{Time and Biscuits}

I am late.

Typically, usually, (expectantly) late.

To my boss, ignore the previous statements..

My friends and my family know that when it comes to getting out the door, they better tell me I’m supposed to be leaving fifteen minutes before the actual time they would like me to appear.

And I will proceed to waltz down the stairs five minutes late after that.

There are particular occasions in which I will make sure I show up on time.
Or, dare I say it.... early.

That is, when I know biscuits will be served and make-up need not be applied.

Joking.
Kind of.

Truthfully,
I will show up on time.. er, early.. when something very important to me demands my attention.

The most recent example I can think of is my interview for an elementary school in San Antonio. Completely a gift from the Lord, there is no rhyme or reason I should have received this interview except that the hands of God pieced together grace and details twenty-two years earlier. Even to interview at this school was a dream.. a school labeled as low income, Hispanic majority, 13:1 student-teacher ratio, and nestled in the heart of a well-supported school district. I could feel the blood course through my veins and hear my heart pound just thinking of the children’s faces. My heart, my passion, my day dreams.. all pointed to being in this environment with these kids. I don’t have to know them to know I already love them, I want them, and I believe in them.

For this kind of occasion, I will appear early.
Three days early.
Truthfully, I came 20 minutes early.. but if I could, I would have been sitting on the bench outside the interview room three days before if it were, you know.. allowed.

One week later..
I’m sitting on my couch with a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and all I can think about this morning is time.

What is it that makes me late to some things and early to others?
I am early when it is something I truly care about. When I can cradle the weight of the ensuing moment in my hands and understand it is valuable.. it is a gift. 

So what makes me late?

I’m reading a book that has challenged me this morning to consider my view of time.
I’m challenged to consider.. when did I forget to pray for God to “teach [me] how short [my] life is, so that [I] may become wise"?

Mark Buchanan shares,

Those who sanctify time and who give time away -- who treat time as a gift and not possession -- have time in abundance. Contrariwise, those who guard every minute, resent every interruption, ration every moment, never have enough. They’re always late, always behind, always scrambling, always driven. There is, of course, a place for wise management of our days and weeks and years. But management can quickly turn into rigidity. We hold time so tight we crush it, like a flower closed in the fist. We thought we were protecting it, but all we did was destroy it.


I have forgotten all of a time is a gift.
It is not my possession.
It is not mine to squeeze into the pages of my cute planner with the big pages to cram as much as I can without making the words look like Waldo might be hiding somewhere in the nooks and crannies.
(Oh, you know what I’m talking about.. don’t lie)

Time management is good.
It helps us to be careful how we live, not as unwise, but as wise. We make the most of every opportunity.

But I cannot forget Who really manages my time.


"What becomes important is not that I manage time, 
but that I let God manage me." 
-David W. Henderson


We have no ownership of our time.
I think a recent event serves as a sharp reminder to us that life is but a mist, and we don’t know the measurements of its length.
But we can know its depth.
How freeing.

Maybe I wouldn’t be late if I understood that my time was a gift.
Or.. maybe I would.

But I wonder what one day would look like where I remember each moment is a gift.
Each second is an opportunity to turn my eyes to heaven and thank Him for not allowing me to know its length..
 so that, just for today, I can better focus on measuring its depth.

Starting with biscuits.
Mmm, duh.

{Let's Catch Up, Shall We?}

If we scheduled a coffee date seven weeks ago, I would have told you that I am so happy to begin my new job teaching art classes at a small school in Dallas. I would have told you that I am nervous because I have never taken an art class in my life, but I have confidence this is where God determined my hands to work.

If we met up to take a walk in my new neighborhood five weeks ago, I would have looked into your eyes and burst into tears, because living alone is hard and I am scared of this big city and its foreign culture. I would have asked if we could go home and sit on the couch because my stomach feels like metal gloves are performing power punches on me like a boss. I would tell you there is a bizarre stabbing pain in my right should blade, but that I'm sure it would all be okay. Because my personality leans toward trying not to feel sorry for myself and I don't want to make your mind cloudy with sad thoughts. I want to feel like I am the one who will always be okay.. but the truth is, I am not. Nobody is. And it's good to understand this chain-breaking truth.

If you called me four weeks ago, you would hear a few rings and my voice mail. Not totally unusual because I am the worst at answering my phone, but this time would be different because I was laying in a hospital bed recovering from getting my gallbladder removed. You can thank my mom for taking my phone from me, because rumor has it I say some crazy things when I'm recovering from anesthesia. Mom, thank you for saving my booty from potential disasters ;)

If you stopped by my apartment three weeks ago, you would see boxes everywhere. I promise, only one person moved into this apartment. And I really, really promise I am trying to learn this whole "downsizing" concept. The first step is admitting I have a problem. Ok, I have a problem. I also have a problem remembering what the next step is after admitting you have a problem... Oops. But you would also see a smile spread between my heated cheeks because though I'm a bit embarrassed by how much I have and how hopeless I feel when I think of unpacking it all, my mom would be busy in the other room finding a home for each of my things. She is a great source of strength to me, and I don't know what I would do without her. Oh wait, I do. Sit in my jams, eat a Popsicle, raid Netflix, and ignore the mountains of boxes encasing me.

If you asked me two weeks ago, I would tell you I am struggling with missing being close to my family. I would tell you I struggle with knowing that moving away from home and having your first job -- that is neither as easy nor as natural as it seems -- is typical of nearly every man and woman. It's practically a right of passage. But I would grip my cup of coffee and tell you with a shaky voice that I love my family, I miss being close to home, and I want to be closer to them. In all honesty. And I would tell you I struggle with believing the Lord really listened to me when I said that.

If we went to dinner one week ago, I would tell you I left my jaw on the floor at home when the Lord made Himself known as a loving, faithful, and trustworthy Father when He gave me an interview for a first grade teaching position in San Antonio. With my family. At home. In a school district known to be highly competitive and filled with divinely talented teachers. I would tell you I am a homebody and enjoy the comforts of home compared to the hustle and bustle of traveling and jumping on planes, but for this job, I would jump on 500 planes to get to this interview. I would tell you hope stirred in my heart at that moment that the Lord heard my prayers and would grant me a way home.

If you came over last night, you would see me in my kitchen with flour in my hair, chocolate chips scattered across my wood floors, batter smeared all over my counters, and cookies cooling on racks spread on every clear counter space I could find. Because I managed to bake six dozen batches of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in a semi-mindless panic while watching the finale of The Bachelorette. I admit, I gave into the craze, I became attached, I developed pimples while watching the last few episodes, and I could not sit still until I saw a delicious diamond on her finger. I suppose I will make six Dallas friends very happy this week when I decide to eat every cookie give them all away..

Oh, and I would tell you I got the job.


I.
Got.
The.
Job.
IGOTTHEJOB.
I am going to be a first grade teacher in San Antonio!

Then I would hug your neck,
grab your face,
look in your eyes,
and tell you from the smallest bits of my heart that are incapable of understanding how I can tell you this when I struggle with believing this myself but still believe that you need to hear this,

"God is trustworthy. His plans for you, they are so good. He knows your heart. He knows your hurts. He knows your desires. He's listening. He wants only those things that will bring you the most joy for the longest time possible. He knows you. He will provide what you need. And He wants to give you good gifts. Trust Him."

I can't wait to share more with you about this new adventure, but I want to stop at that. Because that's what I want you to read. Read it again. And again. Commit it to heart. 

And tell it back to me when I step in my classroom and realize I am starting my first year of teaching at ground zero. And I don't know the first thing about what I am doing.
Gulp.
Can. Not. Wait.

{Pepperoni Pizza Crescents}

As a child, I spent countless hours playing at my very best friend's house a couple neighborhoods away. If there was something a child could get into, we did. Yes, we actually tried to save a dead bird by wetting paper towels, folding them in small squares, and placing them under the deceased fowl's wings. In my defense, I truly did believe water had healing powers to shock beings back to life. Did I mention I wanted to be a veterinarian? Let it be a blessing to us all that that dream didn't work out.

Anyway.

During lunch time, on the very best of days, my very best friend's mother would make pizza rolls for lunch.

Drool.

Incessant drooling.

The dough browned to a golden crisp on the edges, soft and airy beneath the crust.
The cheese bubbling out of the ends, white as cream. Burned red and orange where it escaped its way onto the hot pan.
The pepperonis slicked with oil.. the glory of cooked meat. Yum.

Hot Pockets.. pfffff, please.
 Just give me the pizza roll.

Fast forward 14 years and I am wondering what the heck happened to that glorious pizza roll.
Until now.

I've just discovered the pizza roll had babies.. and called them pizza crescents.
Seriously, put down the Hot Pocket.  Pick up your wallet, get yourself to the grocery store.


MAKE THESE.

And please, don't kill any birds on the way there. I'm a little rusty when it comes to my "Lazarus" bird treatments I'm famous for..


Pepperoni Pizza Crescents
Serving Size: 8 crescents 

 Compliments of Pinterest

1 can Pillsbury Crescent Rolls (go for the Buttery Flake, or go home)
1 package Hormel Pepperoni
4 String Cheese sticks (cut these in half for 8 String Cheese pieces)
Garlic powder and Italian seasoning (to sprinkle for perfection)

1. Preheat the oven to 375.
2. Unroll the crescents into triangles.
3. Top 4 pepperonis on each crescent triangle.
4. Follow up with a string cheese half.
5. Roll the crescent around the pepperonis and string cheese.
6. Sprinkle with a dash of garlic powder and a shake of Italian seasoning.
7. Cook for 10-12 minutes, or until golden brown.
8. Serve with marinara sauce (heated) for dipping.
9. Thank God for food.
10. Devour.
11. Be happy.
12. Say amen.

 

{Two Week Changes}

In the past two weeks, I have:

1. Packed my bits and said my goodbye to Fort Worth, Texas.. oh how I will miss true friends, the best Central Market in the world, and going to class riding my bike down sleepy trails along the Trinity River.
2. Slept in five different beds, four different houses, three different cities, out of two different suitcases, packed in one SUV little buddy of a vehicle... zero regrets.
3. Learned a few things about myself during this time of vagabond solitude, namely that I a) don't enjoy eating a meal alone, and b) I really don't need much to live my life full and well.
4. Got my gallbladder removed. After two and a half years of doctors appointments, HIDA-whooda-whadda scans, attempting a gluten-free diet, lying in the fetal position on various floors pondering stomach pains, and trying desperately to avoid falling into the ever-approaching pit of hopelessness and despair.. I found out I had gallbladder disease. People my age, your gallbladder normally functions at a percent of 85-100. Mine? A whopping 29%. Weak sauce. So that baby had to go. Now you will find me doing cartwheels down the bread aisle! I'm so happy to feel better now and experience life without the pain all the time!
5. Moved into my new apartment, memorized the aisles of Walmart, turned my thumbs green and planted a small garden on the porch, and watched the warm summer rains pitter and patter against the new window panes.
6. Received a phone call from a school in San Antonio about interviewing for a 1st grade teaching position. And guess what? I'm packing my bag, hopping on a plane, and taking the chance. Because if there is anything I've learned in the past two weeks, it's that God works in mysterious, crazy, and perfect ways. If this is how He works, then how can I not obey?
7. Learned to love tolerate basic cable. Thank God for I Love Lucy.
8. Rediscovered my love for grilled cheese. How did I live without bread for 2 1/2 years? Good night.
9. Read this in two days. If you're looking for a summer read, I highly recommend it.
10. Been gently reminded God is trustworthy, our times are in His hands, and only one thing is required of me.

I love lists, but it's easy for me to be overwhelmed when the number of things to do just gets bigger and bigger. If you could complete one thing on your list today, what would you choose?