Once Upon a Time

It's no secret that I am a sucker for fairy tales. My favorite fairy tale of all times is Cinderella. I remember seeing the movie for the first time; when she sang "If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true" it resonated deeply with me even though I was just a little girl. From then on, I was a Cinderella fanatic.

My office is chock-full of Cinderella memorabilia, our wedding was Cinderella-themed and it's not unusual to hear me humming Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo. In fact, for Christmas my dad gave me a hand-crafted leather Bible cover with Cinderella on the front. It was made just for me by an inmate at the prison. (that's another story for another post) As much as I love Cinderella, though, I have to say that I was kind of disappointed when I saw that my mom and sister also got Bible covers but theirs were decorated with beautiful crosses and a Bible verse. I thought my Bible cover looked superficial and trite compared to theirs.

But then I found this verse:

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. James 1:12

Well isn't that just the perfect verse for Cinderella? She lost her mother without ever knowing her. Then her father died. And then endured jeering, teasing, and underserved punishment by her "evil" step-mother and step-sisters. She did it all with a smile and a song. In the end, she got the prince, a tiara and the happily ever after we all desire.

She was called Cinderella because, though the Disney version leaves this part out, she tended the fire, slept among the cinders, and was covered in ashes. Made me think of the Steven Curtis Chapman song:

Out of these ashes... beauty will rise

For we know, joy is coming in the morning...
in the morning, beauty will rise

This revelation really made me consider my Bible cover differently. Then just a few days ago, as I was closing my Bible, I realized that the Cinderella story is the classic example of a...yep, you guessed it, a transplant!


She was a rich baron's daughter who was transplanted into servanthood/slavery and then transplanted into the castle where she married her prince.

Tears literally filled my eyes as I realized that the childhood story I've clung to my entire life has been so much more. It's been a subtle message from God. We are all children of the Most High King. We are enslaved by our sin. But one day, the Prince of Peace will come and take us home to our castle in the sky. That's so much better than some silly glass slipper.

And I love my Bible cover more than ever now.

Transplantable

trans·plant   /v. trænsˈplænt, -ˈplɑnt; n. ˈtrænsˌplænt, -ˌplɑnt/

–verb (used with object)

1. to remove (a plant) from one place and plant it in another.

2. Surgery . to transfer (an organ, tissue, etc.) from one part of the body to another or from one person or animal to another.

3. to move from one place to another.

4. to bring (a family, colony, etc.) from one country, region, etc., to another for settlement; relocate.

–verb (used without object)

5. to undergo or accept transplanting: to transplant easily.

–noun

6. the act or process of transplanting.

7. a plant, organ, person, etc., that has been transplanted.


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Origin:

1400–50; late Middle English < Late Latin trānsplantāre, equivalent to Latin trāns- trans- + plantāre to plant



—Related forms

trans·plant·a·ble, adjective   This variation of transplant is particularly interesting to me. It indicates that not all things are able or willing to be transplanted. My plumeria, for example, was transplanted each year and this contributed to its growth because it needed more space for its roots in a bigger pot.  But some plants like the desertbells flower is not transplantable. It won't survive. This makes me wonder about our transplantability. I believe we are all transplantable. God does it to help us grow and thrive. However, sometimes our transplanting leads to a temporary period of non-growth, suffering or wilting. And then it begs the next question, if we resist transplanting by refusing to take a new job, move to a new place, serve in a new ministry do we become non-transplantable? I mean to ask you this, are you transplantable? Are you allowing God to transplant, prune and shape you for future growth?

trans·plan·ta·tion, noun

trans·plant·er, noun

re·trans·plant, verb (used with object)

re·trans·plan·ta·tion, noun

un·trans·plant·ed, adjective

There's a New Rose in My Garden

No. I am not pregnant.

Scott started his new job last week. He spent the first week away in Missouri at training. And now he is almost done with his second week.

The thing is, he now works from home.

This transplanting of my husband from his out-of-the-house office to his in-our-house office has been an adjustment for both of us. To say the least it has been an adjustment. One to which we are still adjusting.

Monday was a crazy day because I had to run him to Mandan to get his new work van. Being that it's been stored outside for three months, it was buried in several feet of snow. We were told to to come back when they'd released it from its snow trap. The day was all chopped up, but we rolled with it.

Tuesday he began conducting inventory of his van. Most of the inventory ended up on my dining room table. I'm a "place for everything and everything in its place" kind of gal, so this put me off-kilter despite his warnings that he'd made a mess in the house when I got home from story time with Gracey.

Wednesday he had to go to one of the branches he services for part of the day and did so after clearing out my dining room. I was grateful to him for doing so.

Today we have managed to stay out from under each other's feet, so I think we're finding our stride.

Now if only he'd remember this new office building of his does not come equipped with a separate men's room, so it would be much appreciated if he'd put the seat down when he's done. :)

Saul: From Donkey to Crown

1 Samuel 9-10 tell the story of Saul, a Benjaminite man who "stood a head above the rest" of Israel, who at the time, was crying out for a king so they could be like other nations. 1 Samuel 9 dawns with Saul being sent out to look for his father's lost donkeys. But when he doesn't find them, he and his servant set out to find the prophet Samuel so they might be told where to go next. God has already told Samuel that He will show him who the king of Israel will be and when Samuel sees Saul, God says, "This is the man I told you about." By the end of chapter 10, Saul has been crowned king.

Within 2 short chapters of the Old Testament, this young man goes from searching for lost donkeys to becoming king of Israel. Talk about a career change. Talk about a major transplanting.

When Saul set out that day to search for the donkeys he had no idea he would end up king. His story is not unlike that of Moses, Joseph or David. All are physical transplants, being moved from one place to another, from one purpose to another, from one occupation to another. And none of the ever suspect it until God acts.

The moral of this transplant story: Sometimes God surprises us with a crown when we were looking for lost livestock.

P.S. Does anyone think it's a coincidence that hundreds of years later the King of Kings chooses a donkey to ride into Jerusalem? I don't.

Transplants

How did I get here? It's a question we ask many times whether it's about our home, job, marriage, financial status or even some sort of mess. How did I get here, God? I've asked it of myself again and again.

During the long(er) winters of North Dakota, I ask myself this question even more. And sometimes I chuckle. If I, through some sort of time-travel device, go back and tell my younger self that I would one day be a stay-at-home mom who sells Avon and lives in rural Bismarck, I would have certainly questioned my own sanity. Surely I always planned on getting married, having kids and doing something I loved. But Avon was for old ladies and North Dakota was farmland in the middle of the country where my grandparents' funny-talking relatives lived.

The road between that Kristy and this Kristy has been a long one. But to answer the question, "How did I get here?" I will say this: God transplanted me.

Sometimes God transplants us in order to accomplish the work He has set forth for us to do. By doing this, He draws us closer to Him and, through us, brings glory to Himself. And, if we were not transplanted, or somehow resist the transplanting, perhaps we'd miss out on bringing Him glory the way He intended? Maybe we would never accomplish the work He set forth?

The Bible is full of transplants. A few notable transplants to think about:

• Jesus: He left heaven, came to earth as a man to sacrifice Himself so we could all be saved.
• Disciples: They left their homes, jobs and families to follow Jesus.
• Moses: Set into the Nile in a basket, he ended up in Pharoah's household and then fled Egypt only to return to set the Hebrews free.
• Hebrews/Israelites: If you read the Pentateuch (the first 5 books of the Bible), you will see that this group of people were transplanted time after time, most obviously into Egypt, then out of Egypt then into the desert and finally into the Promised Land.

Transplants and transplanting has been rolling around in my head for five years, ever since we left the only home we ever knew and came to Bismarck. I know that God transplants all of us, to varying degrees. Do you want to know more? Can you think of other transplants in the Bible? What's your transplant story?

Best Half of the Year

Yesterday when I opened the refrigerator to retrieve the homegrown cucumbers and zucchini for refrigerator pickles and chocolate chip zucchini cake respectively, I was struck by the beauty of my fridge. Pitchers of iced tea on the top shelves, cucumber salad on the middle shelf and a veggie drawer full of cukes, zukes and yellow squash. This was my reminder that summer is coming to a wistful end and autumn is teasing us.

August to January is undoubtedly my favorite time of year though I hate saying goodbye to the heat and sending Adam back to school. I can still wear flip-flops and go sockless for several more weeks, my kitchen is cranking out wholesome goodness, the air is crisp and the world explodes in golden colors almost overnight. I love hearing the geese honk overhead and smelling bonfires in the air.

Toward the end of the best half of the year comes my most favorite holiday(s): Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Thanksgiving is more provincial since we moved to ND. We used to have huge celebrations of extended family, friends and orphaned acquantices of 40 people or more. The first Thanksgiving I ever hosted in my own home had 42 guests. Most years we'd all meet up in Hawai'i but in recent history it was just a fun-themed (think Mardi Gras in November) party. Now our T-days are more subdued. Though we've had visitors from CA a few times, as we will this year, mostly it's just the 8 of us. I've had to cut back on the number of desserts I make from 2 pumpkin pies, 2 pecan pies, 1 cheesecake, 1 chocolate something and 1 'show stopper' that usually conisided with our theme of the year to 1 pumpkin pie, 1 pecan pie and 1 something else. Pies don't hold much challenge, in my opinion, so I usually like to do something that stretches my baking abilities. No idea what it will be this year. I do miss all the hoopla but still love T-day.

Christmas has become an event unlike any other since we moved. We used to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas day going from one house to another, squeezing in our personal family time wherever we could. 5 separate celebrations along with traffic and family dynamics was just too much. Now we have a leisurely Christmas while still including all the family traditions we built over the years as individuals and as a family. It's two full days of good food, fun times, and reflecting on the true meaning of the holiday.

So I'm again happy to see the yellow-orange leaves waving at me in the breeze. It reminds me that we chose to live a slower life in a place where family reigns supreme.

What Is Wrong With This World?

In days gone by, the world was a nicer place to be. If someone held open a door, you said thank you. If someone gave you a gift or invited you to supper, you sent a thank you note. If you received a card or a letter, you wrote back.

Frankly that's how it still is in our house. The kids send thank-you notes (okay I write Gracey's but she colors on them) when they receive gifts. Sometimes they call the giver as well to say thank you. We say thank you to strangers who compliment us or help us somehow. Scott and I refuse to raise ungrateful people.

But the world around us is so ungrateful. Actually our culture has raised up an entire generation of young people who think they are entitled to life's perks. And parents everywhere are feeding this entitlement by buying every little thing their kid desires. It's sickening.

And this is more than just material entitlement and ungratefulness. Youth and young adults are expecting the rest of us to do more for them as if they are somehow worthy of slaves. And I can't believe the number of teenagers who don't even have jobs! What is going on in this world?

Adam told me the other day that he didn't want to have to do any work around the house like clearing the table after supper. I didn't get angry. I just said, "That's fine because I don't feel like cooking supper, making lunch, doing the laundry or keeping the house clean. I'll trade you." He got it. Every night since then he's thanked me for a delicious meal whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner.

I'm sorry world but I don't like you. I don't like what you're doing to kids. Clean up your act and learn some manners!