A Bosch Mixer

I have wanted a Bosch mixer for nearly ten years. These are the Ferraris of kitchen mixers, a bread baker’s delight. These are not for cookies and the occasional loaf of mainly white flour bread. These machines are work horses, the oxen of the whole grain bread-making world (and yes, that world does indeed exist). The problem is not that they are 110 volts and I often find myself living in a world of 220 volts. The problem isn’t that one would take up too much room in my luggage allotment. I hand carried a twenty-two pound grain mill over eight time zones in order to mill my own flour. I love baking bread that much, so I would find a way to get the Bosch mixer wherever I go. The problem is the $400 price tag.

One Christmas, my dearly loved husband gave me enough cash he had squirreled away in his wallet over months to buy me a mixer and then some. I paid the car insurance ahead of schedule. He occasionally instructs me to buy one from a small savings account we have. I can’t. I fret over money although God has clearly shown me in actual experience than He can feed me without my anxiety fueling the provision. Jesus Christ is seated at the right hand of God, and neither is wringing their hands fretfully over me.

This season, the longing for a Bosch mixer has awakened from its nap. I have a tab open on my computer that I look at every few days, the order form from a company I trust that sells Bosch mixers. I was nearly ready to put on in my cart and then I decided it is very definitely not a need but a want. I feel encumbered by living with too many wants fulfilled and fear that I could shipwreck the calling I know I have. So I just look at the website and dream about what it would be like to have a Bosch mixer instead of two hands to knead bread. And pizza dough. And so many other things my heart desires.

I was praying about this desire. It seemed silly but it kept bubbling up, so the feet of Jesus seemed like the right place to leave it. I prayed, “God, I would need a $500 check with “Bosch mixer” in the memo to believe that you are offering this gift to me. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my hands to knead bread.” I figured that I had give God an impossible challenge; I would remain Bosch-less.

My husband and I were traveling down I-75 South, home to Kentucky after Thanksgiving weekend at my in-law’s. A text beeped through; I looked down. My mother-in-law texted, “Grammie Pauline is sending you guys $500…especially for the kids.” I told my husband and laughed, more like Sarah than Abraham. I reminded him that God would have to send me $500 ear-marked for a Bosch mixer, not the kids. He, of course, wanted me to buy a Bosch mixer. This prayer of belief married to unbelief surged forth: “You wouldn’t really give me this, would you, Lord? Not when $500 could go so far in helping someone else. Not when $500 could go so far in meeting our bills. No…” I didn’t really expect an answer.

At the moment my eye was caught by a beautifully painted barn. I even craned my neck around to see the other side as we flew past. The far side was white-washed, with a large red rectangle calling attention to words that made me laugh again, this time more like Abraham. “The Father loves you.”

Indeed. He loves me. Right now, he loves me without a Bosch mixer. One day, He might love me with one. I will not be surprised if my husband manages to stash away money again; this time, I might let him grace me with a gift he longs to give to me. I might let go enough to receive grace which would be a better gift even than a Bosch mixer.

Worship: Five Minute Friday

It’s Friday again. Time to take a breath and write for five minutes with the wonderful folks at Five Minute Friday! You can check out the rules here but the summary is: “just write, without worrying if it’s just right.”
Five Minute Friday

Today’s prompt is “worship.”

My brother took me to an icy parking lot behind our high school one snow day to teach me to handle our shared vehicle: a fire-engine red 1985 Chevy Scottsdale truck, almost as wide as it was long. Whether it was out of goodness or a desire to see my eyes widen as we spun in circles remains undetermined. The primary lesson I recall, besides to not get in the truck on an icy day with my brother for a long time, was that I had to do the counter-intuitive. I had to turn into the skid. As I felt the tires slipping, losing grip on ice, I wanted to force us straight and slam on the brakes. Neither, it turns out, worked very well.

Seven house guests are on their way to me, to see my older son be baptized on Sunday. The laundry isn’t clean and the dishes aren’t either. The beds are half-made and I’d prefer not to think about the menu yet. I have 90 minutes until the first guests arrive.

The list of things to do is long. Some of the undone on that list seem ancient, following me around as long as I can remember. There is a friend of a friend, seeking political asylum a few hours away who needs certain help from me here. There are people waiting to help her in her new city, waiting on email directives from me. There are meals to make and Playmobil knights to put away and shoes to collect and a bathtub to wipe down. There are texts to send and people to pray for and the checkbook to balance.

All these things can be worship; in service I worship. In hospitality I offer to God a sacrifice that pleases him. In prayer, yes; in writing emails, yes; in setting my home in order, yes. Yes, all of these can be worship.

But there is that push inside me that says, “No.” Today the worship is to sit. To stop moving long enough to receive mercy and know that that is what transpired. To be still long enough to rest. To be quiet long enough to listen. There are things to do and work to finish and words to pray and write and speak but there is also a God who waits to be gracious to me. Perhaps the waiting is only that I might slow down, that I might know it is grace that comes from God and not from my busy hands and mouth and feet.

So I turn into the skid. I stop listing and I start listening. I stop moving and I start breathing, deep. I embrace the luxury that surpasses every massage, pedicure, spa day imaginable: I breathe deep and feel what I need filling my body. I do what every lucid brain cell tells me is absurd; I turn the way I shouldn’t. With this much to do, I need to get busy. But worship today is getting still. Turning in the other direction, the one that makes no sense, the one that will be salvation.

This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it….”
(Isaiah 30:15)