Monday, January 2, 2012

Miracle Over the Meatballs

I make the world's best meatballs.  No, really I do.  Not that I have asked everyone in the world their opinion (because who speaks Mandarin other than John Huntsman?).  I just know that I do.

My problem?  I never make them the same way twice.  So, they are always the best meatballs of that batch.  Someday I will write down the recipe and actually measure.  My friend Beth makes magical soup using the same methodology-lop in this, lop in that and voila!  (She once made a truly transcendent brew with tomatoes and oatmeal and other stuff...I kid you not.  I was afraid then full as I ate the whole bowl!)

Irrespective of the grandeur of my Italian beauties, a miracle happened today.  Please refer to my previous blog, Happy New Year , to catch up on my misanthropic outlook on 2011.  On this second day of 2012 I have marinated in the positive.  Positivity potion is practically pouring out of my cup.  Actually, I just decided to take a deep breath, give myself and those around me a break and make some meatballs.  It wasn't earth shattering, but it has been one of the better days in recent memory.

Whilst elbow deep in pork/beef/sausage goodness, I played Jesus Culture radio through Pandora on my iPhone.  The song, How He Loves Us, by the David Crowder Band came on.  (Aside from Michael Gungor he is one of the most talented song writers and musicians in Christian music).  The song is a popular one.  Every church sings it, even my little staid Methodist outpost.  I too sang along, once I found the key, while rolling meatballs.  It was a quadruple batch so I had a lot of rolling to do-which is good because the song is over 4 minutes.

There was one line which made me stop.  I don't have time to maintain these regrets-when I think about the way HE LOVES US.  Regrets, I realized, are my jurisdiction alone.  Sure, there are those who would love nothing better than to point at my failures and remind me if I just did what they told me my life would have been different.  However, they are no longer in my life, and probably never will be again.  Regrets are anvils with handles I choose to pick up-if I allow myself to think about them.

When I do think about the way He loves me, the way my kids love me, the way (when I am not a female praying mantis about to take off his head) my husband loves me-I don't have time to pick up the regrets.  I have time to be thankful and be whole.  I have time to breathe. 

My life is challenging.  After this revelation over the meatballs, it still is challenging.  However, I can choose not to maintain these regrets and instead think about the good things, the great things, the tasty things-like my miraculous meatballs. 

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