Jennie Goutet's Blog: A Lady in France, page 12

Wishing you …

This will be my last post for 2016. It’s been a hard year for us – a Job kind of year – with the deaths of loved ones, serious illnesses, an unfinished construction project that greatly reduces the quality of our home life, and then a number of more minor annoyances that manage to be majorly annoying all the same. The global backdrop of what’s happening in Aleppo, with the worldwide political climate, and worries over the refugee crisis closer to home has not made it any easier to bear our personal troubles – even if they do put it all into perspective.

This, and the fact that I’ve been busy writing … did I tell you I finished the first draft of my Regency? I think I did. I put it aside until the new year, but I have EIGHT research books to read on the Regency period over the holidays … Anyway, this and the fact that I’ve been busy writing a novel has probably left my poor blog with the least amount of posts written in one year.

But.

BUT.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,

    for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

    great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion;

    therefore I will wait for him.’ (Lamentations 3:22-24)

Although I’ve not been blogging much lately, I’m not closing shop. In fact, I have a whole idea of new posts I plan to write for 2017.

Here they are in no specific order:

What my French nutritionist has me eating, Part 2.

What I discovered about ‘entitlement’ through fasting.

How the donations for India went.

A photo tour of the Château of Fontainebleau.

How to tackle international travel comfortably and elegantly.

More recipes. I always have ideas for more recipes!

So I’m still here. I wonder if I have any readers left from my early blogging days – from 2009 when I started “Perfect Welcome” (which morphed into ‘A Lady in France’ a year later). Do people even read blogs anymore?

Healthy Quiche Recipe

This healthy quiche recipe is nutritionist-approved. I haven’t filled you in yet on the consequent visits to the nutritionist since my last post, but I’m curious if any of you have tried it. I will do a part two but I wanted to make this recipe post separately.

The serving size for one portion is a quarter of this quiche, and the quiche pan I used was 26 centimeters in diameter. You’ll want to take out your pan and preheat your oven to 350°F, or 180°C.

I started with vegetables, and since they’ll all be minced and pre-cooked, the kids don’t even know they’re there, and they eat every bite.

1 red bell pepper, a leek (ours are big – you may need two if they’re not as big), and a peeled zucchini. Wash, cut in big pieces and put in the Cuisinart to mince. You’ll then want to fry that in a tablespoon of oil for fifteen minutes. You can add water if it starts to stick. When it’s no longer crunchy, you’re good to go.

We now have very good gluten-free pre-made crust here, which I’m so thankful for. I didn’t make quiche nearly as often before. Roll it out and put it on the quiche pan.

If you need to eat gluten-free and can’t get a pre-made crust (or don’t want to use one), you can see my recipe for GF crust in the Dijon mustard tarte post here.

Spread a thin layer of Dijon mustard on the crust (this adds taste). Sprinkle 200 grams of ham cubes on top of the Dijon mustard. 

Then top with the vegetables.

Put four eggs, one pot of plain yoghurt, a half-teaspoon of salt and 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg.

After you’ve beaten that together, add 120 grams of grated Swiss cheese. You can then pour that over the top of the quiche and gently swirl it into the vegetables.

The temperature is not very high, so it will probably take about 45 minutes to bake. Be sure to turn the quiche so it bakes evenly if your oven is anything like mine. And when it’s browned on top, stick a knife in to be sure it’s not runny.

Take it out and marvel at your delicious looking quiche.

(even if I lost the natural light at 4:30 with winter solstice)

Eat it with a side salad and top your meal with a piece of fruit or two squares of chocolate, and you have a nutritionist-approved meal!

Easy-peasy, right? Let’s have another look.

YUM!

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If you falter in times of trouble

If you falter in times of trouble, how small is your strength. That’s the way the proverb goes, and this one has been coming back to me lately. There has been plenty of trouble to put my strength to the test.

If you’re a steady reader of A Lady in France, you’ll know that I took the month of November off to focus on completing my next novel. I’m happy to say I did it! I started out with 25,000 words and ended up with about 50,000 more. It has a beginning, an end, and a bunch of scenes in the middle that I hope I can attach to a story arc. It’s a start, at any rate.

As fate would have it, this goal-setting of chipping out 1667 words, each and every day, fell during a challenging time in my life – a challenging times in the world. Is no country untouched? For my own, it’s no secret that I’m not a supporter of Trump, and to see the after-effects of the election and the increase of hatred and intolerance has been hard. Dismay, I think, has been the overall emotion.

The goal-setting came among joys. The usual November things, like my son’s birthday and my birthday, and Thanksgiving (which we celebrated on a Saturday).

The goal-setting came amid intense personal hardship that had me alternating between tears and rage. A friend from high school died suddenly from cancer. She was diagnosed in September, kept it from all but those closest to her, and I found out she was sick only days before she passed away. An hour after I learned this, I received a call from someone very close to me with terrible news about her health. (I’m keeping the details private to protect her).

This was the final straw. Already, we had been reeling from another difficult situation, which I cannot talk about publicly because it doesn’t affect just me; the contractor seems to have abandoned us and we may be left with a hole in our living room wall and falling plaster for the foreseeable future. And then! As if we needed this, someone backed into our car and refused to pay for it and – without going into all the details – there’s nothing we can do about it. This doesn’t even mention all the smaller worries and annoyances that seem to have jumped on the bandwagon of fun.

Trouble comes with friends, doesn’t it?

You know what I mean, right? Even if I can’t share all the details, you get the point. You’ve gone through this too, haven’t you? Or maybe you’re going through it right now.

I was pretty much a basket case until we went to Thanksgiving dinner. There, a friend gave me a spontaneous back rub, which thawed the ice that had formed around my heart. I sat next to our minister, and he shared with me that Jesus’ whole life was spent reminding people that God is good. In times of goodness, God is good.

In times of trouble, God is good.

We ended the evening with a completely impromptu session of singing hymns. Three of us sing in front of the church, and if I may say so myself, the group of us sounded amazing together.

Now I’m doing better. The circumstances haven’t changed. At all. In fact, they’ve gotten worse. But my heart is at peace. The more troubles that come our way, the more I am determined to stay strong. I think of Hebrews 10:39: 

But we do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.

I think of the proverb:

And I’m determined that I will not falter. We will not falter, friends. Our strength is not small.

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Faithful in the Small Things

I don’t know why these words keep coming back to me today. Faithful in the small things. These words, bouncing around in my head, were enough to make me want to reach out and write to you during my month-long hiatus, even if I have nothing overly profound to say.

I woke up yesterday and absorbed the shock of Donald Trump being elected president. We’re six hours ahead in Paris so I had no idea where things stood when I went to bed the night before. The initial news was a sucker-punch, and I tried to process it while reading the Bible and praying. I read a Psalm. I can’t remember which one. And I kept breaking off to check the news feed because, at the time, there was still no sure winner, even if one was looking likely. And then I just had to accept that what I’d hoped wouldn’t happen actually did.

So I decided to write my daily word count for my Regency novel. Maybe that’s where the ‘faithful in the small things’ idea started. I wanted to stay the course and write, despite how I was feeling.

I’ve been doing fine with NaNoWriMo and am clocking in my 1667 words per day. I usually go over the count, and have even bought myself a day off, and then some. I might use the freebie for when we celebrate Thanksgiving later this month. Or it might be for a really bad day when I feel like I’ve got nothin’.

Most of the time, though, I’m able to keep working away at the rough draft, even on the days where everything feels dry. And if I’m not overly busy with life, I even have time left to kill. There are a few posts I’ve wanted to share with you, and at this rate, I might actually be able to share them before the end of November.

There was Halloween. (Not news – just this one picture since the holiday is not big here. My son, the mad scientist – or nerd. Your pick).

There’s our weekend anniversary spent in Fontainebleau. This’ll be a post.

This picture was just to show how low the doorknob was. Because people back then were short?

That is one amazing chateau and I can’t wait to show it to you.

There’s the recipe for quiche, which fits the nutritionist’s plan I told you about – plus the update on how that has been going. (Ups and downs, slow and steady, but still headed in the right direction).

Oh yes! This is breaking news for right now, not for a future post. First – in news that will matter more to me than to you, but thank you for indulging me – I was hugely encouraged that my memoir broke the 100 reviews count on Amazon, and now I feel like I’ve arrived.

Writing News, Family News

I have a busy day planned, so I’m just popping in to give you some news. First – book & writing news (with a book excerpt at the end).

I’ve been in this state of awe and joy that my memoir has managed to remain in the top 100 bestsellers for Christian Inspiration for a whole month – (this is the Kindle version of Amazon). And I finally cleared 100 reviews, so I feel sort of established now. I’ll eventually pull the exclusivity with Amazon and make the memoir available for Nook and iBook, etc. But for now it makes sense to remain exclusive since it’s doing so well. That said, there is a print version available through Amazon, and I just set up the print version through Barnes & Nobles and that will be ready in 72 hours. If you’d like to purchase Stars Upside Down, there’s a button on the sidebar that will take you to Amazon and you can choose between print and Kindle. I’ll let you know the B&N link once I have it.

My romance will be getting a much-needed boost (I hope) since sales and reviews have been sluggish. (You probably don’t care about this unless you’re an author, and in that case you sympathise with my plight).

Adventure

We spoke about our upcoming trip to India with our kids on Sunday, and on hearing about all the delights in store for us, Gabriel said, “J’ne suis jamais assister aux aventures.” (I’ve never been on an adventure before). We had just gotten done having lunch with our friend, Hisill, who was in Paris for work – and with whom we’ll be staying in Chennai. I was still digesting everything he’d proposed for our pleasure trip when Gabriel piped up with his comment. And something about attacking this adventure with children in tow had me nodding my head in agreement. Me neither, kid!

I mean, yeah. There were those two years in Taiwan and the two years traveling to Asia for work. And there was that year in Africa and all that, but mah goodness! It’s one thing to endure a less-than-pampered existence on one’s own. (A person can bear anything for a day, says my friend Andrea). It’s another thing to bear it with kids.

(Jobby and Hisill, I don’t think you read my blog, but if you happen to chance on this post, don’t think for an instant that I don’t want to go! I’m just tackling my fears publicly).

So we already told our friends we wanted to go to the orphanage through the charity associated with our church. There are only 15 boys there and we plan to bring our lego collection (it’s huge), and are collecting money, clothes, and school supplies from members of our church and friends who care to donate. We also plan to spend a day at the home for children with AIDS. You can read a little about this – and even donate – on their Facebook page: Blood Brothers. We’re collecting things for them, too, and the kids know that this trip is their Christmas present. We are going to give, not get. (If this sounds saintly, please know that I wear sainthood like a pair of too-tight jeans).

Roast Potato Recipe

This roast potato recipe is probably the easiest recipe I’ve done yet on my blog. I was inspired by my step-mother, who made these during our trip to the States. She also wanted to make the dish with sweet potatoes, but my kids are not that open-minded.

I like red-jacket potatoes because the flesh is yellow and firm, rather than white and mealy. The taste is slightly sweet. I cut up 2 lbs worth for 6 people. (Well … 5 people with leftovers). I also pre-heated the oven to 220° C (425°F)

Cut the potatoes in cubes. You don’t even need to peel them.

Put them in a 13×9 pan. If you have cooking spray, you can use it on the pan and use less olive oil on top. We can’t buy cooking spray here. I seasoned the potatoes with a teaspoon of garlic salt, a teaspoon of Herbes de Provence, and a teaspoon of salt. I also had some fresh parsley so I chopped a small bunch and it added flavour and color.

I put a tablespoon of olive oil on top and mixed everything thoroughly.

I put it in the oven for 15 minutes, then took it out and turned the potatoes carefully so they would not stick to the sides of the pan and so they wouldn’t break and turn mushy. I also turned the pan so it would heat evenly. Do this two more times for a total cooking time of 45 minutes, giving a stir every 15.

And that’s it! I’ve served the potatoes with steak with blue cheese sauce and with roast chicken. I’ve also served them with pork chops and applesauce, but that recipe is not on my blog. 

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See? Easy Peasy and better than buying store-bought french fries. That’s it for my post today. I’ll write something more personal later this week. (Probably. If only life would slow down for a minute).

PS Sorry guys but I’m having a lot of problems with WP these last two days and I can’t include a recipe box to print out. This one should be easy to remember, though.

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Why I Became a Christian

If anyone has read my memoir, you will already know why I became a Christian. The emptiness I’d felt my whole life, and the crushing grief that came in early adulthood, were too great to face on my own strength. The gaping hole inside that had me identifying with “The Scream” by Munch – a horror over the injustice and darkness that seem to reign on earth – this hole was not physical and could not be filled with earthly things.

It could not be filled with food or alcohol (I tried). It could not be filled with travel and adventure (I tried). It could not be filled with a sexual relationship (I tried). It could not be filled with plenty of pocket money and nice jewellery (I tried – and it all got stolen recently when our house was raided). Or intelligence (I read all the books). It could not be filled by pick-myself-up-by-the-bootstrap-and-suck-it-up-strength. I tried. And I was not strong enough. So that’s pretty much how it happened that I became a Christian. I was missing Divine Love – the only thing that could fill the hole – and I went searching for it.

(Or, perhaps, to state the case more accurately, God went searching for me).

I didn’t want to be a religious person. The idea gave me hives. Come on, I’m chasing intellect and sophistication! There’s no room in all that for religion. Religion is too constraining and closed-minded; and (forgive me) Jesus-freaks are dorks.

But when the Christian counsellor in Taiwan – the only one who spoke English, and who was helping me pick up the shattered pieces of my life after my brother’s suicide – handed me a Bible, all the arguments flew away in the force of God’s promises.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.
‘Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?
Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’

(references: Mt 11; Ps 18; Lk 12; Ph 4; Ro 8; Dt 31)

I needed those promises. I was thirsty for them. I needed to know, that in a world that looks upon my fate with utter indifference, there was a Being who did not. And this Being not only cared what became of me, He had the power to give me safe-haven.

It didn’t come all at once. The faith and realisation came gradually. But eventually, the desire to have what the Bible promised was more valuable to me than my dying relationship. It had more value than being politically-correct, worldly-wise, and “enlightened”, although turning my back on those things was probably the greatest cost I had to count. The desire to have instant access to God – of knowing that there was nothing in my life that would prevent him from reaching down and saving me – now, and on the day I die, was worth more to me than anything else I possessed. I will not be embarrassed before him when I have to give account for everything I’ve said or done. (Heb 4:13).

The desire to be forgiven and made holy shifted my priorities. It became worth my while to travel further to meet with my church family instead of going to an indifferent church in a beautiful building next door. It made it worth my while to give up sexual immorality and live a pure life as I waited for a husband. It made it worth my while to tithe (give 10%) – or, in the tighter moments, give as generously as I could to church and humanitarian efforts. This sometimes means having frayed couches.

It made it worth my while to talk about Jesus to someone I don’t know all that well because it felt like the Spirit was prompting me to say something. It made it worth my while not to cut corners on business expenses or taxes, take business supplies from work, or (still working on this) drive too fast because everyone else is. Even today, it makes it worth my while to give up free time to study the Bible with people, host discussions in our home, serve people in need.

That’s what it took to make Jesus Lord. A desire to go to heaven and not be afraid anymore – a desire to fill the emptiness with an intimate, daily relationship with God.

How Does My Life Look Now?

On December 12, it will be 21 years since I radically changed my life, shed the parts of it that were not obedient to the scriptures, had enough faith to believe that what I was doing was a logical (and not emotional) decision and get baptized.

On Sunday we had house church, and we looked at the passage with the wise man who built his house on the rock (as opposed to the fool who built his house on the sand). My husband commented that the storms come to both. Whether you live your life for your own purposes (no matter how noble), your own faith (or lack thereof), your own pleasures, or whether you live for Jesus, the storms will come to you. But what Jesus says is this:

Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.’ (Matthew 7:24-27)

Both the ones who follow Jesus and the ones who don’t will have storms. We certainly do, here in the Goutet household. Some I can talk about publicly, some I can’t. The difference between now and before is that I’m not terrified all the time, and when I am, I know where to go for comfort.

What my life looks like now is a house built on a rock. I’m not comparing myself to those who aren’t Christians and saying my life is better. I’m comparing my life to what it was before.

I’m not afraid of death (in general, although I ask God to let me stick around to raise my kids and see my grandkids – Give me time to love people here, God!)

Crockpot Cardamom Pork Stew

This is an unusual crockpot recipe for pork stew that calls for cardamom, ginger, and is additionally flavored with honey, Dijon mustard, and cream.

I like crockpot recipes for when we have a big crowd coming, or when I have a busy day. Everyone who eats at my house knows I have a fondness for meat with Dijon mustard and crème fraiche. This version of the recipe has a slightly more exotic flavour because of the cardamom, and the sweetness of the onions and carrots is enhanced by the honey.

You’ll need to put 3 chopped small onions in the bottom of the crockpot, followed by a thinly-sliced carrot and 3 large cloves of minced garlic. The carrot is more for flavour and color than to serve as a real vegetable. You’ll need a big hunk of ginger (as shown below) that you can cut in thick slices, and 6 whole cardamom pods.

Cover that with pork, and you can pepper it but don’t salt it right away. This is a trick a French chef taught me. Apparently it’s supposed to let the meat cook better over long-term when it’s not salted. I used a kilo of pork, which is 2 lbs.

Add three bayleaves and 4 cups of broth. (Water with bouillon cubes are okay). You’re going to cover that and let it cook for at least 6 hours on low heat. I ended up cooking this stew for 8 hours. If you have time to do this, you can put it on high for the first hour or two, then turn it down. If you’re leaving for the day, keep it on low.

When your busy day is over and you’re ready to eat, you have a couple steps to take while making the rice (and fried zucchini, which is what I served it with). Slice up 2 cups of mushrooms – 2 cups sliced, that is – and use some of the broth from the crockpot to cook them on a skillet.

Here’s the thing about the broth. You need the four cups because it covers the pork and ensures it doesn’t burn, even if you have to leave it the whole day. But since this is not soup, you’ll want to remove as much of it as you can by pushing a ladle down onto the meat, letting it fill with broth, then discarding the contents.

Repeat as often as needed. If you have time – hate waste – and want an improved flavour, you can also put the broth in a pan and boil it down until only a thick sauce remains, then add it back to the crockpot.

In any case, you’re going to add 2 Tablespoons each of honey, Dijon mustard, and crème fraîche or sour cream to the now-reduced stew. You also add the mushrooms and the salt now. Start with 2 teaspoons of salt and taste to see if it’s enough.

By the time you’re ready to serve, the pork should be falling to bits and the exotic, creamy sweetness will be a perfect foil to the white rice.

Did I just say “perfect foil”? I must still be in Regency mode!

Speaking of books, you guys, my memoir has been on the front page of the bestsellers in Christian Inspiration this whole week. Yippee!

Please ignore the grimy walls under the windows. Our house is still in construction. Instead, feast your eyes on this plate of perfection.

A Shard In My Flesh

We were on a retreat this past weekend in Normandy, and the night before we left, I stepped on a piece of glass that came from a broken perfume bottle. I didn’t realize I cut myself right away, and when I did, I didn’t realise there was a piece of glass in my foot. I just noticed the cut, gave a quick wash and disinfect, then went on my merry way. By the middle of the next day, my foot was starting to hurt more and more but we were packing to leave, so I told my husband we’d need to bring some disinfectant and his Swiss army knife (for the magnifying glass and tweezers) and he would have to remove the glass. If, indeed, there was any.

Everything went according to plan, and I limped to dinner, and to the games, and we cut out early for the procedure. It was not pleasant, but I was determined, and when my husband asked for a pain number I lied and stuck to 2 or 3. After 15 minutes, I was happy to switch to a lying down position on the bed, with my foot propped up on a stool, to let the blood flow back into my head. At the end of 30 minutes, when my eyes started to roll back into my head, my husband deemed fit to call it a night and turn me over to the specialists.

It was the perfect place for this to happen, really. We were surrounded by church families who took our kids with them on the planned activities (laser tag and zip-lining) – activities we were too tired, burnt out, and old to sign them up for ourselves. People volunteered to take over our responsibility of teaching the kids during the morning classes, and we left for the emergency room, somber, but appreciative.

It was a 40 minute drive to the nearest hospital in Rouen, and the scenery was breathtaking. Rolling hills, rows of trees, black pavement with red flowers on the side, white cows grazing contentedly.

We decided to pray the ACTS prayer, which we had not done in years. In case you’ve not heard of it, it’s when you pray by Adoring God, then Confessing your sins, then giving Thanks, then Supplicating (putting your needs before God and asking him to meet them). We got through the first two before we arrived at the hospital and took our place in line, figuring that Thanksgiving would be a good place to pick back up again on our way home, with the unpleasant procedure safely behind us.

The ER is a vulnerable place, even when you have nothing serious. People come in on stretchers, and everyone present is the victim of some accident or unexpected illness, or is there to support a loved one. It’s not a reassuring place to be. You’re forced to face how fragile a creature you are, wrapped up in this “jar of clay”.

To make a long story short, four hours later I was seen by a plastic surgeon. The four shots of anaesthesia were the most painful part of the ordeal, but then I only felt a tugging rather than the cutting. Finally, there it was – a small shard for a rather big ordeal – embedded in the foot at an angle that couldn’t be retrieved without a small surgery.

The tetanus test revealed I had no antibodies left, so I needed a shot, and I got my prescription for antibiotics. We managed to squeak into a brasserie at 2:30 just before they closed for lunch, and had an exceptional lunch – tête à tête – with creamy chicken and foie gras salad, and artisanal anise-flavoured sorbet for dessert. (Yes, it really was good. They put lemon zest and mint leaves and berries). We got back to the retreat in time for some fellowship and dinner, and our kids returned, radiant to have had so much fun at their activities (and to have their mom back).

When Matthieu was trying to extract the glass, I prayed to God for him to be able to remove it. I was willing to endure the pain if only this foreign object could be removed from my body. I remembered the scripture:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ (2 Corinthians 12:7b-9a)

Like Paul, three times I pleaded for the Lord to take it out of me, but he said no. And I wonder if I would have thought of antibiotics and tetanus shots myself if my husband had been able to retrieve it, or if I would have sprayed some disinfectant and called it a day. Having faith in God, I’m confident his no was for my benefit. Whether it was to spare me later infection, I have no idea.

I tried to imagine what sort of spiritual parallel could be in play that would take a shard in my flesh to pull me out of fellowship. Why did we have to spend an entire day of a very short retreat on our own and away from the classes and fellowship. I mean, I suppose you don’t have to look far. A little conceit and you’re no longer enjoying the nourishment of the Word, and the benefits of fellowship.

But I don’t think it was that.

I think, more than anything, sometimes we cannot remove a particular thorn from our flesh by our own strength and skill. We want to stop doing destructive behaviour and need a master surgeon to perform the job.

My husband had a good conversation with someone the next day. It was a tough conversation – a challenging one. This brother is sort of a John the Baptist type of guy – hard-line on sin, radical in his faith, and living on the edge. Out of the many things they spoke about, this guy said we shouldn’t always pray to add on to what we already have. We tend to do this. We tend to pray for things. But he said we should instead pray for God to remove the things we don’t need. Like the grape-grower, who cuts off branches from the vine which bear no fruit, we should pray for God to remove the dry, withered branches in us, which keep us from being fruitful.

When Matthieu recounted the conversation, I was not a fan of the revelation. I’m all for challenging conversations, but I couldn’t help but think that asking God to remove what we don’t need is counterproductive. God will remove what we don’t need. He will prune us – because he loves us!

But … if we ask for it, it’s a little like navel-gazing. It’s focusing on the wrong things. It’s focusing on our own sin, weaknesses, and decayed parts instead of God. I did a global search on the Bible using the words “remove”, followed by “cut” and didn’t come up with anything that seems like this is something we should pray for. Rather, I found that we should cut off what we know to be unlike Jesus, and trust that God will cut off what we cannot see.

Isn’t it more productive to focus on wonderful, praiseworthy things, like God’s beauty and holiness, and all the ways he can build us up to make us more like Jesus and bring us to completion?

Plus, I reasoned, I’ve had enough cutting for now. As if my minor foot surgery were not enough, we still have a massive hole cut out of our living room wall as the work stalls and stalls, and we have to live with the October chill until they can put in a furnace. I would much rather pray that God sends his Spirit through our withered branches and bring them to life again. In fact, that’s exactly what I did pray that night with Matthieu to battle the anxiety we’re both feeling about stalled construction, health issues, minor car accidents, insurance problems, a surcharge of work and demands we’re unable to meet …

So I prayed: God, send your Spirit to flow through our withered branches. Send your source to bring our vines to life. Bring forth buds and blossoms where there were once dead leaves. Let your Spirit touch all the areas of our life that have laid dormant. Restore to us the joy of your salvation.

As I was typing this, my husband came home and said he got a call from Jesus (that’s our carpenter’s name), and that the plumber would be coming tomorrow to start installing the pipes and the new heater. I also got through to someone (who was friendly! and helpful!) about an insurance problem. It seems the Spirit is flowing through the vines and bringing buds where there were once only withered branches.

I don’t know why the shard of glass. I certainly have other thorns in my flesh in the metaphorical sense, which bring their share of frustration. I have my share of conceit. I just know that when God removes the shards, it’s done in his perfect timing, with perfect precision, and the only after-effect of the surgery is thorough healing, which makes us whole again.

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