying, and I did my best:

Appropriate that my first interview was on bravery.

Annie talked about how bravery looks very different for different people. AMEN TO THAT. I wanted to show you a sampling of some of the ways bravery has shown up for me over the years:

Back in May 2010, when I was smack in the middle of the darkest season of my life, bravery meant getting on an airplane all by myself {first time to ever fly alone} to travel to Virginia Beach to see my best friend. Flying alone was brave and traveling at all during a debilitating season of the soul was brave times twenty.

In October 2010, bravery was getting in a car by myself and driving to Wisconsin - alone on unfamiliar roads for the first time ever in my life.

In June 2011, bravery was packing up the only office I'd ever worked in throughout my adult life and saying goodbye to a job that felt "safe" to follow God's call to WBCL.

In September 2011, bravery was standing on the stage {not to talk. Just taking a step ONTO THE STAGE} with Jim and Ron during the first concert I ever worked. I nearly passed out over that!

In November 2011, bravery was walking onto a stage - this time TO talk - as I worked the David Phelps concert and actually got to introduce him. Speaking in front of more than 2 people was brave. I don't know how many were in the room that night, but it was CONSIDERABLY more than 20.

In September 2012, bravery was running a 10K - especially since I'm not a runner.

In May 2013, bravery was ziplining. Not gracefully. Just doing it.

In August 2013, bravery was climbing to the top of a lighthouse. I'm afraid of heights. Every step was a prayer.

That same month, bravery was taking a Segway tour on vacation. A picture worth 1000 words:

Last month, bravery was taking my first {and last} ever theme park ride.

And just a couple of weeks ago, bravery was sitting in my car watching my husband drive away for a rafting trip with the guys: our first time apart.

Bravery has many forms. But oh how we need to celebrate it. Every. Single. Time.

Hoping you'll join us for BLT to share YOUR stories of bravery. #thatisbrave

God's Words in Your Mouth

Tuesday I spent the afternoon with our good friend Dr. Mitch Kruse, filming episodes of his television show, Restoration Road. I was part of a group that included comedian David Dean and volleyball player William Robbins, founder of Empowered Sports Club.

Guess which guy is the volleyball player and which one is the comedian!

As Mitch led us through Philippians 4:8 - 20, I was struck by the vast differences of our insights on the same verses. And I think that's something worth noting.

God has things to reveal and to say to the world about Himself that He can only express through you and me...and Billy Graham and Beth Moore and Mother Teresa. All of God's children are chosen, known, and beloved unique revelations of their Father. Walking billboard that proclaim, "This is what God looks like."

His words in your mouth and my mouth. His life in your actions and my actions. Our lives matter in God bringing His will to pass because He has graciously chosen to include us in answering the prayer, "Thy kingdom come."

So we listen to Him in prayer and silence and His Word. AND HE GIVES US UNDERSTANDING.

And be sure to pay attention to what you hear. The more you do this, the more you will understand--and even more besides. To those who are open to my (Jesus) teaching, more understanding will be given. (Mark 4:24, 25)

We then share this ongoing stream of understanding in the comings and goings of living.  

Comedian David Dean reveals the humbling challenge of showing up at an event of just 35 people -- and internally bending his knees to Jesus in order to give a full-arena performance. That's how David once experienced Philippians 4:12, being content with little, in this case, an audience. William Robbins reveals the steady-keel identity that grows out of focusing on what is true about Who God is and who He declares William to be. Yes, Philippians 4:8 secures his identity whether he receives praise or criticism. 

These men, different from me in ways beyond gender, encouraged, challenged, blessed and entertained me in ways Billy Graham, Beth Moore, Mother Teresa, and everyone else can't. 

And I heard and saw God.

Memories and Dreams

Ryan works in health care, which means he doesn't always get holiday weekends. He works at a rehab hospital, and patients have to be seen 365 days a year. And so it was, that this past holiday weekend, I spent a lot of time home alone while he worked every day but Sunday.

It was a lovely weekend. LOVELY. I had the perfect mix of work and fun...and while I would have loved more time spent with Ryan...I appreciated every moment I had on my own.

One of my projects was to start {yes...a year and a half later...START} our reception scrapbook. Turns out once I got going on the thing, I couldn't stop, and I did all sixty-some pages of that book in one day FLAT.

I loved reliving the moments. All of them. Like the one where Ryan actually hauled our deep freeze from our house to the reception site so we could keep our 15 gallons of pre-dipped ice cream cups cold until it was time to serve.

Or like the moment when, while we showed the video of our ceremony, I slid over to the gift table and stole two cards so Ryan and I could fan ourselves, because we were SO WARM in that room.

Or like the moment when one of our bridesmaids, Sara, could barely contain her excitement, because she got to meet LYNNE! LYNNE FORD! {That's what she kept saying...It's LYNNE! LYNNE FORD!}

They were good memories. Ones that made me smile as I transcribed the stories of the pages of the scrapbook.

Later in the weekend, I looked through some of my older scrapbooks, just for fun. Just to remember what I'd forgotten.

I looked at the book of my vacation to Virginia Beach in May 2010 - smack in the middle of my heart's desert. I hadn't been sure I was capable of traveling by myself in such a heartsick state.

I smiled at the first picture of me with the ocean. It was the first time I had ever seen any ocean, and it was the first time in WEEKS a genuine smile had crossed my lips.

I giggled at the picture my best friend took of me with the giant shell on the boardwalk. Right when she snapped it, some guy sat down on the other side, and it kind of looked like I'd smashed him.

And I remembered the feeling of relief when I made it safely home to my sister's house {she ran me to and from the airport}. I had actually accomplished a hard thing, and I was so proud of myself!

Good memories...hard memories...but all preserved as a testament to the work God had done in my heart!

I didn't just relive the past while Ryan was rehabbing patients. I did a fair amount of dreaming for our future. Pinterest and I spent more than a few hours together while I mentally designed our someday house and imagined everything from paint colors to furniture placement.

I dreamed about ministries we might be part of and entertaining we might do in our home. I brainstormed book ideas and Bible study topics and anything else I could think to ponder.

Memories and dreams do a lovely dance. They take you back to a place and time you've already walked and give you the confidence to walk ahead into an unknown. To be reminded that joy can be found in the places of deepest heartache and that celebrations are never perfect, but they're always worth giving honor to the reason for the celebration.

How I love them both...the memories and the dreams. And as I glide through this life and more dreams come true and take their places in the scrapbooks of my life, I'm just so very grateful for the God Who has walked with me in the deserts and over the mountain tops!

What a Week (In a Good Way)!

It's official: we've reached 36 years of married life. Yep, Tuesday, Doug and I celebrated our 36th wedding anniversary. Here we are on August 26, 1978.

Here we are on August 26, 2014.

The only challenge in choosing a card for Doug this year was narrowing it down to just one. So many captured how I feel about him, but this one said it best:

There were several years when the challenge of choosing an anniversary card was very different. Hallmark doesn't make cards with messages like . . .

Our marriage is miserable and I don't like you.

I wish we could start over...with different spouses.

Doug and I have both, at times, felt this way, which is why we are so grateful to not only still be married, but to be crazy-in-love, tender-hearted-toward-each-other, HAPPY-to-be-together married. A previous blog post explains what turned us around. Reading it again filled me to the brim with joy and gratefulness and made my eyes leak.

Thank you, God, for the gift of marriage. Thank you, God, for the gift of Doug. 

Thirty-seven, here we come!

No Formulas

I'm a rule girl.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh am I ever a rule girl.

This morning during our special BLT-on-Wednesday show, Lynne told a story about a drive-thru she visits that has a do-not-enter sign on one side of the parking lot. At times, she may {ahem} still choose to go that way, despite the fading sign. My OCD about busted through the studio windows when I heard that.

We have a do-not-enter section of a street close to our house, and every time I see a car driving the wrong way, I holler a quick driver's ed lesson to its driver {through the safety of my rolled up, tinted windows, of course} and mutter to Ryan that no one follows the rules anymore.

I do love me some rules.

But there's a difference between rules and formulas.

RULES are set in stone and were made to be followed. FORMULAS are expectations - and our lives don't all follow the same formulas.

This morning I read that Jill {Duggar} Dillard and her husband of eight weeks, Derick, announced they're expecting their first baby. I skimmed through the comments. Not all of them, as they numbered in the thousands. It was a divided camp. Many commenters said they weren't surprised...they were excited...and they wished them the best. Then there were those who said it was too soon. They hadn't dated courted long enough. They got married so quickly after they became engaged. A baby right away meant they hadn't had time to get to know each other or enjoy married life.

Jill and Derick didn't break any rules. But they have broken some formulas - and it seems people are very attached to the expectations of formulas and don't know what to do when they're not followed like rules.

Ryan and I had only told our friends, family, and church that we were dating about a week before he proposed. I understood that most people were under the impression that we did only date FOR a week before getting engaged, and that wasn't true. But it began the ruffling of the feathers that continued when we announced that we'd get married two months later. In Florida. Outside. And immediately after we got married, the baby questions began. Formulas swirled around us, and as we bucked one after the other, people didn't know what to do - other than tell us what we should do.

And it's not just about relationships.

Last night I had the privilege of hearing Colleen Coble speak about the writing process. She talked about how she researches for her novels, how she writes, edits, names her characters, comes up with ideas, and more. She spoke for about an hour and a half, and I drank in everything she said, learning from a successful writer.

But even as I listened, I noticed she writes in a wildly different pattern than I learned in college. She writes differently from some other writers I've studied. The things they preach as must-do steps...she skips entirely. The things that bring her so much joy {and success!} as an author would unglue some of the other writers I've studied.

And as I thought through these opposing patterns, I was reminded again that life is not a formula.

There is, of course, right and wrong. There are rules in certain settings. There is always God's unshakable truth.

But there are many...many...parts of life that are just formulas. Yours will look different from mine. And it doesn't mean you're right and I'm wrong. We're just different. And different is okay. Oh that we would celebrate it instead of criticize it!

It's okay that you don't understand my methods on everything and it's also fine that I don't understand yours.

God made us both...unique and precious in His sight.

I'm Bekah. I was born to a completed family and grew up as an only child, with sisters out of the house and married. I was single for 14 years of my adult life. When I found love, I found it quickly and transitioned into married life. We're cat parents and we love it. I love to scrapbook and document our lives on the blog and journal and bake desserts. I hate working out and eating vegetables, but I do both anyway. This is who I am.

You might be different. Not might be. You ARE different. And I celebrate you for being who you are and making the decisions you've made.

Let's give some rules-vs-formula-grace, my friends!

Can You Keep a Secret?

I'd just entered the warm, floaty world that hovers between sleep and wakefulness, when it happened. (Don't you love that lovely land?) I wasn't in bed, but nestled in our gravity-free recliner on the back patio, its canopy protecting me from the Sunday afternoon sun.

The. Glorious. Idea.

I'm a creative soul. But this thought that burst into my consciousness, fully formed, was so dissimilar from anything I've thought or done before, it had God's fingerprints all over it. What is it it, you ask?

I can't tell you.

I'm not withholding the news to tease or taunt you. I really want to share it. Did I say really? What I meant to say was I really, really, really want to share it, but can't...at least for now. God is telling me, Not yet. It's not time.

We keep very few things to ourselves these days. That's not right or wrong; it's just the way things are. But it seems to me our rush to tell, tell, tell can rob us of the treasure of blessings and graces God intends solely for us as His uniquely loved masterpieces, or for sharing with others once we've unwrapped and experienced the treasure in the perfect presence of Christ.

I remember when Doug and I first learned we were pregnant with our son. We couldn't wait to tell my parents a second grandchild was on the way, and to let Doug's mom know that she could begin buying Notre Dame onesies...finally. But we didn't, at least not until a few days after we'd received the confirmation. In the meantime we savored our secret, suggested names, and basked in the oneness of the relationship that was Us.

You and I are part of the body of Christ, the Church. And we are also individually known, chosen and named children of God. He sees you, He sees me, and bestows blessings and gifts that stir the you and me that only He truly knows.

If you're a parent, you get what I'm saying. You take your daughter to the theater to see Peter Pan because you know that when the "boy who wouldn't grow up" bursts through the Darlings' nursery window and flies out over the audience, that moment of freedom and sheer delight -- experienced with you, her mom or dad -- will lock itself in a room in your daughter's memory. Or when you gift your horse-crazy son with his first riding lesson, and he gallops around the arena without any tether, that moment of freedom and sheer delight -- experienced with you, his mom or dad -- will lock itself in a room in your son's memory. They may tell their siblings or friends about the experience. But, then again, they may do what Mary, the mother of Jesus, did: treasure it in their hearts.

That's what I'm doing, for now, with The. Glorious. Idea. But I'm not alone.

Jesus is treasuring it with me.

The Little Words

Last week during BLT, I told the story of going to the dentist...and the insane amount of fear I experienced prior to that initial appointment. I cried when I made the appointment. I cried most of the day leading up to it. I cried all the way there and all the way through the appointment.

Classy, party of one.

Before I left the office, Lynne dug through her dish of MudLove bracelets in search of one that fit my need. After deciding "Dig Deep" wasn't the appropriate fit, we settled on fear not.

I wore that bracelet to my appointment, and you can know I'll be wearing it to the big bad procedure I'll be undergoing later this month, and to every follow up appointment.

I rubbed my fingers over the words stamped in pottery while I sat in the chair that day...telling myself over and over the same words Christ spoke often in the Bible: fear not.

You know, He spoke a lot of little nuggets of wisdom wrapped up in a handful of words: love your neighbor, rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, do not worry, do not judge, ask seek and knock...

...just to name a few.

I am not a theologian, but I sure appreciate those who have that gift. I appreciate those who can study one sentence and learn enough about the time period, the culture, and the surrounding context to write a commentary to help us understand it.

I took a college class in Biblical Exegsis and spent an entire semester unpacking less than 10 verses in no less than a dozen ways. By the end of the semester, I had a thick paper with all my findings - and a whole lot of research under my belt. It was one of my favorite classes, and it gave me a whole new appreciation for the study of the Scriptures.

But as much as I love that approach to study, I am reminded if the simplicity of the Gospel. Jesus taught in stories and tiny sentences of direction that anyone can understand. His direction to fear not was just that...fear not. It wasn't  multi-step plan or a wall hanging or a three-day conference. It was two words spoken in gentle love: fear not.

The little words can mean the most. They're so simple that we feel we need to complicate them in some way. Research them. Figure them out. Speculate deeper meanings.

But sometimes it really is just that simple:

Fear not.

Love your neighbor.

Rejoice always.

Pray continually.

Give thanks in all circumstances.

Do not worry.

Do not judge.

Ask, seek, and knock.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.

Jesus, Tell Me That I'm Yours

Wednesday, recovering perfectionist and workaholic, Joan Webb, made a welcomed return visit to Mid-Morning to explain the way of intentional living.

 
There is something so incredibly disarming about Joan. Warm, open, humble, and infused with heavenly wisdom, the Life Coach, speaker, and author showed me (though I don't think she realized it) that intentional living is simply walking out the Greatest Commandment:

Jesus said, "You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. (Matthew 22:37)

I know. I know. I sound like a broken record, drawing a line from every, and I do mean every, aspect of being a follower of Jesus, back to this commandment; but our brother in the faith, that fisher-of-men, Peter, made it a point to remind his friends of important things they already knew because the stability of their faith depended on it (2 Peter 1:12).

Brennan Manning did the same. He laser-focused his writing and speaking on God's love. When asked why he didn't widen his circle of themes, he replied that he would -- once he'd exhausted the subject of God's love. The man was fierce and funny. Point taken, Brennan.

Since that conversation with Joan, I've also been thinking a lot about a call from a woman near the end of the show who wanted to know how to embrace her identity in Jesus. Intellectually, she knows who she is in Jesus -- a forgiven, beloved daughter; a holy, Spirit-filled saint with a certain future -- yet she remains unchanged by this reality. While she didn't say this, I imagine she:

• Battles insecurity and jealousy
• Compares herself with others
• Feels afraid, anxious, lonely, and unloved in the deepest part of her soul
• Suffers disappointment with herself and the course of her life

I know I did.

I read multiple books on the topic of a Christian's identity and waited for mine to take hold. Years went by. Older in Jesus but untouched by new creature status, that was me. How do we experience a truth like our new identity in Christ, or any of God's lavish, loving gifts for us? Through Jesus. It always comes back to Him, doesn't it?  He IS the YES! to all of all of God's Old and New Testament promises (2 Corinthians 1:19, 20), including our new identity as a wholly-loved and fully-accepted daughter.

To our sister who called -- and every other woman (and man) who struggles with their identity in Jesus -- give your mind to God to renew. Over and over again.

Renewing is Holy Spirit work. It's a supernatural effort that begins at an unconscious level and presses its way to awareness. So mysterious. So wondrous. So real. We're oblivious of its beginnings, and yet renewal eventually makes its way up (to our conscious thoughts) and out (to our actions)! The transforming, renewing of our minds resembles the growth process of a plant, pushing its way out of a hard-shelled seed - Up! Up! Up! - until it breaks through the soil and into the light of day.

It's a process. 

In one of the personal stories featured in The Intentional Woman , a woman, frustrated with waiting to see the results of course corrections in her life, moans, "Why is EVERYTHING a process?!" 

I hear you, friend. But Joan reminds us that, in the Bible, God sanctions process. Thank you, Joan. I have now memorized your succinct, brilliant distillation of truth, and will refer to it as needed. I'm guessing at least twice a day.

 I'm not a theologian but I do have a theology: I believe God is Who He says He is and will do what He says He will do. And He says He will renew my mind, anchoring who I am in Jesus within its center. 

Have at it, I said - and say. And He did - and does!

The Holy Spirit renews what we give to Him. So caller friend, give the Holy Spirit your whole self -- mind, soul, heart and body -- while absorbing the Word. Read it out loud. It's your friend and Savior, Jesus, talking to you. Then preach the truth to yourself! While you're blow drying your hair. Waiting at a stoplight. Folding clothes. Winding your way through the fast food drive-through.

Do you realize that something dies as our minds our renewed? You can cheer this death: the demise of lies we've accepted as truth.  All of us have weedy lies growing in our minds. But the potent truths of Who Jesus is, and who we are in Him, act as time-released lie-i-cide, obliterating the deceptions that once decimated us!

The God of the Universe has this to say to you:

I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there for you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end--because I am GOD, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you. (Isaiah 43:1-4)

My identity in Jesus was secured the day I said the yes that changes everything: Yes, I believe in you, Jesus. Save me. So is yours. Ask Him to bring this reality to life in your mind.

He does and He will.

For His Holy Spirit speaks to us deep in our souls and tells us that we are God's children. 

(Romans 8:16 NLT)