Have you discovered panko yet?  Panko is Japanese bread crumbs, an extra light variety that cooks up super-crunchy on things like crab cakes and shrimp.  They also cost more than regular bread crumbs, but in certain applications they are worth it.    On the other hand a chicken or veal Milanese needs a sturdier crumb to stand up to the lemony butter sauce, an oven fried pork chop needs melba toast crumbs that will cook to a crunch without burning in a high heat oven, and my favorite broccoli casserole needs the faint sweetness of a butter cracker crumb to really set it off.
            Although none of these dishes are the food of poverty, using the crumbs and crusts of food rather than tossing them out certainly grew out of the necessity of using whatever was at hand to feed hungry bellies for thousands of years, and now we all do it, even when there is plenty in the pantry.  Pies and cheesecakes with graham cracker crumb crusts, anyone?  Dressing to stuff your poultry?  Bread pudding on a cold winter night?  Streusel on that warm coffee cake in the morning?  Bread-infused peasant food has even shown up on gourmet cooking shows in the form of panzanella (salad) and ribolita (soup), both of which use chunks of stale bread to bolster their ability to satisfy appetites.
            That reminds me of a woman 2000 years ago who understood the value of leftovers.  Her little daughter was demon-possessed, so ill she could not travel, but her mother had heard of someone who might be able to help, who even then was in hiding from the crowds on the border of her country.  It took a lot for her to seek him out, first leaving her sick child in someone else’s care, then approaching this Jewish rabbi, a type who had either reviled or ignored her all her life; but a desperate mother will make any sacrifice to save her child.
            Sure enough, even though she addressed him by the Messianic title, “Son of David,” he answered her not a word, Matt 15:22,23.  Still she persisted, and this time she was insulted—he called her a dog.  Oh, he was nicer about it than most, using the Greek word for “little pet dog,” kunarion, rather than the epithet she usually heard from his kind--kuno, ownerless scavenging dogs that run wild in the streets, but still he made her inequality in his eyes obvious.
            This woman, though, was ready to accept his judgment of her, Even the dogs get the crumbs, sir.  Moreover, she understood that was all she needed.  This man, whose abilities she had heard of from afar, was more than just a man, and even the tiniest morsel of his power was enough to heal her child, even from a distance.
            Do we understand that?  Do we realize that one drop of God’s power can fix any problem we have, and more, do we have the humility to accept our place in His plan, even if it is not what we have planned?  Yes, every day I ask for more—more grace, more faith, more of His power to change me and use me, but do I really comprehend His strength?  I would say it was impossible to do so, except for the example of this desperate Gentile mother who, like a widow of her nation hundreds of years before her, had more faith, trust, and humility than the religious men of God’s chosen people (I Kgs 17, Luke 4:25,26).
            And for this, perhaps, God chose her to foreshadow in the Son’s life the crumbling of the barrier between Jew and Gentile, and the inclusive nature of the gospel which had been foretold from the beginning: in thy seed shall all nations of the earth be blessed, Gen 22:17. 
            Do I have the faith and humility to accept God’s plan for me?  One thing is certain—this Gentile mother knew she had nowhere else to turn, and neither do we.
            Even God’s crumbs are enough to satisfy our every need.
 
For this cause I bow my knees to the Father…that you…may be strong to apprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God…him who is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think…Eph 3:14, 17-20.
 
Dene Ward

I found a new soup recipe.  The first time I made it, it was absolutely swoon-worthy.  I played with it a bit and it's even better now—leeks, sausage, collard greens, chicken broth, cream and Parmagiana Reggianno cheese.  So I made it again for company with a Stromboli on the side. 
            Since it mattered more, I very carefully measured everything according to the recipe.  I even pulled down my forty year old food scale to measure out the sausage since the first time I had just eyeballed it.
          "My eyeballs must be way off," I thought as I piled what seemed like twice as much carefully measured sausage into the soup as I had the first time. 
           If my eyeballs were off, then I guess I really didn't like the recipe that much after all.  It was no longer Collard Green and Sausage Stew, it was Sausage Soup.  Period.  That's all you could taste, and I was a bit embarrassed at my meal.
           I must have mulled that over more than I thought because out of the clear blue one day I figured it out.  Just to make sure I pulled down my scale and looked.  Yep.  I was right. 
          At Thanksgiving we had an emergency run to the hospital with my mother so I was suddenly doing everything on one day that I usually take three days to do.  That meant Keith was my sous chef—peeling, chopping, and washing dishes.  For the Duchesse potatoes I needed two pounds of potatoes, peeled.  I had forgotten that he put a bowl on my scale and then reset it to zero so he could count pounds as he peeled.  The bowl must have weighed half a pound because my scale was still set half a pound behind zero and with these eyes I had never noticed.  As I measured out half a pound of sausage that day, I really measured out a whole pound.  I had doubled the sausage but kept everything else the same.  No wonder it was ruined.  Sausage is not exactly bland. 
            No matter how old you get, you still learn things, some of them the hard way.  From now on you had better believe I will check my scale and make sure it is set on zero! It's still a wonderful recipe, but only if you get the measurements right.
           It matters how our spiritual scales are set too. Every day we need to reset them. 
            For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God. (Rom 8:5-8)
            We live in a physical (carnal) world.  We deal with issues that affect us physically and emotionally.  If we don't have our spiritual scales set on the things of the spirit, we will measure things just as wrongly as I measured that sausage.  If doing right hurts us or someone we love, we might not do it.  That's what happens when someone has set their minds on the wrong things.  Peter did it too.
            From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.” (Matt 16:21-23)
            Peter loved the Lord, but that very love made him refuse to accept his words and his mission.  It may even look good, after all, it was out of love.  But Jesus called him "Satan" when his priorities were not set correctly.  Why would he not rebuke us the same way?
            Paul says that when we are too caught up in political affairs, our minds are set on the carnal rather than the physical.  We have actually become enemies of Christ.
            For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. (Phil 3:18-21)
            He tells us we are still living as the old man of sin if we still obsess about earthly things.
            If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. (Col 3:1-3)
            He tells us we are being selfish and arrogant when we do not have the mind of Christ, when it is not set the way his is.
            Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (Phil 2:5-8)
            All those underlined words in the passages above (and below) are the same Greek word.  Having my kitchen scales set wrong only messed up a meal.  Having our spiritual scales set wrong will cost us a whole lot more.
 
Brethren, I count not myself yet to have laid hold: but one thing I do, forgetting the things which are behind, and stretching forward to the things which are before. I press on toward the goal unto the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Let us therefore, as many as are perfect, be thus minded… (Phil 3:13-15)
 
Dene Ward

I grew up watching my mother make her own pie crust.  It never crossed my mind that was unusual, that there were convenience products, including ready-made pie crusts, at the grocery store.  So I was thoroughly spoiled as a child.  Homemade pie crust was all I ever had.
            Unfortunately, I married and moved a thousand miles away without getting that recipe and the special instructions that probably went along with it.  I lived closer to my in-laws then and, as luck would have it, they had owned a small town bakery, so I asked them for their recipe.  What I got was a ratio; otherwise I would have wound up with a recipe beginning, “fifty pounds of flour…”  It went like this:  half as much shortening as flour, half as much water as shortening.
            It took a few years, but I finally got the hang of it.  I also discovered the proper ratio of salt (a scant teaspoon per two cups of flour), the advantage of ice water rather than plain tap water (it makes the crust flakier), and the need to handle the dough as little as possible if you want to be able to eat it instead of use it as a Frisbee.
            I still have a little difficulty passing this recipe along.  You see, flour changes according to the humidity.  If it has soaked up moisture from the air, it will take less water.  How do you tell?  By the way it feels.  How does it feel?  Here the problem lies.  When everything is right, it feels right, that’s how you tell.  But how does “right” feel?  It feels like pie crust dough that is “right.”  There is no way to describe it if you haven’t ever put your hands in it before.
            The same thing happens when I am trying to help a person with just about any recipe—biscuits, cookie dough, cake batter, gravy, cream sauce—when it’s right, you know it.  In fact, when teaching someone to make gravy or béchamel, I have to take the spoon from them into my hand and give it a stir so I can feel it in order to really know.  That’s why I never make my pastry crust in a food processor—I can’t feel it! 
            The trick is to do it over and over and over for years.  That’s how you know what “right” is.  Yes, you must have a good recipe, but even a good recipe can turn out wrong if you are not familiar with it.
            Do you want to know how to avoid false doctrine?  It has nothing to do with studying every possible false teaching out there.  You would have no time for it.  What you do is study the real thing over and over and over for years.  Then when the false one comes along it won’t feel quite the same, and you will suddenly catch yourself saying, “Unh, unh.  Something’s not right here.”  Because you are so familiar with what “right” is, you will have far less trouble seeing what “wrong” is.
            Learning the facts may seem formalistic.  It may seem like our religion is lacking some “heart.”  Don’t be so quick to judge.  Some of the people most likely to be taken captive by false prophets are those who love the whir and excitement of “food processor” religion.  “Wow!  Look at it go.  Look how fast it comes together.  This must surely be the real thing.”  It is certainly more rousing than watching someone cut a cup of shortening into 2 cups of flour with a handheld pastry blender, up and down, over and over, for several tedious minutes.  But that food processor religion is more likely to be tough and overworked or wet and hard to handle, while the handmade religion will separate into flaky layers of depth, and rival the filling itself for the starring role. 
            There is no short cut for this kind of experience.  If it takes years of handling pastry crust to reach this level of comfortable, secure familiarity, God’s word certainly won’t be any easier, but what should we expect?  God didn’t write pulp fiction.
 
And this I pray that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and all discernment; so that you may distinguish the things that differ; that you may be sincere and void of offence unto the day of Christ; being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which are through Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise of God, Phil 1:9-11 .
 

They tell me that May is National Salad Month, and indeed, if you go online you can find websites that give you a different salad to try every day of this month, for a total of 31.  Unlike some "national" days or months, the timing on this one makes sense. At least here in Florida we are beginning to get some really good produce.  I have just discovered National Salad Month, but we have always enjoyed salads this time of year, sometimes as sides, others as main dishes—a cucumber salad with Vidalia onions and a sour cream and fresh dill dressing, taco salad loaded with sweet juicy tomatoes, Greek salad of red onion, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives and feta cheese, lettuce wedges dripping with a homemade Basil Green Goddess dressing.  One of my favorite main dish salads is Panzanella.
            Maybe it's the change from heavier winter meals like chili and stews that make it so good, or maybe it's just the good fresh vegetables.  Whatever it is, panzanella really hits the spot the first time you have it in the summer.  And I often make it more filling with a can, or better, a jar of high quality tuna.
             In the bottom of a big bowl, pour in a couple tablespoons each of olive oil and red wine vinegar.  Add a small handful of chopped fresh basil and parsley, 1 tsp of salt and a half teaspoon of black pepper.  Whisk it all together.  Now add about half a red onion sliced thinly and stir till the onion is coated.  While you finish the rest of the chopping, the onion will mellow out a bit in the acid.
            This next part can be changed up according to what you have available.  French bread is good.  Focaccia is good, and I usually have some leftover somewhere because it is so easy to make.  Cube 4 cups of some sort of hearty bread and put it into a 325 degree oven for about twenty minutes.  (If you want to be a little extravagant, drizzle it with olive oil and toss it with your hands before putting it in the oven.)  It does not need to brown, just dry out a little and become crunchy, and then it needs to cool while you do the rest of the chopping.
             Now peel, halve lengthwise, seed, and slice enough cucumbers to make about 4 cups.  Throw that on top of the onion-dressing mixture, but don't mix it up yet.  Dice a large red pepper and throw that in.  Chop 3 or 4 tomatoes and add them.  Now drain the tuna, if you are using it, and add it in chunks to the bowl, along with a quarter cup of chopped Kalamata olives.  Toss the whole thing and let it sit a few minutes.  Between the tomatoes and the cucumbers, it should begin to exude a lot more liquid than you first put in there.  (Note:  the tuna is not an ordinary part of panzanella and you can leave it out if you wish, but if you have never tried the jarred higher quality tunas, this is your perfect excuse.)
            Finally, add the cooled bread cubes and toss.  Yes, it will look like it's mostly bread, but it really isn't.  Once that bread starts to soak up the juices it will begin to shrink a bit.  Sit down and eat immediately.  The bread will be half soaked and half crunchy, which is perfect.  The more you eat, the more you will want to eat. 
            And now you are waiting for the spiritual lesson I somehow manage to find in the most mundane things, right?  Usually I can come up with something in a day or two, if not right away.  Well, I have been looking for it for over a month now and it still hasn't come to me.  I have made lessons out of everything from chicken and dumplings to cherry pies, from shedding dogs to dead possums, but for some reason this panzanella has evaded me.  But today I suddenly thought—maybe that's the lesson!
            I am big on finding a purpose in your life that will help promote God's plan to save man.  If you have studied my Born of a Woman class book you know that.  My purpose in God's plan may be as simple as the Samaritan woman's, who ran and told her neighbors, Come see a man who told me all the things I ever did.  Can this be the Christ? (John 4:29).  Or it may be as complex as Joseph's, who over 20 years' time and the freewill actions of a couple dozen different people managed to be in a position to save God's chosen nation, and more specifically, the line of the Messiah.  …For God sent me before you to preserve life (Gen 45:5).  God does intervene in our lives through the freewill actions of others and in His great power and wisdom makes things happen according to His will.
            Some of our purposes are fixed by the choices we make.  When I marry, I have the obligation to be a helper to my husband, helping him get to Heaven being the most important purpose.  When I choose to have children, I have placed upon myself the divine purpose of raising those children "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."
            But sometimes things just happen.  Sometimes it may even be a result of someone else's poor decision.  Like the man who decides he is not too drunk to drive and crashes into a minivan filled with a family of five, or runs down an innocent pedestrian.  My part in God's plan has suddenly changed if I survive that.  Now I have the opportunity to show His grace by the way I handle this adversity, by the way I refuse to give in to despondency, by the way I forgive, and a host of other things.
          And this may be the hardest thing to accept:   sometimes there is absolutely no rhyme nor reason for any of it.  I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all. (Eccl 9:11).
            I hear people giving comfort that I am not sure they should give.  "God has a plan," we tell our distraught friends.  Yes, He does, but do not be so arrogant as to presume that you know exactly what it is or that this tragedy is even part of it.  As much as I believe that God will use what I do to further His plan, I would never decide for Him what that use should be.  I would never assume that my feeble mind can even begin to comprehend His glorious thoughts.  And I would never, ever tell someone who has experienced a calamity that this is God's Eternal Purpose at work.  The only thing I could ever be sure of is that this is my chance to comfort a soul, and I would do that the best I could.
            It may be admirable to constantly try to find the spiritual benefit in every little thing that comes along.  In fact, I hope it is.  It is certainly better than thinking evil, or even just idle thoughts all the time.  But sometimes panzanella is just panzanella.  Nothing more and nothing less.  Just a tasty salad that reminded me to thank God, not only for his great and marvelous plan to save us, but for the simple things that make this sin-cursed world a little easier to bear.
 
​Commit your work to the LORD, and your plans will be established.​  The LORD has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble.  Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the LORD; be assured, he will not go unpunished. (Prov 16:3-5)
 
Dene Ward
 

Wards have always been persnickety about people messing with their favorite food and drink.  Keith, especially, does not want his coffee messed with, and usually not his sweet tea.  But there is hope.  A friend recently gave us a brand of peach tea he has fallen in love with, so I cannot call him his father yet—but it's a close contest.
            And have you noticed that finding the original formula, flavor, or variety is nearly impossible?  You certainly cannot just run into the store, grab it, and run out in two minutes.  You will spend 10 minutes just reading the boxes.  Did you know that there are 21 flavors of Cheezits!?
            I first encountered this when my boys were young and thought the best macaroni and cheese was—no, not their Mama's, but Kraft's.  They have outgrown that and I am certainly glad.  Have you looked at the varieties lately?  Besides Original Macaroni and Cheese, we have Whole Grain Mac and Cheese, Cauliflower Pasta Mac and Cheese, Thick and Creamy, Creamy Alfredo, Southern Homestyle (which isn't), Sharp Cheddar, White Cheddar and Shells, White Cheddar and Garlic, White Cheddar and Cracked Black Peppercorn (I kid you not), 3 Cheese Mini-Shells, 4 Cheese, Gluten-Free, Microwavable, Spirals, Paw Patrol Shapes, and Unicorn Shapes.  And what do they place on the eye-level shelves?  All the weird ones.  I can remember crawling around on my hands and knees in the supermarket floor trying to find a box of Original Mac and Cheese which was always on the bottom shelf.
            We have simply become too wealthy.  We have forgotten what eating is all about.  Not entertainment ("snap, crackle, pop!"), not excitement, not textural variety, or any other culinary term.  No longer do we eat to avoid starvation and gain proper nutrition.  And because we have that luxury, we think that we can simply not eat what we don't like.  Poor people don't think that way.  They are grateful for anything they find on their plates.
            Perhaps that explains the plethora of denominations on the streets you travel every Sunday.  People always want something new and different, something that appeals to our likes and dislikes.  Something easy, convenient, and entertaining.  We certainly don't want "the same old thing."  Does that sound anything at all like this? Oh come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker! For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand… (Ps 95:6-7).  We have forgotten that in spiritual terms we are not only poor, but completely destitute.  We cannot save ourselves.  We should be grateful to even be able to approach God at all, so maybe we should be eager to search out how HE wants us to do that. 
            When that first church started, the same things were taught in each one.  That is why I sent you Timothy, my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, to remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach them everywhere in every church (1Cor 4:17).  See also 1 Cor 7:17; 11:16; 14:33; 16:1.    Paul also said, The things which you both learned and received and heard and saw in me, these things do: and the God of peace shall be with you (Phil 4:9).  There most definitely was a pattern that every church followed, one that the inspired apostles gave them from the beginning.  Do you suppose that might mean that the original is the one we should be looking for?
            And if it takes getting down on your knees with the Word of God to find it, then do it, because nothing tastes quite like the original.
 
Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus
(2Tim 1:13                                                                                               
 
Dene Ward

A few weeks ago I started going through some old cooking magazines making a note of some recipes I had never gotten around to the first time I read them, intending to try several of them this time through.  One of the first things I tried was a Linzertorte. Although these pastries are usually reserved for the holidays—and I did find this one in a November/December issue—when I read through the ingredients I wasn't sure why.  Basically, it's a souped-up fruit pie, so wouldn't spring and summer be better?
            I pulled out the ingredients, most of which I had on hand, and went to work.  The crust was short and sweet.  I am sure trained pastry chefs have a name for it, but I just called it fancy shortbread: lots of butter, plus flour, spices, and ground up almonds and hazelnuts.  You roll half of it into the bottom of a 10 inch tart pan, then add about an inch more up the sides of the pan.  Then you spread most of a jar of red currant or red raspberry or apricot preserves on the bottom.  So far it had been simple, but as I rolled out the rest of the dough, cut it into strips, and attempted a lattice top, the only real problem I had arose.  Unlike regular pie dough, these strips were so tender I had a horrible time getting them off the counter in one piece.  They kept breaking on me.  Nearly every strip became two or more pieces of a strip pinched together.  But after brushing with egg wash, sprinkling with sparkling sugar, and baking, most of the piecing together was well camouflaged and it looked almost pretty.
            So, was it any good?  Well, yes, it tasted fine.  But this was neither Keith's nor my idea of a fruit pie and I suppose that is what we thought we were getting.  The "fruit" wasn't juicy enough and despite its shortness, the pastry wasn't flaky enough to suit us.  I doubt I will go to the trouble again.  Maybe it just comes down to tastes and expectations.  These recipes wouldn't keep showing up if someone somewhere didn't like them.
            And I find that similar to the denominations.  People want certain things and they go where they can get it.  The thing that keeps bothering me is why no one seems to think that God has the right to a choice—in fact, He's the only one who has the right since He is the one being worshipped.  Or is He?  Maybe that's the issue when all is said and done.  I want what I want and I don't much care whether He likes it or not, and besides, God wants me to be happy, spiritually fulfilled, and feeling good when I leave so of course He will like what I offer.  Really?  Try that the next time you give your husband tickets to the opera for his birthday.
            Here is the bottom line:  if God asked for a Linzertorte I would make him one, despite the fact that I don't much care for them and think my own blueberry pie with a homemade flaky pie crust is much better.  Because what He wants should be the only thing that really matters.
 
You shall walk after the LORD your God and fear him and keep his commandments and obey his voice, and you shall serve him and hold fast to him (Deut 13:4).                                   
 
Dene Ward

My husband never knew this and now he will be impossible to live with on this day, demanding tomatoes at every meal, as well as snacks and desserts as a celebratory measure.  April 6th is National Fresh Tomato Day.  For 40 years he has planted enough tomatoes in our garden to feed the entire county.  To his credit, he has shared probably a literal ton with church members, neighbors, piano students, and doctors.  His favorite thing in the world is a platter of the things sliced several inches deep on the dinner table every night for as long as the season lasts.  And that means I have to do something with the ones that don't fit on that platter before they go bad.  So while the boys were still home, I canned forty quarts or more every year, plus a few pints of tomato sauce, plus tomato juice, and once or twice, even some ketchup and tomato jam.  All of those things involved a huge amount of work.
            Canning tomatoes is one of the more difficult garden season chores.  You wash each and every tomato.  You scald each and every tomato.  You pound ice blocks till your arms ache in order to shock and cool each and every scalded tomato.  You peel each and every tomato and finally you cut up each and every tomato.  Then you sterilize jars, pack jars, and process jars.  Only 7 jars fit in the canner at a time, so you go through that at least 6 times for canned tomatoes alone.
            And you will have more failures to seal with canned tomatoes than any other thing you can.  As you pack them in, pushing down to make room, you must be very careful not to let the juice spill over into the threads of the jar.  And just in case you did that heinous crime, you take a damp cloth and wipe each thread of each jar.  Tomato pulp will keep a perfectly good jar, lid, and ring from sealing.
            In order to have that many tomatoes you must be willing to cut up a few that are half-rotten, disposing of the soft, pulpy, stinky parts in order to save sometimes just a bite or two of tomato.  Now that there are only two of us, I usually limit myself to 20+ quarts.  I still put one in every pot of spaghetti sauce, one in every pot of chili, and one in every pot of minestrone, as well as a few other recipes, it’s just that I don’t make as many of those things as I did with two big boys in the house.  Now I can afford to be a little profligate.  If I pick up a tomato with a large bad spot, I am just as likely to toss the whole thing rather than try to save the bite or two that is good, especially if it is a small tomato to begin with.  Why go to all that work—washing, scalding, shocking, peeling, cutting up, packing—for a mere teaspoon of tomato?
            But isn’t that what God and Jesus did for us?  For narrow is the gate, and straitened the way, that leads unto life, and few are they that find it. Matt 7:14.
            The Son of God, the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Phil 2:6-8.  And he did that for a half—no!--for a more than half rotten tomato of a world.  He did that to save a remnant, a mere teaspoon of souls who would care enough to listen and obey the call. 
            Sometimes, by the end of the day, when my arms are aching, my fingers are nicked and the cuts burning from acidic tomato juice, my back and feet are killing me from standing for hours, and I am drenched with sweat from the steamy kitchen, I am ready to toss even the mostly good tomatoes, the ones with only a tiny bad spot, because it means extra work beyond a quick slice or two.  Aren’t you glad God did not feel that way about us?  It wasn’t just a half rotten world he came to save, it was every half rotten individual in that world, of which you and I are just a few.
 
But what is God's reply to him? “I have kept for myself seven thousand men who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” So too at the present time there is a remnant, chosen by grace. Rom 11:4-5
 
Dene Ward
 

National Carrot Day was begun in 2003 in an effort to increase awareness of the beneficial compounds of carrots.  I am told it is celebrated around the world with carrot parties, featuring carrot dishes and guests dressed in orange or in some cases in carrot costumes.
            Carrots do far better up north than down here in Florida.  Whether it's the climate or the lack of nutrition in the sandy soil, I don't know, but we seldom bother planting them.  One year we did though, planting them late by Florida standards, so I was just pulling carrots the first week of June.  It wasn’t difficult; I pulled the whole row in about 15 minutes.  Still, it was disappointing—a twenty foot row yielded a two and a half gallon bucket of carrots that turned into a two quart pot when they were cleaned and sorted, cutting off the tops and tossing those that were pencil thin or bug-eaten.
            Then I thought, well, consider the remnant principle in the Bible.  Out of all the people in the world, even granting that the population was much less than it is now, only eight were saved at the Flood.  Out of all the nations in the world, God only chose one as His people.  Out of all those, only one tribe survived the Assyrians, and out of all those, only a few survived the Babylonians and only 42,000 of those returned to the land out of the 1,000,000 or so in Babylon.  What's that?  4.2%?
            Jesus spoke of the wide gate and the narrow gate.  Surely that tells us that though God wishes all to be saved, only a few will be.  So out of a twenty foot row of carrots, I probably threw out half.  Then we threw out a third of those that were too small to even try to scrub and peel.  Yet we probably did better with our carrots than the Lord will manage with people!  And I learned other principles that carrot-pulling day, too.
            When I pulled those carrots some of them had full beautiful tops, green, thick-stemmed, and smelling of cooked carrots when I lopped them off.  Yet under all that lush greenery several had very little carrot at all.  They were superficial carrots—all show and no substance.  Others were pale and bitter, hardly good for eating without adding a substantial amount of sugar.  Then under some thin, sparse tops, I often found a good-sized root, deep orange and sweet.  Yes, they were all the same variety, but something happened to them in the growth process.
            Some of us are all top and no root.  It always surprises me when a man who is so regular in his attendance has so little depth to his faith.  Surely sitting in a place where the Word is taught on a consistent basis should have given him something, even if just by osmosis.  But no, it takes effort to absorb the Word of God and more effort to put it into practice, delving deeper and deeper into its pages and considering its concepts.  The Pharisees could quote scripture all day, but they lacked the honesty to look at themselves in its reflection.
            And there are some of us who have little to show on the outside, but a depth no one will know until a tragedy strikes, or an attack on the faith arises, or a need presents itself, and suddenly they are there, standing for the truth, showing their faith, answering the call.  I knew one man who surprised us all with his strength in the midst of trial, a quiet man hardly anyone ever noticed.  Yet his steadfastness under pressure was remarkable.  I knew another who had been loud with his faith, nearly boasting in his confidence that he was strong, yet who shocked us all with his inability to accept the will of God, his assertions that he shouldn’t have to bear such a burden when he had been so faithful for so long.  Truly those carrot tops will fool you if you aren’t careful.  “Judge not by appearance,” Jesus said, “but judge righteous judgment.”  Look beneath those leafy greens and see where and how your root lies.
            Evidently the principles stand both for man and carrots.  Don’t count on your outward show, your pedigree in the faith.  Develop a deep root, one that will grow sweeter as time passes and strong enough to stand the heat of trial. 
            And don’t assume you are in the righteous remnant if that righteousness hasn’t been tested lately.  God hates more to throw out people than I hate to throw out carrots, but He will.  Don’t spend so much time preening your tops that your root withers.  And finally, only a few will make it to the table; make sure you are one of them.
 
Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. Revelation 3:20            
 
Dene Ward          

Do a little research and you will find that the term “comfort food” was added to Webster’s Dictionary in 1972.  It refers to foods that are typically inexpensive, uncomplicated, and require little or no preparation at all; foods which usually bring pleasant associations with childhood, just as an old song can remind one of a long ago romance, or a smell can instantly bring back situations both good and bad. 
            Comfort foods vary from culture to culture, but in our country usually include things like macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, ice cream, peanut butter, and brownies.  Folks tend to use comfort foods to provide familiarity and emotional security, or to reward themselves.  It’s not surprising that many of these are loaded with carbohydrates which can produce a soporific effect as well.  Comfort food followed closely by the comfort of sleep.
            Since it became fashionable I have tried to figure out my own list of comfort foods. Here is my problem:  my mother was such a good cook and so adventurous, trying many recipes day after day, that I never had one dish often enough to form an attachment to it.  One cooking magazine actually runs the column, “My Mother’s Best Meal.”  I could not possibly pick one.  I would need a whole page to list them.  So for me it isn’t comfort food, it’s comfort cooking.  When my mind is in turmoil, I cook all day long, trying, I suppose, to recreate the warm, homey, safe atmosphere of my mother’s kitchen.
            Comfort food works for the soul too.  The best part is, you don’t have to be a good cook.  You just open the word of God and feast.  You turn on the water of life and drink to your heart’s content.  You produce the fruit of the lips in praise to God whenever and wherever you desire.  You gather with your brothers and sisters and wallow in a fellowship that has absolutely nothing to do with coffee and donuts.
            You can get fatter and fatter with all that spiritual nourishment and still be healthy.  In fact, in this context at least, the skinnier you are, the sicker, the sadder, and the weaker you are.
            So grab a spoon today, and everyday, and dig in.
 
Work not for the food which perishes, but for the food which abides unto eternal life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him the Father, even God, has sealed, John 6:27.
 
Dene Ward

We had been unhappy with our griddle for a good while, so Keith went online shopping and found an appliance called a Griddler, put out by Cuisinart.  This little contraption with two heating elements that can either lie flat next to each other or fold over on each other, and with four interchangeable plates, two of which are double-sided, can be a panini press, a grill pan, a waffle iron, or it can be opened flat and used as a griddle.
            It does have a few disadvantages.  Because of the two separate plates with an inch space between them, you can only fit four pancakes on it at once instead of six, but there are only two of us so that's no problem.  It seems to take longer for the pancakes to cook, too.  However, the panini we get are amazingly crisp and with the grill plates, you can grill both sides at once, making that process much faster. 
            The plates—flat, grill-marked, and waffled—are nonstick.  Boy, are they nonstick.  You want to know how I found out?
            When I pour pancake batter on this thing, I have no trouble at all.  Maybe it is because they immediately begin to cook and the batter is thick enough not to run.  But eggs are another thing entirely.  Evidently the side that is the "top" if you fold it, does not sit exactly flat when opened up.  It looks close enough that I did not realize that.
            One day we decided to have breakfast for dinner.  I preheated the pan and, just because my husband likes it that way, I put a teaspoon of bacon grease on the already slick surface.  Then I poured on the raw eggs. 
            Immediately the eggs slid over to the side of the pan.  Before I could move, one had slid onto the counter and down onto the floor—splat!--between my feet.  I managed by then to get my flipper flat end standing on the surface of the pan at the rim, but that didn't stop it fast enough.  All the eggs kept sliding, building up around my flipper edge until they started oozing around the sides of it and headed for the fall once again.  I grabbed another flipper and stood it up on the rim of the pan next to the first one to catch a larger portion of the running egg whites.
            Meanwhile, I started hollering, probably nothing intelligible.  At this point I was straddling one egg and holding two flippers erect trying to keep the rest of the eggs on the pan.  Keith came running and saw what was happening.  He grabbed some paper towels and knelt down between my feet to clean up the floor.  That meant I had to squat a bit to fit his shoulders in there.  I wish I had a picture—but then, maybe not.  Finally I could actually move my feet without stepping into eggs and sliding across the floor.  He grabbed one of the flippers while I raked a little of the now cooked egg white back from the lip of the pan with the other and made a nice little dam.  Another minute and I could flip the eggs over and they actually stayed put.
            We stepped back, a little winded, shaking our heads at what had just happened.  The two of us working together meant we had only lost one egg and, believe it or not, the others were cooked perfectly.
            Now imagine if he had looked over, seen what was happening and said, "That was a stupid thing to do."
            Or, "If you hadn't poured them out so quickly that wouldn't have happened."
            Or, "That's your job not mine."
            Or, "Someone else will take care of it."
            Or, "That's not my talent," and hadn't lifted a finger to help.
            We wouldn't have had dinner, and we would have probably lost far more than one egg.
            Too bad that's what happens in the church too often.  And it's deplorable that too often in our judgmental, self-serving apathy we lose far more than one soul-less little egg.
 
Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. (Eph 4:15-16)
 
Dene Ward