The Perfect Centerpiece

By Rhonda Rhea –

There’s hardly anything I enjoy more than a good meal. That’s probably why I don’t cook much.

I guess that’s also why I love, love, love whoever it was who invented the marvelous, miraculous…frozen dinner. What a genius! I owe this person. Everyone talks about those fancy ice sculptures. But me? A frozen family-sized lasagna is a thing of beauty to me. There’s a centerpiece you can sink your teeth into!

Those frozen masterpieces not only rescue those of us who are oven-challenged, but they’re also great for helping with that “what to have for dinner” decision. Anytime I’ve stared blankly into the pantry for more than a few minutes and still can’t decide, I head straight for the freezer. I open that magic door and find, oh glorious day, someone has already decided! Other times when I’m having a bad grocery day and there aren’t enough ingredients in there to put together anything besides a pickle-loaf/noodle/Dorito casserole, I check that freezer—and dinner is done! Some days I just plain don’t want to spend an hour in the kitchen. No problem. In the freezer, dinner is already done! If they made it any easier they would be digesting it for me.

I’m embarrassed to admit how much I depend on my freezer for dinner (though, for the record, I do try to make sure I do all my own digesting). And working in exquisite harmony with my freezer, I can’t forget my microwave. My beautiful, beautiful microwave. We’ve never needed a dinner bell. The beep of the microwave signals everyone that dinner is ready. That beep has become music to my ears.

Seriously, even sweeter music to my ears? The sweet, sweet song of salvation! Our redemption is all about and all through Jesus. When He paid our sin debt on the cross, it was finished. In Jesus, it’s already done!

Just take a look at how the Amplified Bible expresses Hebrews 7:25:  “Therefore He is able also to save to the uttermost (completely, perfectly, finally, and for all time and eternity) those who come to God through Him, since He is always living to make petition to God and intercede with Him and intervene for them.” We might even think of it as a “centerpiece” kind of life, bringing His perfect “peace” to our very “center.”

Jesus saves to the uttermost. Completely and perfectly. Finally and eternally. Sound the beautiful beep, it’s done! He had already decided before the foundation of the world to redeem His children back to himself. And what He decides to do, He does. We don’t have to stew over our redemption. We only have to accept it and live it out.

But speaking of stew, I just heard the microwave sound the dinner bell. It’s playing my song. Though just in case you think I never fix anything at all that’s not frozen, you should know I also make a mean Italian sauce. Never frozen. … It’s from a jar.

Super-Mom Strikes Again!

By Kathi Macias –

Each May, as Mother’s Day approaches, I realize how amazing it is that my children lived to grow up. Super-Mom I wasn’t, though I wanted to be. It seemed the harder I tried, the more I failed.

One day in particular stands out in my mind. It was one of those days when life gets too busy to worry about achieving goals. (Are you relating yet?) In fact, it was all I could do to remember to brush my teeth in the morning and put gas in the car before leaving for town. As it turned out, I remembered my teeth but forgot the gas.

It was also my day to volunteer at the pre-school where my youngest son, Chris, attended. As a result, we were late, since the Auto Club was backed up on emergency calls that took priority over an unorganized mother and an upset three-year-old waiting on the side of the road.

“Mom, let’s go,” Chris whined, his as yet undiagnosed ADHD kicking in as he bounced on the backseat. “I want to go to school, Mom! Mom, let’s go! Mom!”

Minutes before my head exploded, the cavalry showed up, and in a matter of minutes we were back on the road and racing to our destination—which was not a good idea because we had to pull over again, due to the flashing red lights and wailing siren immediately behind us.

By the time we finally arrived, Chris had missed snack time and was not a happy camper—nor were the two ladies trying to ride herd on twenty-three spinning, squealing pre-schoolers. Chris, already in his spinning, squealing mode, jumped right into the fray.

“Where have you been?” Jeannie, the other volunteer, demanded. “We really needed you. We have extra kids today—”

“I’m sorry,” I said, haphazardly hanging my jacket on the already-full coat closet hooks. It slipped right off, but before I could pick it up and try again, Jeannie grabbed my arm and said, “Come on. We’ve got to settle them down for story time.” We began to peel kids off the ceiling and walls and nudge them toward the story circle where we hoped they would sit quietly and listen for ten or fifteen minutes.

Miss McDougal, the actual teacher of these pint-sized tornadoes, joined us. “It’s like trying to organize a bunch of earthworms, isn’t it?” she asked. I grunted, unable to say more as I made my way to the circle, a child attached to each hand and one wrapped around my leg. The worst of the shrieking seemed to be coming from one last rebel in the far corner who refused to join the group until he got his snack.

Of course, it was Chris. I sighed, resisting the impulse to abandon the majority of the group that had finally assembled in the circle and instead go drag my child by the scruff of the neck to his proper place and insist he settle down and behave. Wisely, I allowed Jeannie to coax him over with an orange slice and a promise of more when story time was over.

Not only was I failing as Super-Mom, I barely qualified as an acceptable human being. But though my son glared across the circle at me throughout story time, wordlessly accusing me of starving him to death, he now tells me I was the best mom ever.

Go figure. It took me a lot of years (decades even!) to realize that being a Super-Mom was less about baking and icing 100 cupcakes on an hour’s notice and more about loving my kids the best I could—and trusting God for all the rest. If that’s where you’re at as a mom today, then be encouraged. One day your children really will “rise up and call [you] blessed” (Proverbs 31:28).

Adapted from the book How Can I Run a Tight Ship when I’m Surrounded by Loose Cannons? by Kathi Macias

Handle with Care

By Emily Parke Chase –

What college student does not delight to open up his or her mailbox and find a request to pick up a package at the desk?  Thus I bounced from my mailbox to the counter, and the woman in charge handed me a small brown carton swathed in tape.

This was the first and only time in all my years at college in Ithaca, New York that I had received a care package from my home in Arizona.  I eagerly tore off the wrapping to reveal…a box of candied apricots.  Apricots? My pleasure in receiving a package turned to confusion. What was my mother thinking?  But here in my hands was a tray of shiny apricots, each glazed with a thick sugar syrup coating.

My friends had received stranger gifts from home.  My roommate’s mother once sent an envelope full of little packages of ketchup and mustard that she had picked up with her order at a fast food restaurant.   Perhaps she thought we would find them handy in our campus residence hall?  And we might have used them but she forgot to write “hand cancel” on the envelope, so they went through the automatic cancellation process. The machine pressed the contents flatter than the postage stamp.  Red and yellow stains obliterated all but the address.

Another thoughtful mother mailed an Easter basket.  She went to her local K-mart and picked out a large basket filled with chocolate bunnies, plastic grass and marshmallow eggs, all wrapped in single sheet of cellophane.  She tied a tag to the handle and dropped in in the mail.  I can only imagine that the postal service accepted it as a challenge.  In my mind’s eye I see each carrier setting the basket on the seat next to him in the truck, handing it gently to the next person, and the final mail carrier delivering it in triumph to our dorm.  Not a jelly bean was jostled out of place.

Still, as I looked at the strange gift in my hands, I wondered what had prompted my mother to send this package of fruit.  I did what any intelligent Ivy-League student would do.  I called home.

“Hi, Mom.  I got your package today.”

My mother chuckled, thus confirming my suspicion that a story lurked under that sickly sweet glaze.

“Your brother just moved out of his apartment in California.”

I knew my brother was leaving the country for a year.  He was driving across the country before taking a flight to Greece, and was stopping to see relatives along the way, including my folks in Phoenix.  Mom explained that he found the apricots at the back of a cupboard in his kitchen, and rather than toss them, gave them to her.  She didn’t know what to do with them and so she mailed them to me.

With a saccharine smile, I thanked her for thinking of me and hung up the phone.  Unlike her, I knew exactly what to do with these super-sweet fruit-flavored sugar cubes.

My brother was due to arrive in Ithaca the next week.

“How sweet are your words to my taste, they are sweeter than candied apricots” (Psalm 119:103, paraphrased).

(Send all care packages to the author at emilychase.com and read about her books, including Help! My Family’s Messed Up!)

Persona Non Au Gratin

By Rhonda Rhea –

Do you know how glorious it is to speak at an event that’s directed by a thoughtful and gracious event coordinator? Those are the trips that are somewhere near heaven. Ah, to be chauffeured about, fed the best meals from the finest restaurants, then transported to a posh hotel, only to find a gorgeous gift basket already delivered to the room. Bubble bath waiting. Bed turned down. Mint on the pillow. It’s good to be queen.

Okay, no one knows as well as I do that I don’t deserve to be treated like a queen. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, does it?

You know when I truly realize I’ve been unduly treated like royalty? When I get home. It’s like a whiplash back into reality. One second I’m signing books and greeting the complimentary crowds, the next I’m walking in the door to kids who barely manage a deadpan, “Oh Mom, it’s you. I’m glad you’re home–‘cuz we’re out of bread. And somebody must’ve spilled a bunch of milk inside the fridge ‘cuz it smells really nasty in there.”

I’m suddenly “persona non au gratin”—no longer the big cheese. It’s so funny that I can go straight from the applause of a gracious audience to cleaning the cat box.

While I admit I love my short reigns as queen, I have to tell you that there’s something quite comfortable about coming home to bread-fetching, milk-mopping and cat-box-cleaning servitude. Living with an entire brigade of pride police really isn’t a bad thing.

Humility can be so tricky. Once you realize you have it, it’s probably a point of pride—and then it’s gone! The best way to stay humble is to stay focused on Christ, our example. We’re told in Philippians 2:5-8 to have his attitude. “Let this same attitude and purpose and humble mind be in you which was in Christ Jesus:  Let Him be your example in humility. Who, although being essentially one with God and in the form of God, possessing the fullness of the attributes which make God God, did not think this equality with God was a thing to be eagerly grasped or retained, But stripped Himself of all privileges and rightful dignity, so as to assume the guise of a servant (slave), in that He became like men and was born a human being. And after He had appeared in human form, He abased and humbled Himself still further and carried His obedience to the extreme of death, even the death of the cross!” (AMP)

Jesus was true royalty, not the temporary, speaking-event kind. He is rightly called the King of all kings. Yet this passage tells us that He didn’t hang on to those rights as royalty. He pushed them aside on our behalf and took on servant status. Imagine leaving the splendor of a Heaven beyond any five star hotel we can picture to serve and to unselfishly give His life.

I really do want to be like Him. I want to humbly serve before any crowd. And I want to humbly serve as I load my shopping cart with four gallons of milk. The Message phrases Proverbs 15:33b this way: “First you learn humility, then you experience glory.” By His grace, there’s glory before the crowds. I truly believe that in humble surrender, by His grace, there’s glory in the cat box too.

Rhonda Rhea is a radio personality, conference speaker, humor columnist and author of eight books, including High Heels in High Places and the newest, soon-to-be-released, How Many Light Bulbs Does It Take to Change a Person? You can find out more at www.RhondaRhea.com.

My Spring Has Definitely Sprung

By Kathi Macias –

The arrival of Spring brings with it all sorts of images of fragrant flowers, chirping birds, new green grass, and colorful Easter outfits. As a result, Spring has always been my favorite time of year, especially as I anticipated the arrival of Summer right behind it—picnics, cook-outs, trips to the beach…

Uh oh. Now I remember why Spring used to be my favorite season. Now? Not so much. Of course I still love baby chicks and newborn calves and all those great signs of new life, but trips to the beach? That type of outing at my age makes me wish for the long-ago days when women wore bathing suits that pretty much covered everything—and it also reminds me that my spring has definitely sprung.

Okay, I know enough not to buy a bikini or a two-piece, but even sliding into a modest one-piece is more of a shove these days than a slide. I’ve tried to make peace with where I am in life—and most of the time it works—but then the warm weather arrives and there I am, caught between draping myself in a muumuu and hiding under an umbrella or facing the ugly truth that cellulite is not my friend!

Yeah, I know. I’m a grandma (many times over), so what’s the big deal? Still, I love the beach. I grew up in a beach town and went there every chance I got. It’s part of my history, my makeup, my personality, and somewhere deep inside, that young girl who grew up at the seaside thinks she hasn’t changed. Nothing like a forced bathing suit day to bust that bubble!

Now admittedly, Spring isn’t Summer, so I still have a little time to do something about the approaching beach days. Yeah, right. How many times have I set out to conquer that challenge? Diets? No problem. I do great—very disciplined—for two or three days at least. Exercise? Slightly less. Consequently I end up looking just as much like the Pillsbury Dough Boy in a bathing suit as I did before trying to lose weight, but now I have the added guilt and sense of failure to weigh me down even more.

Is anyone feeling sorry for me yet? Maybe a few. But I imagine a lot more are commiserating with me and saying, “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean! I go through the same thing every spring when I come out of my own winter hibernation.” (The only difference between us and bears is that they spend the winter sleeping, while we just keep inhaling more chocolate!)

I wish I had an easy answer for you, but I haven’t found one yet. Some diets and exercise programs work better than others, but most fall by the wayside sooner or later. And the years just keep sapping our metabolism and enticing us to let go and enjoy whatever food comes our way.

Maybe that’s okay, though I imagine I’ll keep putting up at least some semblance of a fight to keep from going over the I’ll-never-wear-a-bathing-suit-again edge. But the only thing that really puts things into perspective for me is a quote from the late E.V. Hill, who was famous for saying, “This ain’t it!” And aren’t we glad? If our life in this world was “it,” then look around you, folks. What you see is as good as “it” gets—and that’s a depressing thought, cellulite notwithstanding.

But this world is just a blink in eternity, our physical life a vapor ready to vanish on the first puff of wind. How we look in a bathing suit when we die is not even going to be a consideration when we stand before the Judge of the Universe. The only thing that will matter then is whether or not Jesus is our Advocate, our Lawyer, our only Defense against our defenseless behavior. For none of us will make it past that Judge on our own merits; we can only hide under the shadow of the Almighty’s wing, grateful for the mercy that covers us.

And that’s the real issue, isn’t it? It’s not about what’s uncovered when we’re exposed in a bathing suit, but rather what’s covered by the blood of God’s Son—and that means ALL our sins. We can stand before Him unashamed because He covers us in His perfect righteousness.

Thanks for the reminder, E.V. This surely “ain’t it!”

Kathi Macias (www.kathimacias.com; www.thetitus2women.com) is an award-winning author of more than 30 books, including her upcoming April release, People of the Book, the final installment of the Extreme Devotion series from New Hope Publishers.

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