How Jesus Used Pinto Beans to Tell Me Something

The seventh day. 

The art of cooking pinto beans has escaped me until this day. I mean, I've witnessed them being cooked countless times and I've mashed them in the frying pan enough to know I like them smooth as butter. But before today I'd never sorted through the pile of beans and known what to do next. 

I had to text my mom. 

It would be four hours of high heat in the crock pot before they would be ready for mashing. 

I should have known this, but I didn't. I've gobbled up pinto beans since I was a little bean myself. But now, as a 23 year old woman in my community house kitchen, I obliged myself to my mother's instructions. 

Lord knows I've been resting - with him, from him. It's been an interesting time. 

I've sat in my nook and sang all kinds of sultry songs to a lover in the sky. I've sat in a corner booth at a neighbourhood restaurant and eaten a burger while imagining I was looking Jesus Christ in the eyes while he sat across the table from me. 

On that very occasion, I told him I wanted to be a vessel. I wanted to do all of this for him. 

"And you thought you would never work for someone else again." 

Ugh. How glaringly wrong of me to assume that once I was done in an office, it would be my show. 

I've slept in and slept through some of our promised meetings. It's caused me grief, but it's never left me feeling like I shouldn't re-schedule. He's been available to me every time, whether planned in advance (burgers) or spontaneous (hallelujah singing in my nook). 

I don't know what I'm doing really, but I know there's something to this meeting. This pausing. 

I was feeling overwhelmed today at the office, wondering why I'm here of all places and how it helps anything, when I decided to pause. I took a walk up the thigh maddening hill to repent. 

"I'm sorry that I'm dissatisfied. I'm so sorry that I get dissatisfied so easily. I will be satisfied in you."

Something simple. A walk up a hill and back again.

I'm still vastly unaware of what is going on and how I can solve myself. It's unimportant, mostly. But that walk up the hill, the moment of acknowledgement and surrender, that's what mattered today. The puzzle will always be there, much to the annoyance of my peevish soul. 

But like pinto beans, worry has surrounded me my whole life but I didn't know what to do with it. But today I stopped - to acknowledge that I could use some help, that I didn't know what I was doing. 

My mom recommended a crock pot, some water and salt. My Heavenly Father recommended some sweet time together. It's pretty much the only answer he has for me these days. 

When you find yourself sunk into more than you know how to get yourself out of, don't scramble. Pause.

Why Finding a Good Running Partner Made All the Difference

The third day, first half.

It had been more than a week since I'd last laced up my shoes for a run. I dreaded it the way someone dreads sitting at their desk to take an exam they didn't properly prepare for.

This is gonna suck-this is gonna suck-suck-sucksucksuck.

I extended an invitation to God in case he felt like working on his cardio. He did, of course, because when does he ever not want to be included in what we're doing?

It was playful enough at first; I teased God as if we were in a competition. "Are you sure you can make it up this hill?" But we laughed because it was always I who was out of breath at the crest.

After so many pounds of my feet against pavement I ran out of topics, literally. Silence accompanied me past the fire station and beyond the house with the yappy dogs in the yard. I didn't have anything to talk about and panic perspired along my forehead.

God's going to be disappointed in the lack of entertainment on this run. I've gotta DO something to make this worth his while. (As if he had postponed his plans in China to be with me, as if this were my shot at proving myself to Heaven.)

Then I saw a tree in a yard I passed dozens of times before- light pink blossoms fluttered to the ground, changing their backdrop of cool blue sky to gritty black asphalt. All was beautiful, any way you sliced it.

My heart pulsed with gratitude for the temperature, my legs to move, the blossoms, my hair tie, the downhill parts of my route. It was all so meaningful in that moment; the authority of gratefulness caused the the critical voice to flee.

I had the best running partner.

"I can ask you a question 20 times
 You're patient with me, patient with me, patient with me
 You don't think I'm ugly, you don't think I'm ugly, you don't think I'm ugly
 Matter of fact you think I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very special pretty."

It was that jumbled song which motivated me to cross the halfway point without slowing down. Here on this screen it looks like an infantile expression of a spasmodic thought but in my heart it was water: quenching and refreshing and eternal.

Don't doubt the incredible the things you might say to God in between fast breaths, what you might be surprisingly grateful for, what your heart longs to say in a moment of unabashed pursuit.

It can happen anywhere: dancing in your bedroom, walking through the park, with a caramel frappuccino in your car. Holy moments are waiting to be grasped. Go somewhere by yourself and say what you mean to say, whether you know it or not.

God Thinks Our Accusations are Comical - In the Nicest Way

The second day.

7:13 AM on the stove clock when I walked into the kitchen.

I slumped into a chair around the table, feeling guilty for being late again.

I closed my eyes and saw God in a suite and tie.

"You look like Patrick Dempsey." Or maybe Patrick Dempsey looks like God, whatever, it's still strangely amusing.

Once again in my mind's eye we were seated in some fancy restaurant. We chatted about weather-like topics until I cleared my throat to shift the subject.

"I feel left out and unloved, like a second class child." I traversed my way through descriptions of my hurts, ways I believed he had fallen short, but as I was running out of ammo, I lost sight of my target.

"I don't think it's fair that certain children of yours get special treatment."
If I microwave the green beans in this bowl that means I'll have to use another plastic container for my lunch. 
"It's as if there's some riddle to solve."
Ok, the rice is a little hard but it'll be unnoticeable once everything is put together.
"..."
Seriously Melissa, no more than a handful of cheese. You've gotta make it last.
"..."
Why does this look so small? Am I going to be hungry after lunch?
"..."
I guess I'll take carrot sticks again.
"Oops. What was I talking about?"
"That you felt ignored by me."

It was in the neighbourhood of 20 minutes before I realized I had left God without a chance to speak; the green beans had my sole concentration.

My exclamatory remarks were now a moot point. I didn't have the attention span to hear his explanation, at least not the same that I had reserved for the preparation of my lunch. If God slaps us in the face, he does it so gently.

Bowing my head in repentance, I felt my accusations were much like those who witnessed Jesus' death on the cross. But still, "Father forgive her. She doesn't know."

Whatever we have to throw at Jesus, he doesn't dodge it; he cradles it. He can hold the hot flames of allegations in his bare hands because they have no power over him. And he is patient to play catch with us, as if we were trying out for little league.

Cooking in the Kitchen with God

The first day.

I think it's a Kanye West song that wakes me up for my appointment with God. I slept through the first alarm; I was supposed to go running first.

In sweat shorts and a thrift store pullover I hobble down the stairs and into the kitchen, my ankles cracking with my first movements of the morning.

"Sorry" I mumble as I turn the on the light that hangs over the kitchen table. I'm 5 minutes late and if this were a business meeting I'd be in trouble, but it's not. He doesn't mention my arrival or attire, he just waits.

I decide that today is as good a day as any to make potatoes and eggs for breakfast -- what with a sous chef and all.

As I'm chopping I'm talking, telling him about myself. It's like what a first date might be like when you've known the person your whole life. It's kind of charming in the way that I know he already knows literally everything about me, but I'm telling him anyway. I want him to know that I want him to know.

Eventually I slow down, the potatoes are sitting in a crackling pool of oil in the confines of a skillet pan. There's nothing for me to do but to sit and wait. And in a moment of honesty, I tell him I'm afraid of this whole project -- what if he doesn't show up to these dates? What if I get left abandoned, the very thing I'm most afraid of?

In my mind I see us sitting across from each other at a posh restaurant. We're wearing stellar outfits. I think I have makeup on my face. He leans over to me and whispers in a tone of equal parts confident and delicate.

"I don't disappoint."

My eyelids pop open. I look around the room to see if anyone else is a witness to the electricity. But no, that moment was meant for one; I'm the only one seated across the table from him.

Struck with awe and a bit of sheepishness, I pour the egg over the potatoes and finish the dish.

What will this mean for me?

30 Days to become a lover

It's predictable. I could feel it coming like the spring.

The last year of travel has made my body (emotions, etc.) conform to a 30 day cycle where I am always expecting change. The pattern continued even as I made my way home in December. Three weeks a bit for Christmas cheer, then off to Georgia.

A week at a lake house in Tennessee.

Back to Georgia.

And now, I'm still in Georgia. For the first time in over a year, I've stayed put somewhere for more than 30 days.

Frightening.

And along with this new era was ushered in some room for contemplation.

I let out a sigh today at lunch, heavier than I anticipated. As I looked up I locked eyes with my friend. She noticed, her raised eyebrows asking for an explanation.

We spent the next half hour talking about how much of a tortured soul I feel like, how my counsellor said that I'm angry with God and I can't seem to shake the fact that, fudge yes I am.

I've been trying to arouse a response from God-"Fix me! Fix meeeeee!"-screaming inside my head for days now. For years now.

The truth is that He doesn't want to fix me. He wants to be allowed to love me. As in, he wants an open door into my ______ness (business, messiness, grossness, etc.). And I forgot that.

That makes me mad, to be honest. That there's this big, booming God up there who's got a major thing for me and I'm so consumed about the fact that I'm screwing up I can't even acknowledge it. I can't even swoon over it.

Not okay.

So for the next 30 days I'm going to see if I can't just fall in love with God. It'll be over dates and plates of macaroni and walks and jogs and maybe painting my nails if I ever get around to it. We'll talk about why I think I'm a failure. We'll look at milestones and converse over the rough patches. We'll do this without electronics, maybe with pen and paper, always together.

For the next 30 days I'm going to spend one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening with God, doing whatever. (The whatever does require interaction though, no "watching a movie... with God".) I'm also going to read the Psalms because I think David wasn't afraid to be angry with God. Or to be captivated by him.

So what do you say, folks? Will you join me? Will you do what you can to put yourself on the line for the possibility of an incredible romance?

I have seen God sweep me off my feet and onto some holy ground before. I'm confident He'll do it again. And again. And again.

Guat Now? Vol. II

In full predictability that is the mysteriousness of God, I was surprised to find that things didn't go according to plan.

Things rarely going according to whatever "the plan" is, but I still find myself taken aback.

"What a curveball, God. You've done it again!" 

A couple of weeks ago I felt strongly compelled to ask my department leaders if I could go to Gautemala on a radical Levite worship mission. I swivelled back and forth in my black leather office chair at my desk. "I should go." "I'm going to go." "Who am I to go?!" 

The truth is, who was I not to go?

I guess I thought that I was ill equipped to participate on such a trip. I'm not part of the worship track here at CGA; I don't even play an instrument! But God's prompting gave me the courage beyond all doubts to simply ask to join in. They needed another soprano voice, anyway. 

But my request caused a wave of conflict that I didn't anticipate. One of my department leaders wasn't so fond of me leaving, namely because it blurred the lines of my commitment. Her response made me want to start calling out ultimatums, as if this were some grand territorial land dispute. How dare she minimize my opportunities. 

Only a few days later did she share her raw feelings about the whole thing. She was building a magazine; we were there to help. More than that, she desired for us to be clustered around our office's dark wood and sturdy table, brainstorming ideas and laughing until someone happened to look at the clock to realize we were working late. 

She had a dream and I was now a part of it. I had my own dream. It was my job to reconcile the two. 

Rummaging through my feelings about all of this, I realized that her feelings were never significant in my decision. That bothered me, so I let my thoughts run wild through the swinging doors of insight: I was not invested in the program, I didn't understand the vision, I felt like an outsider - as if I were the lonely PC at a table full of shiny MacBooks. (In fact we all had MacBooks, which made me mad: matching glowing white apple emblems like we belonged to a sorority.) 

I was not okay with this. If I had come here to soak up experience, then why was I treating it like a trip to the grocery store? Why was I resisting it?

A further prompting from the good Lord had me seated across the table from my department leader. Before I knew it, I was apologizing for all of the places I had been lacking. Right then, there was a shift in my universe. I don't go as far as to say the universe as a whole, but into my tiny life was breathed new air, new perspective. Guatemala or no Guatemala, opportunities were everywhere! 

This whole process produced fruits sweeter than I would have thought. When conflict arrises in my life I want to look at the intangible, not the thing in front of me, but what the whole thing might actually be about. I want to look for opportunities disguised as problems. It's so easy to get caught up in "the thing", but we might be missing the bigger point.

What are you stressed about? What seems out of harmony? Take a step back and look at it again. 

I'm not going to Guatemala right now but I'm sure glad I asked.

Sabbaths are for making granola.

I really think God was onto something when he created a day for rest. 

Growing up I hated Sundays. After eating lunch I would stir with restless boredom, not knowing what to do, what should be done. A day set aside. And yet, for what? 

I couldn't tell. 

But now I know that rest is more than the physical act of laying in one's bed. It's a quietness that makes the rest of the week's unpleasantries come off you like a mist. Whatever doesn't matter fades away in the presence of the stillness. 

I stood in my kitchen today while making granola and found that quiet. I kept reaching for the electronic device within reach, but when I stopped myself I committed myself to Sabbath. To asking God, maybe, to listening. Even to just stand in my kitchen and acknowledge his Presence. Even to just acknowledge that where I am is a holy place. 

Who knows what the rest of the day will hold. Some FaceTime conversations, maybe I'll paint my fingernails or watch a movie. I might sit in my nook and read and scheme and get caught up in some wonder-lust. 

A Sabbath is about as unique as each individual. Whatever gives your soul rest, whatever makes you alive in the sweetness, catches your breath, stills your anxious heart… Whatever brings you into the Presence of God, do that. 

Guat now?!

I feel like time is flying here! My parents were here for a week and now they're gone.

That's 10 meals eaten in a restaurant in one week and six slices of left over no-bake cheesecake. That (and a few other gems) are what I have to show for my week. It was great. They are great and I'm blessed to have them care so much to fly (aka face their fear of being in the clouds) down here to see me.

There's probably a million different things I could be getting involved with right now. I'm working hard at my apprenticeship and track to further the goals of the mission organization. Ideas are turning into plans and plans are turning into more people on the mission field for the Kingdom of God. Whoop! Naturally, it's a very busy place. So I'm trying to rest in what I actually feel called to and not just what I could occupy my time with. You ready to hear what that calling is?

Guatemala.

But only for six days. And more specifically the calling is risk. Faith and risk. Identical twins, sometimes. God has been gently tugging at me to just step out into the unknown with him. The worship track is headed there for some worship/prayer time over the places where they want to continue to build long term bases for missionaries. Awesome!

We are Levites, hear us sing!

I'm not actually in worship track but I've been welcomed to join them in their quest to bring God's holy presence to the mountains and valleys of this great and wild Central American country.

I'm a little afraid of what lies ahead but that's generally the case with life when you don't know what you're doing, right? It's scary. It's water above your head and you can't remember if you learned how to swim or not. God will throw you a life vest. Faith is buoyant.

So I'm trusting that God has something awesome for everyone involved in this trip.

I need $800 to cover my airfare there and then I'll be set.

So here's where you can join in. Pray for me + the team! You're always welcome to donate here!
https://www.adventures.org/give/donate.asp?giveto=worldrace&desc=For%20Melissa%20Friesen

Or, if you prefer a more trade-sy kind of deal, buy my book online and then we'll both have something to talk about!:
http://www.blurb.com/b/2281346-write-this-book

Thank you for listening and loving.

Don't forget to live a life full.