As The Smell of Pork Fades

As of last night, I had been smelling BBQ pork for over 24 hours. To my relief, the smell is finally fading from my house. A friend of mine and I provided the monthly meal for the youth group and I decided I would step up and do the BBQ pork for 40. It sounded like a great idea at the time. Now, I never want to see it or smell it again. Starting Tuesday night, I started cooking the first pork roast in the crock pot. Yesterday I cooked the second.

14 pounds of pork.
1 pound left over.
Satisfied teenagers.

It was so fun to feed that hungry bunch, but when it's my turn next time, I will have to pick something in the non-pork, non-BBQ category since I will be "off" BBQ pork for the next year.

Apparently the BBQ pork has been clouding my thinking because I found three entire unposted blogs when I sat down to write. Confession. Actually more than BBQ pork has been clouding my thinking.

I don't believe my blog should be a place where I rant and rave and vent and carry on. I struggle enough in daily life with my words being less than holy. I most certainly don't need to start publishing more. That said, I will attempt to share what I have prayed over much in private.

I've been fighting some kind of weird battle with feeling useless and overwhelmed simultaneously. Useless and overwhelmed rarely have a good connotation and together, they are less than desirable. I did not expect to be in this place where I've found myself. Nearly a decade of being home has been oh so good, and oh so not-me. As God has taught me to embrace this place of privilege and I have sunk my life into it, the very people I have given so much for are growing up and they don't need me in the same way. Much of what I learned to love about my life is no longer needed.

So what now? I've changed so much in a decade.
Much of the change is good.
But some of this place I'm in is darn scary.
I'm so vulnerable.
I have no career.
I have a teenager.
Expenses roll in at an alarming pace.(Can you say, "Phase II braces?")
I'm not sure I could get hired at a minimum wage job now.
I've had a heart attack.
If I breathe certain airborn allergens, there's trouble. Big trouble.
No one asks me to do a spreadsheet.
Or analyze anything.
Or write anything.
Or do anything else I'm remotely good at.


Weakness.
Uncertainty.
Utter dependence.

My soul strives loudly against this place.
Darn it.
Why can't I be strong? Independent? Successful? Confident?
Why can't there be less cooking?
Where are those people that used to say, "Good job. Here's a bonus. Want a promotion?"

But deeper down, my soul whispers, "Rest, Patti. You are loved. New mercy is yours every morning. Every breath you have is from the One who loves you. Stop striving. Love well, even if it means cooking, especially if it means cooking. Press on. Don't stop dreaming of that day you will see Jesus face to face and hear, "Well done," from the One who matters. Don't be afraid. Just keep believing."

(Should you ever wish to see these beautiful words, "Don't be afraid. Just keep believing," check out the story of the healing of Jairus's daughter in the book of Mark. They are not a manmade inspirational quote, they are Jesus's own words, spoken to a man in great anguish of soul. They are also the last words my dad spoke to me in person on this earth.)