life

Michigander

The hub, my shingles and I went up north for a long weekend.

Yep, shingles.

Woke up Wednesday morning with a raised rash on the back of my neck. I couldn’t see it but I could feel it.  Thought maybe I brushed against a poison ivy leaf when I was picking raspberries.  But it wasn’t itchy.

The hub noticed it while I was making dinner, said it was pretty red. It was starting to itch a little.

I wouldn’t normally go to Urgent Care for a red, mildly-itchy rash, but I had been pretty tired and a little off for a couple of days and we were heading out of town in the morning.

I didn’t want to take something contagious with me.

The doc said it was shingles and that it isn’t contagious. I could, however, give chicken pox to anyone who hasn’t had them, but only if they come in direct contact with the rash.

So I packed the antiviral he prescribed, some Benadryl, in case it got really itchy and Motrin in case it started to hurt. Doc said he’d give me Norco if it got real bad.

Norco if it gets real bad?

God, I hope not.

I’ve heard stories, I’ve seen fear-mongering commercials.

We headed north Thursday morning as scheduled. First stop: Harbor Springs.

We walked the pier at twilight. Felt like a date.

Next morning we snubbed the hotel’s complimentary breakfast and went into town in search of something good. No offense to the lovely, hospitable hotel.

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High atop a hill sat Small Batch at the Cupola, with its welcoming porch.

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Oh. Linen tablecloths. This is going to be expensive.

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But the little cow creamer was cute.

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Flash-fried spinach is my new favorite thing.

The hub ordered a Hansel and Gretel Waffle – gingerbread waffle topped with a maple and peach syrup and a cinnamon cream. He gave me a bite. Oh. My.

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I had to snag this photo from their Facebook page to show you because his didn’t last long enough…

After breakfast we headed to Mackinac Island, taking the long, coast-hugging way so we could see the property on which my sister’s retirement dream house will soon be built; the final resting place for her ashes.

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Men arrived and began clearing trees.

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Arriving at the Island never loses its thrill.

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You (meaning me) can’t visit Mackinac Island without saying “hi” to John.

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John is the extraordinary father of my delightful niece, Mary.

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He’s also the Senior Vice President of the Grand Hotel. If you don’t know the Grand, click here. It’s quite special. If you’ve been reading my blog from the start you’ve been there before.

One of these days I’m going to interview John and tell you all about him. In the meantime, this is his bike.

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It’s the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Many who visit Mackinac Island never venture beyond the town, except to rent bikes and ride around the entire perimeter of the island.

I prefer the interior.

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I like to hike to Arch Rock.

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And check out the view.

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If you know anything about Mackinac Island, you know there are NO motorized vehicles (except an ambulance).

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It’s all horses, feet and bicycles.

After lunch we strolled along the boardwalk, strolled past John’s house.

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Browsed some shops. Bought some fudge.

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And caught the 5:30 ferry back to the mainland. That’s the Mighty Mac in the distance.

The hub wanted to show me something so we took another short detour on the way back to Harbor Springs.

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In a beautiful park-like setting behind a Catholic church in the middle of nowhere waits a magnificent bronze sculpture.

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It weighs 7 tons and is 28 feet tall from head to toe.

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Truly a site to behold. Love the glow of the late-day sun on the tip of the cross.

Back in Harbor Springs we prowled the streets looking for somewhere not-fancy for dinner.

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There was a bar on the corner, down by the water, with a note taped to its door: “Friday Fish Fry $10.99.”

As we stood inside waiting to be seated, the hostess asked if we were there for the fish.  The hub nodded. “I’ll save you one,” she said, “there are only 3 left.”

In the morning I took my complimentary envelope of oatmeal to go as we checked out of the hotel and went forth.

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Early morning coffee in Charlevoix.

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Lunch in Leland.

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I make friends with beagles wherever I go.

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This is Bella. And her mom.

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You (meaning me) can’t be on the Leelanau Peninsula without stopping at Karl’s aka Brisling Pottery.

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Who am I to disobey?

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Treasures in tow, we headed to the hub’s favorite Leelanau wineries.

I lost a round of miniature golf. Only because I’m sick.

And then over to the Mission Peninsula to check into our B & B.

Dinner was pizza at a picnic table at the old State Hospital grounds.

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Those are pickled pears julienned on that pizza. A little tangy and very tasty.

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Yes, we did go back for breakfast the next day. I mean, look at that stuff.

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Rain Man.

The final day of our get-away began with fruit, yogurt, peach and lavender jam on english muffins, pleasant conversation and a goodbye to our B & B hosts.

It was another weather-blessed day so why not head to the tip of the peninsula, to the lighthouse and climb to the top?

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On no-more-than-four-inch steps.

While I climbed and took photos, the hub struck up an over-the-fence conversation with a stranger. It was all about fishing Lake Charlevoix.

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Hey, why not stop at a couple more wineries on the way back down the peninsula?

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The vines were pregnant, ready to deliver.

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Harvest is this week.

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With the warm weather we’ve had, Chateau Chantal says 2016 is going to be a very good year. Keep that in mind when you buy Michigan wine.

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I can’t have any because I seem to have developed an allergy to sulfites.

But you go ahead. I’m going back to the Pleasanton Bakery. Yes, I did already have breakfast. So what?

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Pleasanton Bakery chocolate almond croissant + Higher Grounds brew of the day = good.

Some coffee shops charge $5 for a cafe miel and I pay it. But at Higher Grounds I buy a $2.75 cup of their daily brew and add the honey, cinnamon and cream myself. And it’s really good.

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As you know from a recent post, I love it when old things are re-purposed. That’s why I love the old State Hospital. The old asylum.

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I wonder what this building will be.

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The hub isn’t going to read this post. He’s going to think it’s way too long. But he wanted to show me one more thing as we headed home.

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He ignored the “Private Property, No Tresspassing” signs like he owned the place and drove me through the woods and onto the grounds of the Pere Marquette Rod and Gun Club. He’s been there fly fishing a couple of times with my brother-in-law, Mike. He’s going back again in a couple of weeks. He wanted to show me and that’s okay. I like show and tell.

Stopping for lunch in Clare on the way home is kind of a tradition. A tradition we haven’t kept in several years. Lunch at Bob’s Broasted Chicken in the Saturday Evening Post Bar.

Back when the rooster was white, you could feed a family of four for $20.

Now that he has a new paint job, it’s $14 for 2.

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This photo-bombing patron ought to be in church.

I don’t know if it was the broasted chicken or all the ground we covered, but the rest of the ride home was kinda’ rough.

Might have been a little too much fun for an old gray mare with shingles.

Rainy day today.

 

 

 

 

 

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Food, life

Pumpkin Time

I’ve been cooking pumpkins.

I read somewhere that Libby’s actually cans kabocha squash puree, not pumpkin puree, and they get away with it because squash and pumpkins are in the same family. That’s why when you open a can of their puree it is much more orange than the yellowish flesh of the pie pumpkins you cook and puree yourself.

Plus kabocha squash are sometimes called “Japanese pumpkins,” even though kabocha is the Japanese word for squash.

I’ve been cooking pumpkins and “pumpkins” in my crock pot ever since they showed up in the market a couple of weeks ago. I cut up two pie pumpkins, stuck them in the crock pot on low for about six hours – ’til they were nice and soft – and then pureed them.

There is something really satisfying about having two jars of pureed pumpkin in the fridge. To feed the friends.

Two jars of pumpkin only lasts a few days because it is a staple of their diets.

So I cooked a green kabocha. And then I cooked another one.

Raw kabocha squash is REALLY hard to cut. So I didn’t cut it.  I just scrubbed it and stuck the whole thing in the crock.  After three or four hours I cut it in half, scooped out the seeds and put it back in the pot to finish cooking.  I cut the second squash just around the stem once it was soft enough – didn’t even take it out of the crock –  to release some steam.

I was experimenting to see how lazy I can get away with being.  Really lazy, as it turns out.

Alas, my stash is running low.

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So today I put a red kabocha in the pot.

The market had it labeled a red kuri, but I think they’re wrong.

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It has the squat shape and the creamy striping of a red kabocha.

The red are supposed to be sweeter than the green variety, so good.

Because my friends have not been the only beneficiaries of all this fiber and vitamin A.

I stirred some of the pie pumpkin into my pasta sauce last week.

I made “pumpkin” (kabocha), chocolate chip cookies late, late Friday night – even though I had to be up at 5:30 Saturday morning for a meeting. When you gotta’ have ’em, you gotta’ have ’em.

Annnnnd I made pumpkin pancakes this morning.

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Mix 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (150 grams), 2 Tbsp. sugar, 2 tsp. baking powder, 1 tsp. cinnamon, 1 tsp. ginger, about 40 scrapes of a nutmeg against a grater and 1/2 tsp. salt in a large bowl.

In a smaller bowl whisk together 1 egg, 2 Tbsp. melted butter, 4 ounces lowfat kefir, 4 ounces milk (I used fat-free) and 6 Tbsp. HOMEMADE kabocha squash puree. Whisk in some smugness if you want.

They were delicious.

“Absolutely delicious,” according to our guest visiting from Toronto.

Speaking of pumpkins, we took this little pumpkin eater and her brother on an outing this gorgeous almost-autumn day.

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She spotted a leaf floating in the lake and apparently thought it was alive because she kept licking her lips. She was so determined she had to be carried off the pier.

She was like me and those pumpkin cookies…

Tomorrow I’m writing about God.

#passionateaboutrealfood

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faith, life

Tithing

This was a day’s worth of raspberries last summer – and every summer, for that matter, since I planted two raspberry bushes ten years ago.

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Every day, for weeks, I would pick a whole bowl of berries, wash them and make them into something delicious.

For three or four weeks in July and then a second yield in the Fall.

This is how many raspberries I picked today:

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And one lone strawberry, not quite ripe, but if I waited ’til then it would be gone.

In July I ate not a single berry from my garden. Not a single one. They grew and ripened, but not for me.

My grandma went to war with some birds over her raspberries one summer. Then she ripped the bushes out.

“If I can’t have them, then neither can they,” she reportedly said.

I’m not like that.

I’ll share.

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I’ve been blessed with an abundance of berries every summer and fall for 10 years.

This year, apparently, was for the birds.

Perhaps God rotates the flocks. Lets them feast in my garden this year, then sends them to your garden next year.

Perhaps that’s what’s meant by tithing our first fruits.

I don’t mind that.

I don’t mind feeding the birds and the squirrels and the chippies once every ten years.

So long as their movable feast moves on…

#fragileharvest

 

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life

Sparkle and Roar & a February Fix

Sundresses, cotton skirts, khakis, good jeans and tidy shorts were streaming toward the Tabernacle. Our casual beach clothes were swimming against the current, heading for the beach.

“I’m starting to feel kinda’ like a heathen,” I whispered.

“I’m not,” she replied with confidence.

“It’s not so much that I feel like a heathen,” I corrected, “it’s more that I kinda’ feel like they might think I’m a heathen.”

“And I feel like I’m dissing my people by walking right past them.”

“Why?,” she asked. “You don’t care about ‘dissing your people’ any other Sunday.”

True, I thought, funny how I consider fellow Christians “my people” when I don’t know them, when I’m out of town.  They look so much shinier and friendlier as strangers. I think I just like the Christians I don’t know better than I like the Christians I do know.

“Maybe it’s not the people, maybe it’s the music, the call to worship. We’re walking right past the call to worship.”

“God is calling me to the beach,” she said with certainty as she steered me toward the path that leads to the lake.

In order to get on the path you have to walk right alongside the Tabernacle, with its open windows and full pews and wafting music.

The walk of shame.

“Must have been an intentional design,” I said, “back when the church was that way: ‘Sure you can go to the beach instead of to worship, but we see you. And we’re praying for you.’”

“Good, they can pray for me,” she quipped, “I’m going to go be dazzled by God.”

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And we were.

I recorded the surf for about five minutes. For a February fix, when it’s -2 degrees Fahrenheit.

Here, you can have 35 seconds of it, in case you need it in February, too.

The sparkle and roar of the waves is as much a call to worship as any man-made song. I love the way the waves hit the beach and then scurry sideways along the shore.

After I made my movie,  I thumbed through a couple of books. My daughter, Stephanie, and I were away for the weekend on a personal retreat. The retreat center had a library, which was great because I forgot to pack something to read. If there had been WiFi or a decent cell signal, I would have read you, my blogging friends, but, alas, I borrowed a biography on Hudson Taylor and one on George Sweeting.

“Never suppress a generous impulse.” – George Sweeting

Every waitress and barista we encountered for the rest of the weekend benefited from that quote.

So did the panhandler and the street musician we encountered on Monday. Except it kind of bugged me afterward that I gave the same amount to both. I should have given the musician more. He, after all, was contributing something beautiful to my day.

We encountered a panhandler on Saturday, too, and I didn’t give him a dime. 1) I hadn’t yet been inspired by George 2) I felt no impulse toward generosity 3) He annoyed me.

I probably would have given him a dollar if he had just simply asked me to help him out. But he gave a long, annoying tale of woe about being from Chicago and being left by his buddies and it costs $15 for the megabus and his buddies were arrested in their hotel room and his story went on and on and changed as it went.

If we had been a scene in a movie, I would have held up my hand to stop him and said, “No, ‘cuz I’m not liking your vibe.”

But in real life I’m nicer so I just listened and nodded and, when he was finally finished, said, “Maybe I’ll have some change on the way back.” Knowing I wasn’t going that way back.

In real life I can be a tiny bit of a liar.

After spending the morning on the beach, we headed to town for lunch.

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lunch with legends

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Can you identify all four?

After lunch Steph ducked into a public restroom before our long walk through town, along the canal and out to the end of the pier.

She returned with a story:

Senior Lady 1: “I’m so glad I brought that chair with me, it puts NO pressure on your body.”

Senior Lady 2: “Oh yeah, when we walked over to the other bathrooms we saw those chairs everywhere.”

Senior Lady 1: “I didn’t want to be rude to Mary, but they only hold up to 250 pounds.”

Senior Lady 2: “She shouldn’t buy one.”

Restroom fell quiet for a minute.

All of a sudden one of the senior ladies started singing “Blessed Assurance” to herself in the stall.

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The pier at sunset on Saturday.

Sunday night we watched The Joy Luck Club on my laptop because there are no tvs on a personal retreat. I’m going to have to read the book now because I have unanswered questions.

I wondered whether there is some thing I should tell my daughter, something that will free her, show her her worth.

But I couldn’t think of anything.

It was beautiful in Grand Rapids on Saturday.

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That’s my lemongrass, rose, holy basil iced tea third seat from the left.

But it was really hot and steamy on Monday.

We thought it would be a little cooler along the river.

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It wasn’t.

We got coffee as soon as we arrived in GR Monday, right after putting our names in at our beloved Wolfgang’s.

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I don’t like coffee shops or restaurants that are new and shiny.

I like coffee shops and restaurants that are old and re-purposed.

And good.

There are so many good restaurants and coffee shops in Grand Rapids. Especially in Eastown.

If they ever re-purpose a bank or some other cool old building into a boutique hotel, we’re staying there. We’re going to park ourselves in Eastown for a whole weekend and merrily eat and drink coffee.

Back home now listening to the rumble of thunder in the distance and the soothing sounds of my sleeping beagle right next to me.

Hopefully the coming rain will cool things off a bit.

Life is good.

P.S. If you find yourself in western Michigan:

The Electric Cheetah

Madcap Coffee Company

Snug Harbor

Electric Hero

Hearthstone

The Sparrows Coffee, Tea & Newstand

Wolfgang’s

 

itsparklesmorethantwinkles

 

 

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Food, life

Please Roast Some Garlic.

Pasta could be considered a vice, I suppose, if you start looking forward to lunch tomorrow even before you finish dinner today. Like I did yesterday.

A jar of soft, sweet garlic was calling to me from the top shelf of my fridge. It had been there since last week, when I roasted way more garlic than I needed. It was demanding to be transformed into deliciousness.

So I complied.

I minced a large shallot and then pulled the jar of garlic and a small bowl of minced sweet onion – leftover from Sunday night’s dinner – out of the fridge.

I boiled a pound of spaghetti. Easy enough. Make sure you dump in at least 2 TBSP of salt once the water starts boiling.

While the pasta was boiling, I grated a big pile of parmigiano reggiano.

When the spaghetti was cooked, I dumped it into a colander and then used the same pan to make the sauce. ‘Cuz who wants to wash more pans than is absolutely necessary?

I dumped a hunk of butter – about 3 TBSP worth – into the pan with some good olive oil – about 2-3 more TBSP worth.

I used unsalted Kerrygold butter made from grass-fed cows. I like to imagine that all cows in Ireland are fed nothing but grass and that none of them are given unnecessary antibiotics and growth hormones. I like to imagine that Kerrygold Irish butter is made in Ireland.

When I was done imagining I dumped in the shallot, the onion and the garlic – mashing the soft garlic into a paste with the wooden spoon as I stirred.

Hmmm, lots of dumping was going on. That’s okay.

Next I sprinkled in some salt and pepper. I used my fancy/shmancy light gray Celtic sea salt, just FYI. Then I gave it a light dusting of cayenne pepper.  Just a LIGHT dusting.

As soon as the shallot, onion and garlic were a nice caramelized brown, I dumped in the cooked pasta and folded until it was completely coated with garlicky goodness.

That’s it.

The hub and I piled it on our plates (the daughter doesn’t like pasta but who cares?, she wasn’t home).

Then we topped it with the parm regg.

Oh My Goodness. It smells and it tastes sooo good.

I went for seconds. I wanted to eat the whole pan of it except I knew I’d be sick if I did.  That’s when I started looking forward to the leftovers for lunch.

I awoke looking forward to them.

I’m eating them right now, as I type.

I probably shouldn’t have heated up ALL that was left, and I probably shouldn’t have dumped it ALL on my plate, but I did.

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I also shouldn’t have snapped a pic of such a plain-looking dish.

Fortunately, I picked more basil than I needed the other day and behold – emergency dried out basil leaves right there on my counter!

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There, that’s a little better.

This is a seriously delicious dish. A SERIOUSLY delicious dish.

Really, go roast some garlic!

Meanwhile I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow’s lunch, when I’ll enjoy the leftover leftovers because I REALLY shouldn’t have dumped it ALL on my plate.

#gluttony

 

 

 

 

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life

Need Some Cooks in this Editorial Kitchen

I’ve been struggling with the intro to my Bible study. I didn’t love it so I rewrote it. But now I’m thinking maybe I should have left well-enough (but not great) alone.

The intro has two sections – a prologue and instructions on getting started. Will some of you kind souls put on your editor visors, read both choices and HELP ME? Please!

Prologue: This?

In late November 1997, I spoke at a lovely Advent by Candlelight gathering.  At the end of the evening one of the event organizers pressed a book into my hands in a way that told me I was supposed to have it.  The title of the book was Fashioned for Intimacy, by Jane Hansen and Marie Powers.  Since I was not married at the time and since I did not feel compelled to read it, I took it home and stuck it on a shelf.

In March 2002 I drove home from a sexual abstinence conference, my head spinning with information on human papilloma virus, cervical cancer, cervical dysplasia and all the STDs that are epidemic among teenagers.  I gulped at the thought of friends who had cervical dysplasia and had no idea it was associated with HPV and cancer.  I thought about all my young clients at the pregnancy help center who were putting themselves at risk for grave diseases and didn’t know it.  Statistically, many already had them.  The reality of it suddenly overwhelmed me and I started to cry.  Through tears I pleaded, “Lord, you have to warn them!”  In that moment I knew that He was planning to do just that, and He was going to use me to do it, and it wasn’t going to be easy.  I left my position as the executive director of a pregnancy help center and started a ministry of speaking to teens and their parents about making healthy choices.

In May 2009 I spoke at a Christian school, where I had been speaking annually for several years. That year, as one of the teachers walked me to my car on the fourth and final day of presentations, she expressed dismay over two graduates who had gotten pregnant just out of high school.  As I drove home, I wondered why, when it comes to dating, so many Christian kids go the way of the world.  Why the divorce rate among Christian marriages is almost identical to that of the general population. Why Christian young women – who know they are treasured by God – chase after defilement.  Why do they hear and not heed? Why is the church so ineffective in preparing our youth for healthy, lasting marriages?  Why, when we have such a big and able God, are so many relationships a mess?

As soon as I got home I fell to my knees and asked God those very questions.  I asked Him to please explain to me what our purity programs are missing.

He did.

He took me right back to the beginning of Scripture, showed me what went wrong and how it still plays out today.  He compelled me to read the book that had been pressed into my hands twelve years earlier.  Through that book, He introduced me to Dr. Katharine C. Bushnell’s 100 year old book, God’s Word to Women, which He used to get this ball rolling.

Or This?

It was a course fraught with danger and I was running scared – hurdling razor-sharp wires, dodging swinging pendulums, carefully and precisely maneuvering through intricate laser webs.  I moved with focused intensity and the terrifying expectation that I would make a fatal mistake.  As I approached each obstacle I braced myself for the big “Game Over.”

When I finally made it to the end I was mentally exhausted yet exhilarated over having survived with only a few cuts and burns. I wanted to do it again.  Once I knew it was possible to survive the maze, I wanted to see if I could come out completely unscathed.

But a knowing told me I couldn’t.  It told me that everyone gets only one turn.   I could, however, go back and cheer others on; talk them through it; warn them of impending dangers.

That somewhat prophetic dream pretty well sums up what I’ve been doing these last fifteen years – talking teens and parents through the minefields of adolescence and dating, cheering them on in hopes of getting them through unscathed. And yet with all of the genius that I and others impart, why, I wondered, do so many young people continue to rush toward defilement?  Why is the divorce rate among Christian couples almost identical to the divorce rate at large? Why, when we have such a big and able God, are so many relationships such a mess?

I seriously wanted to know, so I got down on my knees and asked. I begged God to show me what our purity programs are missing and He did.  He took me right back to the beginning of the Scriptures and showed me where the church has gotten some things wrong.  He shed a radically new light on my old understanding.   Now I am extending that light to you.

Which prologue do you like better? Does either one pique your interest in the study?

Getting Started: This?

This Bible study is my attempt to share what God taught me.  My prayer is that as you embark on this study you will set your mind to understanding and ask the Holy Spirit to guide you into all Truth.  We are going to dig deep so put on your thinking cap.

Some of the lessons are going to be a bit heavy.  On those days, grab the hand of the One who loves you.

Some lessons will challenge what you may have previously been taught.  If so, don’t be afraid.  Genuine faith isn’t so fragile that it will fall apart if you take a fresh look at Scripture and even question a few things.  Jesus often challenged the understanding of the religious leaders of His day and opposed the status quo.  Sadly, fear and/or love of the system of belief they had established did not allow them to consider new Truth.   Be brave.  Open your mind and let God shed fresh light on the Scriptures.  And please don’t just take my word for it.  Be a Berean (Acts 17:11).

Search the Scriptures and see for yourself.  My aim is not to convince you to think what I think. My aim is to set you in the Scriptures to seek what God thinks.  The last thing we need is more man-made doctrine.

I hope you will come each week ready to share what God has said to you through your study.  The Lord bless you and keep you and make His face shine upon you as you begin this journey. Heaven esteems you when you set your mind to understanding.

Or This?

This is no fluffy, feel-good Bible study, though I hope parts of it will make you feel good.  Parts of it might make you mad.  It will definitely challenge you spiritually, mentally and emotionally.  If you are young, I hope it will greatly improve your future.  If you are older, I hope it will bring healing to your past – and greatly impact the futures of the young people in your life. My prayer is that as you embark on this study you will set your mind to understanding and ask the Holy Spirit to guide you into all Truth.

We are going to dig deep so put on your thinking cap.  Some of the lessons are going to be a bit heavy.  On those days, grab the hand of the One who loves you.  Some lessons will challenge what you may have previously been taught.  If so, don’t be afraid.  Genuine faith isn’t so fragile that it will fall apart if you take a fresh look at Scripture and even question a few things.  Jesus often opposed the status quo and challenged the understanding of the religious leaders of His day. Be brave.  Open your mind and let God shed fresh light on the Scriptures.  And please don’t take my word for anything.  Be a Berean (Acts 17:11).

Search the Scriptures and see for yourself.  My aim is not to convince you to think what I think. The last thing we need is more man-made doctrine. My aim is to lead you through the Scriptures to discover a more accurate understanding of what God thinks.

I’ve led enough groups through this study to know that it’s going to be a really tough task. We Christians have a very strong tendency to hold the Scriptures up to our understanding rather than holding our understanding up to them.  When we read a new interpretation of them our knee-jerk reaction is to declare, “That’s not what I’ve been taught!” And then we dismiss the new interpretation, or worse yet, we hate it.

The aim of this Bible study is to rethink some of the things we have been taught; to hold our preconceived notions up to the light to see how well they actually match Scripture.  The goal is not to hold this Bible study up to see how well it confirms our preconceived notions.  Did you hear me? The aim of this study is to rethink some of the things we’ve been taught! If that is out of the question for you at this stage in your Christian walk, then put the study aside until the Spirit nudges you to pick it up again.

As you proceed, ask the Holy Spirit to show you heaven’s perspective.  It’s His job to guide you into all Truth.

I hope you will do this study with a small group and share what God says to you. Each chapter is broken up into five sections, that way you can do one section per day and still have two days for catch up if life gets busy and you get behind.

The Lord bless you as you begin this journey. Heaven esteems you, dear scholar, when you set your mind to understanding.

I wrote the second “Getting Started” after I led a few groups through the study and realized just how hard it is for people to rethink. Is the rewrite too harsh?

Does either “getting started” pique your interest in the study?

I’m hoping the choices are obvious to you because they aren’t obvious to me – which makes me wonder whether I should go with option 3: neither.

Be kind, be gentle and be HONEST! And if you can’t be kind, gentle and honest then just be honest.

Thank you and God bless you for reading all 1780 words!

#notobvious

 

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life

A really good walk unspoiled.

The hub and I skipped church this morning and headed over to Oakland Hills to watch the final round of the US Amateur.

clock

The two remaining players are University of Oklahoma’s Brad Dalke (go Brad) and Perth, Australia’s Curtis Luck.

USGA1

It was a beautiful morning – lots of fresh air and sunshine, lots of exercise. It was a really good walk unspoiled.

Green

We had to leave after the first 18 holes because the hub had a mandatory meeting at 3:00. A mandatory 4 hour work meeting on a Sunday afternoon!

veranda

It was all square when we left after those first 18. Which was good, because I’m rooting for Brad and he was down by 2 for awhile.

All Square

On the short drive home I stated that it seems a tad unfair because Brad, a college student, is a true amateur.  Curtis, who passed on college in order to play golf full-time, is more an unpaid professional.

“He should just stay in Australia,” I said, “play in his own stinking Amateur. But don’t worry, hub, once Donald Trump is elected Australians won’t be allowed to play here anymore.”

I crack him up.

13:32

When we got home I went online to find out what time the second 18 would be televised. As I scrolled through the photos from the morning half, I saw the hub! He’s the good-looking guy in the black polo. I’m the good-looking gal (I can make that claim because I am almost completely obscured by Brad) in the blue cap and the peach sweater.

They have just completed the 27th hole and Curtis is up 7. It looks grim but I am not in despair.

Gotta’ go. Don’t want to jeopardize Brad’s chances by not paying attention.

#USAmateur

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