So this weekend was a mixed bag. Therefore, this painting

This is what happens when you get a head cold and you can’t go the King Kalediscope concert and a violent chicken decapitation happens right outside your door (darn murderous raccoons!!). But that’s a story for later…today is more introspective.

painting ➡️thinking➡️writing

I was confronted this weekend with the idea that if we are living in fear that danger, sickness, death and violence are lurking at every corner then we are living in the shadow of hell. Heaven says that evil doesn’t win, and that suffering ends. Jesus has more in mind for us than simply waiting in terror for the next “boogeyman” to pop out of the bushes. We were made to create beautiful lasting things on this Earth like relationships, wisdom, kindness, and to be restorers of what’s been broken.

Part of why I write is because I believe that words can be just as powerful as the things we make with our hands. I like to create because it helps me in the midst of waves of emotions and because I have found solace in the words of others. Fear tells us to stay trapped in our minds and to not share with other people, fear tells us that we shouldn’t use our talents and abilities to make our homes and neighborhoods better, safer, and full of abundant life.

Love conquers fear and one day it will conquer all fear. I know it’s loaded with cheesiness but God takes my cheeky mug of NOPE and turns it into HOPE (Haven’t made bumper stickers yet). Not the kind of hope that makes me bury my head in the sand and ignore the world outside, but one that propels me to wake up from a nightmare or a tragic news report and say “This will end. Jesus help me mend it.”

Jesus takes a seat beside me at the table where I’m sipping a steaming mug of apathy or grief and he says “You’re not alone.”

It’s easy for me to forget that a lot of Bible heroes had stretches of unglamorous times. Esther was just an orphan for long time. David herded sheep. Moses hid in the desert. Sometimes the drink you’ve brewed is bitter. It’s not the final celebration toast in Heaven, which is sweet and flavorful and will never be tainted with sorrow.

Drink up.

What unexpected places have you found hope? What words have helped you conquer fear?
K

Don’t let your stomach be your guide…unless it has Siri-like capabilities to lead you to the closest brunch spot. In that case, let it be your guru, mentor, and overall weekend morning stalker. Just don’t abandon your actual mentors, friends, spouses, and guides in pursuit  of said brunch.

When I was a child, I often would get excited about camp food. The kind served in mess halls that was mass produced and was not always of the best quality. Then my stomach guide led me astray. Except for when it came to apple turnovers, those were definitely worth running as fast as I could up from the fishing lake to nab a spot on the dining hall bench. My siblings and I smuggled a small truckload in our various pockets to eat on the way home. I’d like to say that it was in that moment our devotion to apple products started. Little did we know iPhones were coming.

With iPhones, you can take pictures of apple turnovers. And brunch. But please, instagrammers stop taking pictures of your brunch. It makes me insanely hungry. Even after I’ve finished eating an entire plate of chicken curry. French toast and hollandaise sauce cropped into a perfect square make me question my entire existence. Did it even matter that I fried eggs that morning? When would I ever go out for breakfast? If a brunch plate falls in the middle of the forest does anyone hear it? Ah, so many questions…

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Also, if you’re ever in Bellingham, WA here are a few of my husband and I’s favorite brunch places:

OverEasy: Order the Wolfstack if you’re feeling insanely hungry and like potatoes, eggs, and bacon layered on top of each other. Also, the name of the restaurant is a pun! You kind of feel like you stepped inside an egg that really wants to be a 50’s diner close to the sun (Visit, you’ll understand).

Harris Avenue Cafe: Sit outside if the weather is nice and count the number of man buns you see (my husband and I’s current record is 3). Order the Matterhorn scramble. Or any scramble.

Homeskillet: Strong on flavor and personality. Order a skillet of cinnamon roll french toast and then take your picture with the giant concrete chicken in front. Also, you could write an entire anthropological study on the look, feel, and culture of this quirky neighborhood spot.

Brunch with my husband and Dad at HomeSkillet. Poor chicken looks terrified. Will you eat me next??

Anyways, this blog post is dedicated to my Dad, who kept me from running across the countryside in pursuit of delicious food instead of growing up into a proper adult. Thank you

Cheers! (And may you dream of large chickens).

K