Dead Men Have No Rights

Do you ever have days you wish you could do-over?

Days when you've been grumpy and tired and snapping at everyone around you? Days when most of what comes out of your mouth you know you'll regret later? Days when you perfectly embody everything wrong with 1 Corinthians 13: 1-3 because you "have not love"?

Recently I had an entire weekend filled with those days. 

I was tired, I was grumpy, and I wanted nothing to do with people (teenage boys, in particular).  My answers were abrupt, my words were harsh, and my silences were pointed.  But the worst part about it was that I thought I was hiding it;  I was patting myself on the back for being able to mask my lousy attitude. 

Until Saturday night came and I watched a harsh answer completely crumble all of the work I had put into building a relationship with one of my boys. 

And then again on Sunday, when another student hesitantly approached me to asked what he had done to make me mad.

And even though apologies were made and forgiveness extended, I can't help but wonder what kind of lasting damage I've made in my relationships with the other 18 boys. 

I'd like to blame my grouchiness on stress or lack of sleep or even the fact that it's November, but the truth is that the blame lies solely with me.  The root cause of my discontentment was selfishness. I was annoyed when the boys complained, when they didn't say 'thank you', when they expected extra privileges, when they ignored my hard work.  I was tired of being ignored and presumed upon and taken advantage of.  I wanted to shout, "Look how hard I'm working! Look at all the things I've done for you!"

The funny (or sad) part of this whole thing is that my small group is currently reading a book that talks about becoming a person who loves well and the previous week's chapter was all about Christ's selfless love for us.  The author reminded us of the example of Christ humbly washing his disciples feet, and she encouraged us to carry around a "towel"--to constantly be prepared to humbly serve others.  But instead of filling a basin with soap and water or wrapping a towel around my waist, I had my feet propped up on the table, looking for someone to come wash my feet.

During our small group discussion of the Last Supper, one of my fellow RAs reminded us that as people who profess the name of Christ, we become dead men-- people who have died to their selfishness--and "dead men have no rights."  I had no right to expect a "thank you" for the lunch I prepared or a hug for driving out of my way to drop someone off at a birthday party or a "Best RA Ever" sticker for making 2 trips into town just so someone could spend an extra hour with their friends.  I had no right to expect that nap that I never got on Sunday afternoon.  I had no right to expect to be recognized and appreciated.

Never one to learn my lesson the first time, the Lord continued to convict my selfish heart on Sunday night with a little bit of hot chocolate.  The boys were all off hiking through the woods when I offered to selflessly make hot chocolate (from scratch, no less!) to warm them when they returned.  Full of self-righteous pride for how humbly I was serving these boys, I turned on the stove only to have them return from their adventure just as I was melting the chocolate.  One after the other, 20 boys came into the kitchen to ask if the hot cocoa was finished and by about the third boy I was ready to throw the chocolate on the floor and say "forget it."   Didn't they know that I was serving them? Didn't they know that I was a college-educated adult who had given up my friends and family to move halfway across the world to minister to them?
As I stood there fuming and throwing a temper tantrum, I was reminded of I Corinthians 13: 3 (NIV)  "If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but have not love, I gain nothing." So without love, this huge sacrifice of my time and my energy to serve these boys was little more than a handful of cocoa powder and some hot milk.  

I wish I could say that my attitude immediately improved and I didn't sigh meaningfully when the next boy asked if the cocoa was finished or start grumbling when I was left with the huge pot of leftover chocolate to clean, but I can't.  I still have quite a long ways to go before I begin washing feet.
So as much as I would like to tie this post up into a nice little "look at what I learned" ending, if nothing else I hope it encouraged you to learn from my failings, to live a life of love, to carry around a towel, so that your hot chocolate is more than lukewarm milk.  (How's that for some mixed metaphors?)

Carrot Cake (HBR style)

*disclaimer:  if you are just joining us, do not be fooled, I am NOT a food blogger.  If you're looking for good food and beautiful pictures, go visit Autumn at The Beanstalk or Deb at Smitten Kitchen*

Living in HBR (a dorm filled with high school boys) means lots of baking and in large quantities.  On the plus side, my math skills are improving as I am constantly doubling or tripling recipes; and converting my American recipes to the metric system has also provided a lot of mental gymnastics.  So the next time you need to feed 19 high school boys or a small country, I will gladly share my recipe (that I shamelessly stole) for Carrot Cake Recipe (HBR style).  I've already done all the math for you.  If you want to make a reasonable amount of cake, you can find the original recipe (with much better pictures) at Visual Heart .

Carrot Cake
serves: about 19 high school boys or 30 regular sized humans
prep time: allow for about 4 hours of prep time as you will be distracted by requests to open the staff office, find band-aids, turn on the washing machine, or just talk. If you are a hermit this might only take an hour.

Zest 2 oranges.  Realize that you have no idea what it means to "zest an orange" because all of your previous experiences with orange zest have been in a bottle.  Google "how to zest an orange".  Search the kitchen for a grater to zest said oranges.  Discover there is no grater.  Go beg a cheese grater off of your fellow RAs.

Zest and juice 2 oranges.

Amuse the high school boys by pretending that the oranges are actually sea anemones.

Wash and peel 20 (at least) carrots--because Germany doesn't particularly care what its produce looks like as long as it's still edible, the number of carrots may vary depending on what size (or shape) you find in the bag.

Discover that you have no idea how to work the food processor (or if it even works) so proceed to grate 7 1/2 cups of carrots by hand.  (Subtract about an hour of prep time if you have a working food processor).

Crack an entire carton of eggs, because eggs come in cartons of 10 in Germany and not by the dozen. Notice there are brown spots floating in the yolks.  Google "weird brown spots in eggs" to make sure they are not dangerous.  Learn that these spots are normal in brown eggs. Remain skeptical. 

Try to calculate how many times 1 1/4 cups of butter goes into 250g.  Give up.  Decide that a little extra butter never hurt anyone. Mix the entire package of butter and a quarter of another with the eggs. 

Lug your 5 lb. bag of brown sugar from the attic and measure out 5 cups. 

Spend 15 minutes looking for vanilla extract before remembering that it comes in a large, orange bottle instead of a brown, glass bottle. (If you know where your vanilla extract is, subtract 15 minutes from prep time).  Add 5 teaspoons. 

Mix in 5 cups of flour.  Realize that the baking powder and baking soda are in identical containers. Worry that you are going to mix them up.  Discover that you need 5 teaspoons of each so it doesn't really matter. Proceed with caution. 

Add 1 1/4 tsp salt, 2 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 1 1/4 tsp nutmeg.  Realize you forgot the nutmeg as you write a blog post about how to make carrot cake.  Come to the conclusion that the cake is now ruined.  Decide that cream cheese frosting covers a multitude of sins.  Add 2 1/2 tsp ginger (the original recipe says fresh ginger, but let's be honest, who actually grates their own ginger? not this kid).  Add 1/2ish tsp of clove (the ish is because you don't have time to find an 1/8 tsp). 

Stir in carrots, orange zest, and orange juice. Ignore the part of the recipe where it tells you to add nuts and raisins because  there are few things more disgusting to high school boys than walnuts and dried fruit.

Don't be alarmed if said high schools boys comment that the batter looks vomit.  It kind of does.  (Those of you with weak stomachs should probably not look at the next picture). 

Grease the large pan whose actually dimensions I am too lazy to measure.  (Adds up to about two 9x13 pans).  If you are working with a convection oven you can turn the oven to 155C.  If you don't have a convection oven, you probably should have preheated your oven to 350F before starting this recipe. Because of the power of the convection oven, cover cake with pan lid so the cake doesn't become a brick with squishy insides.  Bake 25 minutes. Remove lid. Bake 15 more minutes without lid. 

Make cream cheese frosting using 3 cartons of cream cheese (about 24 oz) because German cream cheese is much more watery than American cream cheese, 3 boxes (6 cups) of powdered sugar, 1/2ish cup of butter, 2 tsp vanilla extract.  Completely forget to take pictures of frosting-making process to erase the image of the puke batter. 

Here is the finished product.  And so despite it's vomitous beginning, the general consensus was that it was "okay". (If you're looking for rave reviews, you've come to the wrong blog.) 

My Home, My Heart, My Playground

Dear friends, 

I know it's been a while, but as per Kait's request, here's a small picture of a huge part of my life right now. 

This is the place where my heart lives. 

It's about to get kind of mushy all up in here; so if you're not a big fan of emotions, you should probably skip this post.

Well it's official.  I have fallen completely head over heels in love with 19 high school boys.  The guys who live in this dorm are sneaky rascals who have stolen my heart.  I'm usually pretty guarded with my heart, but within seconds of meeting these boys it was lost.  I still have trouble believing that I have the privilege of living with the smartest, handsome-est, most talented high school boys on the planet.   Don't believe me?  Let me tell you about them.

We have a boy who can read 5 languages. Most of which he taught himself.
Another student learned to speak English in one summer so that he could attend BFA.
We have guys who can play classical guitar and others who have taught themselves to play piano by ear. And guys who are fluent in sign language.  And they play soccer and bake cakes and woo women.

They're really quite impressive.

I wish I could bring you all here to meet them.  And we could bake cookies for their snacks, and fold their laundry, and pick them up from school, and listen to their daily adventures, and laugh at their jokes (whether or not they're funny), and share their secrets about girls, and fight with them to get to bed on time.  And it would all be a glorious adventure.

So it's true. I've given my heart away and I have no desire to ever get it back.

Have A Glorious Weekend

Well friends,
I'm off to Deutschland, so I won't be blogging for a few days.  Just in case you miss me, here are some beautiful photos by Jeff Luker. Auf Wiedersehen for now.

Ode to the Standard Vehicle

I'm not really a poet (I just pretended to be an English major), but my experience learning to drive a standard vehicle has caused me to turn to lyric verse.  So here is my rather sorry "Ode to the Standard Vehicle".


Oh, stick shift. How your terrify me,
With your various gears and pedals and noises.
"It's easy!" they say.
"Just practice." they say.
"Ha!" I laugh.
They overestimate my coordination
And underestimate my trepidation.
Every test drive is a work out.
My muscles tense, my hands clench, my stomach twists, my head spins.
Afterwards, I stretch to relieve the cramps.
Clutch, break, clutch, shift, gas. Repeat.
Jerk. Stall. Rumble. Screech.
I forgot to remove the hand brake.
Oh, standard car, you fill my dreams.
I toss and turn with visions of
Braking on a mountain
Stalling on the autobahn
Driving large white vans.
But one day, tiny white Mazda,
I will add you to my list of greatest accomplishments.
And there you will join the others:
Crossing the monkey-bars.
Tying my shoes.
Riding a bike.


Ladies and Gentlemen, the ferocious beast:

Have A Glorious Weekend

Strawberries, rhubarb, and a hike up a mountain. I'm in.

Happyolks | Camp Cobbler from Happyolks on Vimeo.

Surrounded by Beauty

Some days I am just overwhelmed with how God fills my life with beauty.

Like a beautiful sister who married a delightful man in a thoughtful, Christ-centered ceremony (followed by a happenin' party).

Or lovely friends who faithful pray for me and bless me with their encouragement and unwavering hope in Christ. 

Or the fresh produce that August continues to bring us.  The farmer's market this time of year is almost too good to be true and I have to be careful not to buy everything in sight. 

Or the majestic Niagara Falls that sits in my back yard.

Or a phone call from an old friend.  Or goofy lunch date with a favorite brother.  Or a garden full of flowers 

after a rain storm. 

Or the body of Christ as it has rallied around this ordinary girl who is incredibly humbled by their gifts, prayers, and encouragement.  Thank you, dear friends, for being the hands and feet of Jesus in my life.  

You are so beautiful.