Confessions of a Gnocchi Maker...

Excuse me whilst I go Italian for a minute. Yes, technically speaking I’m only 2% and still salty that 23 and Me did me over like that, but for the purposes of this blog I’m claiming it. My momma has been making homemade pasta my whole life. But one thing she has never tried to make was gnocchi because she never really cared for it. Clearly, this shows we are not of the same genes. Because I live for the stuff. So you can imagine how excited I was when I met a master crafter and learned how to make it for the first time. And no, I’m not talking about Giada de Larentis the Everyday Italian lady. We all know she’s an imposter. I mean really, who pronounces bruschetta that way? I’m talking a thoroughbred 100% pure (because 23 and Me hasn’t ruined her life yet) Italian Nonna (grandma). Enter Isabella Genezzi. I mean right? With a name like that she has to be authentic. I met her my first year in college. And let me tell you, this lady was as real as it got.  She scorned at the jarred pasta sauce isle. She was constantly singing. And I don’t remember not seeing her in a dust cloud of flour. She loved her family and the way she showed it was through her cooking. So, when she took me on as her protege and adopted granddaughter  I was through the moon. 

Now, I don’t know how much you know about making gnocchi but on paper it’s relatively easy. You cook some potatoes, mash them up. Mix them with a little flour and salt and make a dough, then roll and cut it into gnocchi. Easy peasy right? WRONG! It’s really quite persnickety. Undercook your potatoes and you get chunks. Overcook and they become so starchy they crystalize and you can’t mix them with the flour. Too much flour you’ll never get dumplings. Too little and you’ll never get it off the kitchen counter. Knead the dough not enough you get a tough pasta. Knead too much and you might as well call it pizza. Who knew right? I mean, Trader Joe’s sells them they can’t be that hard to make. 

I will never forget the very first day I helped her cook them. She threw flour on the mashed potatoes and told me they would make a dough. I thought, “There is no way this will work.” I think she could sense my doubts. She kept telling me “Fiducia nel processo. Trust the process”. Words easy enough to take to heart when you’re not the one kneading by hand. Ten minutes in, “Isabella are you sure?” “Fiducia nel processo.” Twenty minutes in, “I think I did something wrong.” “Fiducia nel processo.” Thirty minutes, “Isn’t it supposed to be dough yet? The food network people have dough by now.” “Fiducia nel processo.” “Isabella I’m not coming back here. My arms are killing me.” “Fiducia nel processo.” “Finally! We have a dough!” “Not done yet. Keep going. Fiducia nel processo.”

I was beginning to think she was just out to make fun of the poor Jewish/Irish girl who wanted a taste of culture when suddenly she came and poked my dough. I mean how rude. My beloved dough I had worked so hard to make. When it sprang back just a little she said, “There. All done” Great. Now we can make the pasta? “No. It must rest. One hour.” Honestly I thought this was just her excuse to sit down for an hour and drink a glass of wine, but I knew if I questioned her on it she would just tell me to “Fiducia nel processo.” I’ll say one thing, that is NOT what I wanted to do to the processo at this point. 

Low and behold though we let the dough rest, formed the gnocchi, dusted them in semolina flour, and let them rest again while she indulged in another glass of wine. I’m beginning to see why the Italians are such a relaxed people. And low and behold another hour of work, some sauce, and we had gnocchi. Believe me when I tell you it was the best I’d ever had and no matter how many times I try to recreate it, it never turns out the same. 

Now comes the fun part. That’s right, I am about to drop a spiritual application on some pasta. I learned a lot that day. We too, have a master crafter. And He is kneading us and forming us into who He wants us to be. Not who we pretend to be. Not who we try to make ourselves be. Not who our failures, past, and illnesses dictate we are. Not even who society thinks we are. Psalm 139:13 tells us that we were knit together in our mother’s womb. Psalm 119:73 says, “Your hands have made me and fashioned me; give me understanding to learn Your commandments.” We have a purpose. We have been made the way we were made for a reason. Sure, some of us are crystalized and beautiful.  Some of us are potatoes. Some of us are a little too salty. Some of us are rather bland. But we all hold a purpose in the Master Crafter’s plan. Some of us are nearly dough. Most of us are still very much in the kneading process. And it’s painful at times. We are being stretched beyond what we think we can bear. The pressure as we are pressed over and over is too much. Or we rip completely. And we think it is never going to end. For six years I was too depressed to function. For six years I laid in bed at my parents house feeling like a total and complete failure. I’d watch every dream I’d ever had die. I had a useless degree, nobody would hire me, I’d had crappy job after crappy job, I’d put all the weight I’d lost back on, I’d tried to go back to school and couldn’t get into the classes, then I’d finally chosen a career path and realized there was no way I was ever going to be able to live by myself and support myself with it. I’d said goodbye to my favorite city on earth, the ocean which was my solace, and the best friends still living in it. I had lost all hope. I would lay there and think “This is it. This is the best my life is going to get.” Every step forward led to two steps back. And then one day it changed. I hit submit to three toddler teacher job applications in Franklin Tn. Within a week I had them all scheduled for a New Years Eve interview, a flight booked, a car booked, and a hotel to stay. By the end of the week I had been given three offers on the spot, but had no place to live. And then twenty minutes before I’m about to leave for the airport when I have exhausted all measures God swoops in and saves the day. So I move. I leave everything behind, pack what I could fit in the back of my little nissan versa and drive 2000 miles too start my new life, sleeping on the living room floor for two weeks because amazon prime was a little late to the bed delivery game. And it hasn’t been the easiest route here either. There’s been lots of ups and lots of downs. But here I am, nearly thirty, working in the billing department of a commercial truck tire warehouse. I have a core group of girlfriends I met working a crappy daycare job and I now have more “older brothers” and "crazy uncles" then I know what to do with. And I’m sitting here on the other side of it just saying keep going. Yes, sometimes you will be completely destroyed. It’s okay to mourn the death of who you were and your dreams. But believe me when I say it ends. Sometimes its sooner. Sometimes its six years. But it ends. This to shall pass. One day you will look back on those memories again as happy memories instead of wanting to forget them. Anything we can turn to on this earth for comfort only numbs temporarily. But our God is a Healer. He is a God of restoration. He brings life back into what was dead and makes it beautiful. Its not the same old pot. It’s a totally new, re-formed creation.  We are constantly being made new. The Master keeps kneading. He never gives up. His arms never grow tired. And we never leave His hand. Even when we think we’re being a rebellious potato piece and try to jump ship. Even when we’re just a pile of flour and we say, “God, this will never be something good.” or “That will never happen.” He says, “Rachel, I am God. I know the finished product. Trust me. I AM FAITHFUL. Trust the Process.” 

“This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the Lord came to me. He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the Lord. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.” -Jeremiah 18:1-6

Confessions of a Pandemic...

Life is interesting at times, isn’t it folks? A month ago little did we know we’d all be asked to stay inside as a pandemic swept across the nation. Little did we know that toilet paper, the thing we used to throw on the trees of our enemies, would become a most precious commodity. That social distancing, a practice which I exercised of my own every single weekend, would become a sort of prison to millions. Life is totally and completely unpredictable at times. I have contemplated this a lot as I have lived through recent events.

I read back over old blogs written not so long ago. And they tell a very interesting story. They’re the story of a marine biologist turned jobless graduate. They’re the story of a girl who would do any and every job to survive and wonder if she was going to ever get out of her parent’s house. They are stories filled with life crumbling around her as she lost loved ones in horrific ways. They’re the story of a girl wanting nothing more than to hear from God and yet being faced with absolute silence. They are stories of regret. Regret in letting a friendship go that I should have fought more to protect, regret in not setting boundaries up more securely in another. Regret of not spending more time with someone. Regret in not maintaining the body I had fought so hard to get. Regret in not pursuing nursing.

Then came Nashville. Nashville was totally unexpected! It was a chance to spread my wings! It was a chance to make everything better. Only it wasn’t. At the end of the day I was still stuck in the same circle. Loving my coworkers and babies, but working a job I honestly hated and was miserable at. Stuck in a low income apartment with a 1 1/2 hour commute each way and still struggling to fit in with a church. But God, I questioned, did you forget Nashville was my fresh start? Things were not supposed to be how they were in California. I wasn’t supposed to be too depressed to function. I wasn’t supposed to be stuck in a dead end job I hated. I wasn’t supposed to be struggling to connect with people at church. I wasn’t supposed to still be burying the people i loved. Nashville was my turn around. Get with it God! Follow the game plan here! Good church, good job, good man, babies, nursing school. Thats how it was supposed to go! I grew frustrated. I’d read over and over “The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” (Exodus 14:14) and yet nothing changed. I tried. I tried to have the attitude of Shadrach, Meshack, and Abendigo before they were thrown into the furnace. “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” (Daniel 3:17-18). Still I grew frustrated at the fact that very little seemed to change. For years. I had endured endless pain for years. 

I have long pondered over the reason why the Jewish people chose to let Barabus go instead of Jesus. I know, sudden change of subject here, but bear with me.  I mean, he was a murderer. Were they idiots? Jesus was no threat to them. Why not free him? But then it suddenly dawned on me recently what Barabus actually represented. Control.  Just like the people of Israel asking for a king in the old testament, the people wanted a leader to help override their fear. In the Old Testament, they  were afraid of being attacked from other nations so they asked for a king. In Jerusalem, they  were afraid of being suppressed by the romans so they freed the zealot who had led murderous rebellions against the romans. It was their own solution to the Roman problems. And that’s where satan preys. He wants us to think our solutions are better than God’s. 

I can honestly tell you I do believe Nashville was a part of God’s plan all along. Not in the way I thought originally but its so interesting to look back even over the past two months. God knew. He knew coronavirus was coming and if I had gotten a job at SeaWorld I would now be unemployed. If I had pursued nursing I would be risking my life serving in Los Angeles county without proper medical equipment. He knew that I needed that first job here to be mom to a roomful of babies. He knew I needed to love them and be loved by them. That I needed to understand selfless love and endurance. He knew that it was time to leave that job and so he opened that door. He knew that a lady would be retiring and a company would be desperate for a biller because they were finally looking when they should had been doing it months before. He knew that the two people conducting the first interview were also former teachers who understood completely what it meant to feel like you weren’t called to it and the burnout that ensued, and thus were the only ones who understood wanting a complete career change. He knew this job would be essential. He knew I would get hired right before a pandemic struck shutting down virtually all hiring and yet would still be able to work 40 plus hours through it. He knew that a girl who had postponed for months on end getting new tires because she couldn’t afford it would go to work for a tire company where she could get new tires for an unbelievable price. He knew that this same girl needed a boss and coworkers who were not afraid to let her know that they were praying for her as she struggled to cram seven years worth of knowledge from the retiree into her head in a month. God knew. He knew what I needed all along. And no, this job and this current life I’m living is not without its frustrations. It’s not perfect. But He knows what’s next. Be it this is my forever job, or this is another stepping stone. 

This pandemic is scary. This pandemic is not without legitimate concerns for the economy and mental well being of our nation. I am concerned about the psychology of food scarcity. I’m concerned when I see empty grocery store shelves and people buying beyond what they need. I am concerned that there is something we are not being told. I am concerned about how quickly the virus spreads. I am concerned about the hysteria. I am concerned about being so far away from my parents who are both over 60. I am concerned because I still have to work in close proximity to people every day. I am concerned because I have seen a huge majority of selfish people who put their needs above anyone else’s. I am concerned about Italy. I am concerned about what this is going to do to us as a country economically. Business can’t afford to pay employees and not be making money because they are closed. Or people can’t afford to be out of work. And applying for disability or unemployment isn’t going to work because everybody will be doing it. I’m concerned we are headed for a greater recession than we saw in 2008. But most of all I am concerned spiritually. We are called to worship together in fellowship and community for a reason. Satan seeks to isolate us from others and from God. And yes, to an extent I understand why we must close churches, but I worry about those who will be facing a severe spiritual battle because of it. I’m concerned. But I’m not panicked. My God already knew this was going to happen before the first infection in China. And He knows how it’s going to end. And so I am left with only one conclusion: troubles will come. It will not be smooth sailing any more from here than it has been in the past. But God is faithful. God is faithful. I get it now. I heard the late Dr. Dave and Ruth Wood tell it to me my whole life. I questioned how they could live that truth with all the heartbreak they had endured. I get it now. So please, let me remind you of it today and pray we both remember it in the future when struggles come again. God is faithful. God is faithful. Nothing has happened nor will happen that our loving Father has not seen. GOD IS FAITHFUL. I hope that truth brings you peace tonight.

Confessions of a High Place...

*Creaks door open* *Steps inside dusting cobwebs* *Sees a roach* *Screams, panics, then gathers courage* Hello? Is anyone home? Helllooooooo? 

Hey folks. Listen, I know it’s been a while. And by a while I mean years. To say I’m not a consistent blogger is the understatement of the year. But give me some time to whip out the fabuloso and the lysol and we may have this place sparkling clean by the end of the week. It seems I have suddenly come upon more time to blog. And by more time to blog I mean unemployment. Now, lest you fret it was a choice I made not one that was thrust upon me. But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been teaching me some very important lessons in the process.

I’ve been studying a lot in 1 Kings. I know, whoo! Exhilarating really. Truth be told it’s not a book of the Bible that immediately has me captivated and jumping up and down for joy. But, that doesn’t make it any less important to study. Somebody important and famous once said that if you don’t learn from history you are doomed to repeat it. I don’t remember who said famous and important person was so you can understand how I barely passed history. However, I do consider these wise words to live by.

Speaking of wisdom, the life of Solomon has been of particular interest to me lately. I mean here was a king who had it all. Riches, wisdom, women, the favor of God. The guy had a really great start. However, like most of the kings you will read about, he didn’t end so well. What was his downfall? He worshipped at the high places (1 Kings 3:3-14).

In order to grasp the full concept of this though it’s first important to understand what high places were. Here I take some help from the Lysa Terkeurst “Trustworthy” study. Now again, not the best at history so I also say do your own research. But here’s what I’ve been able to gather. The high places were once of importance to God. It was a place for the jewish people to go and worship the one true God. However, when God called Soloman to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem, he also ordered the high places be destroyed. He knew based on their history that the Israelites had a pattern of falling into worship of idols. Spoiler alert, Soloman did not destroy the high places and that’s exactly what they became- idols. Now, why are such places important? Because they showed what the people truly revered. If you were infertile you would travel to the high place of fertility and pray for a child. If you were sick, desolate, etc etc. Whatever your attention was on so then was your affection. 

The high places were a place where the people who worshipped there thought they could force the outcome. All the fellow control freaks raise your hands! They would fast. They would pray. They would offer sacrifices. They would do whatever they could. But that’s exactly the problem. Their trust never left their own hands. 

Now, why do I bring this up? Well, remember how I was mentioning being unemployed? I’ve realized I’ve done the same thing as those people on the high places. I have pounded pavement, maxed out the number of applications on indeed, interviewed, networked, anything and everything I could. And then I pat myself on the back and say, “Well, that’s it; it’s up to God now.” But what would it look like if my trust in God wasn’t an afterthought? What would it look like if instead of saying “I’ve done what I can do,” it became “I’m going to trust You to do what You’re going to do, God.”?

The funny thing is, choosing the high places is choosing the hardest route. In Israel they are literally high places. It was quite a climb to trek up the mountains. In comparison, God ordered the temple be built on Mt. Moriah, literally the lowest mountain in the city. Isn’t that compassionate? He wanted to be so accessible to His people that He chose the smallest and most humble mountain to dwell. He wanted His people to have easy access to Him. 

Time to get back to Solomon. Not only did he not tear down the high places like he was commanded to do, but eventually he worshipped at them. He sought fame, fortune, women,  and political and economic status over the one true God. Because of this, part of the mount of olives was literally renamed the mount of corruption and Soloman’s life ended far more tragically than it had started. 

So, are those of us who have set up high places in our hearts doomed to the same fate? No! Look at the way Soloman’s father David repented and was considered a man after God’s own heart. Look at the thief on the cross who acknowledged Jesus as the Son of God. Look at Jesus Himself. He prayed in the garden at Gethsemane at the base of the mount before his crucifixion. He ascended into heaven on the mount of olives and the Bible tells us that He will one day return again! God has never abandoned the true purpose of that mountain! Zachariah 14:4 says, “On that day his feet will stand on the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem, and the Mount of Olives will be split in two from east to west, forming a great valley, with half of the mountain moving north and half moving south.” 

So what does this mean? Christ is the reversal. He will come again and return to God’s glory that which was defiled. Zachariah tells us that the mountain will split. A physical representation of the old, misplaced affections being cut off from Him and His glory. And if he can do it to a mountain of idolatry he can certainly do it to our own hearts. From the very beginning Christ has been and always will be the redeeming solution. 

Lord, tear down my high places and reverse what has been defiled. Help me to trust in You alone...