Thursday, October 25, 2012

The God of Breakfast Casseroles, too


I wait for the trolley near the train station. It’s getting quite late and the street lights are glistening in the puddles that formed after the rain. Same streets.  Same trolleys. Same trees. Same apartment building. Same mom and dad.  Everything is the same. On the outside, I look pretty much the same as well.  And yet, holding my same old duffel bag, I feel like I just got off an intergalactic space ship.  Everything is different.  All the books on the shelves in my home library have no words to quite contain what I am garbling to express on the inside. For once in my life, I am left speechless.

My mom and dad dismiss my initial excited Jesus-loves-me-I-love-Jesus announcement as a passing fad.  I try to convince them that it’s not a fad, that it is more real than anything I’ve ever done in my entire life,  but seeing the expression on their faces makes me drop the subject, realizing I must allow time to do the speaking on my behalf.

I am reading the Bible – no, more like devouring the Gideon copy of the New Testament entrusted to me as a good-bye gift – for breakfast., lunch and dinner, and several snacks in between.   The words on the pages are vibrant with life, and energy and vitality – I can’t get enough of it.  I finally got my own personal mail and every word of it is mind-blowing.  There is still a lot I don’t understand, but, as instructed, I skip over those passages and latch on like a new-born on the life-giving flow pouring out from…

Abide in Me and I in you.  As a branch can not bear fruit of itself, no more can you, unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches...He who abides in bears much fruit... Apart from Me you can do nothing.

Interestingly enough, along with the spiritual adrenaline rush, the new horizons opening up, the massive influx of new information to process and digest, I find myself increasingly incompetent in the things I used to do without giving them a thought, simple things like baking.

I should be able to handle this on my own, I am frustrated with myself as I toss the ruined batch of dough into the garbage can. But, soon it becomes evident that this is not a coincidence but only a beginning of a life-long process of unlearning the deeply ingrained habit of managing my world and all its details –big and small - on my own.  

For this God, who holds the Universe He created in the palm of His hand, who shook and uprooted the foundation of my life and tore down its lofty strongholds apparently enjoys making breakfast casseroles with me.

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