Happy Fat Tuesday!

Happy Fat Tuesday!
This is turning into a holiday blog, which was not the intent. I thought I’d be on here every few days or so, BUT, life is so grand!
Thanks for all your payers. Keep them going, we are really seeing business pick up, and although we did not accept the spot at the Winter Farmer’s Market in Brattleboro, it felt good to be able to say, “No thanks, that just doesn’t fit with where we are going.”
It seemed to be a lovely venue, and of course, we will be supporting the locals in every way possible, just not the right fit for us.
Okay, Fat Tuesday? What’s this?  It is the day before the season of Lent begins, a day of indulging before the 40 days of Lenten Observance. This is not something I personally adhere to, but any excuse to make donuts.
So, today, to bring smiles to all those I hold so dear at the little School our daughter attends, I brought in fresh beignet. Gorgeous!
Delicate little puffs of eggy, fluffy goodness drizzled with glaze.
Hey, if you’re going to be up at 3a.m., make it worth it, right? Wait ‘til you see these photos!
We did have a film made so you all could take a look into our kitchen. We also had a photographer come in, to take some photos. All the set up takes time. The next thing we need to barter for is web design help… I think I’m Steve Jobs when I can change the font without getting my 6th grader involved.
The flour blends and mixes are taking off like crazy. It is so fun to drop the samples in the mail, or at a co op, knowing it will bless someone to have something they’d have thought impossible.
Okay, here’s the real stuff. I am really seeing the Hand of God in my life of late.
Ever had one of those seasons when everything you hear or see, on the radio, in conversation, on billboards, seems like a beckoning from somewhere, pulling you into some new awareness.
In the past few years, my husband and I have been seeing our relationship with each other and with God solidify, reach levels we’d never have thought possible.
A year ago, when we went through one of those time splitting events, where nothing is quite the same again and you begin to measure time against it. We sat stunned, totally at peace, even while steeping in the adrenaline and chaos of the E.R.
Although unable to verbalize any of this, in the moment, simply making eye contact confirmed we were feeling the same thing. A deep inexplicable calm.
We had arrived! We were friends of God! We brought Him with us into that hospital and the joy spilled out onto everyone. We were absolutely effervescent. It was a delicious place to be, cradled in the womb of His perfect love in the midst of the unknown.
Oh, silly sophomoric woman.
The year following ‘the big event’ has repeatedly brought me to my knees, and my husband to his. It seems as though our Loving Father has tugged gently, albeit insistently, on the things to which I cling while claiming Him alone as my hope and salvation.
Take a minute to read here: http://www.motivateus.com/stories/pearls.htm… you may need to cut and paste… really needing that web help.
Perhaps, you have heard variations of this, maybe too may times, but for me, there is a never ending strand of junk I deem shiny, or pretty, or I think earns me a higher status in my social circle, but it is really just more junk to keep my hands full, unable to receive the genuine pearls He holds, tenderly, insistently asking me to give all to Love Him, not knowing what he will fill my emptied heart and hands with, but trusting His perfect plan.
I think of my sacrifice and pain, as so great, the loss of financial security, a dear friend dying suddenly, the pain of living in an imperfect body with so much healing still to do, people unexpectedly lashing out, wounding, disappointing…
Where is my comfort, who is my shelter, my haven in times of despair?
About 15 years ago, I realized I was living within the walls of fears, which may have served me at one time, but had become the core beliefs now holding me in a small life. You know what I’m talking about, I’m sure.
The process, once begun became a life journey, as one by one, or sometimes, section by section, I have been able to separate belief from reality, necessity from preference, leaving me, always, with a sense of bewilderment, baffled at how strongly I held to a given paradigm, and how tenderly, or eek, suddenly, blinders are lifted, letting the light come in, illuminating the freedom available as an alternative to my white knuckled tendencies.
Back to a decade and a half ago… I was terrified of several things; snakes and heights topped the list, though as most annoying. These had bumped up into the realm of phobias. So, I partnered up with a crazy rock climber, who refused to take my fear of heights seriously. It was like someone looked under the bed and said, “Nope, no boogie man here!” with a bit of an eye roll. Without giving me the chance to rethink my decision to beat this once and for all, a team of experts began strapping a harness, rope and carabineer to me, giving my stunned brain the bare essential instructions and safety precautions.
Before I could fully conceive of what I was about to do, I was scrambling my circa 1990’s spandex clad rump up a 40-50 ft wall. This was the girl who couldn’t stand a stool (no exaggeration), grabbing, stepping, and pulling myself up the wall. Terrified, but to the point of exhilaration, not petrification.
  I never froze up.
I just kept going.
That was my only job my ‘coach’ kept reminding me, he was, after all, on belay, if something gave out, or I missed a step, he would be ready to slow my fall, cushion me, keep me from real harm.
Now, watching the real life scaries rear their heads, the big and little tragedies and what if’s of life that can freeze me to the spot, am I going to relax, knowing He’s on belay? Will I just keep moving forward? -Know the fear is there and just look for the next grab or hold?
Isn’t this the key?
My friend who died last week, I still have books I borrowed from her years ago, always encouraged me to write, although she was quite brilliant, published, and in a writer’s group, she reached out to me, nudged me toward letting the music out.
If it weren’t for her, I’d not be writing. If not for her courage, I may not be doing any of what I do. Courage truly is contagious. Let yours spill onto someone today. You never know whose life it will change.
Thank you JDM. You were a mother to so many hurting souls even as your heart broke daily. You will be missed.