Austria is not America. And I bake a lot in America. I was hoping to bring that habit here, but then I got scared because the flour’s different, there’s only one word in German for baking powder and baking soda – like they’re interchangeable, but they’re not -, and I heard horror stories about rock solid cookies or flat cake online.
So, naturally, I bought baking supplies a week ago and let them sit on my shelf while I gathered up the courage to try to make something.
Finally, this morning, I mustered up all my courage and did this:
Makin’ banana pancakes, pretend like it’s the weekend.
It did feel like the weekend because my dad often gets fancy with breakfast on Saturdays or Sundays. And I don’t have class on Mondays, which made the day even more weekend-ish. Throw in a dash of sunshine and about 3 cups of coffee, and you have a truly lovely morning.
Then add in Beth Moore on Youtube, and it gets better. Really, God bless the creators of Youtube and the user who puts these videos up. It’s hard to not have a church here (well at least, not an English-speaking church), so having someone preach at me in a Southern accent for twenty minutes is soothing.
I watched the end of the video called “The Alabaster Box” today, where Beth is talking about Jesus’ response to the Pharisee when he criticizes the woman who pours perfume on Jesus’ feet. “Simon, I gotta story for you: Pretend that there are two people who owe a debt. One of the debts is big, and the other is small. The person they owe the debt to forgives both debts. Which one of those people is going to love the guy more?”
And she goes on to talk about how it’s not really that one has a bigger debt and one has a smaller debt, it’s that one of them realizes the enormity of their debt and the other does not. Neither of them can pay it, so it’s too big, regardless of dollar amount.
So, of course, I started thinking, well, what was my debt like?
I’ve thought about this before, how my testimony of life before Christ wasn’t a life without Christ, it was just a life that wasn’t about Him. It was a life in church and in a Christian school where God just kept reeling in me closer over time. It’s not that dramatic. But the freedom is. Maybe it was a small debt if you count some sins bigger than others or count the years without Jesus since I haven’t lived long enough to total very many, but it was still a debt I couldn’t pay and freedom I couldn’t grant myself.
I suppose it doesn’t matter what you’re in for if you’re in jail, does it? If you don’t have the key, what good does it matter if it was petty theft or serial killings? If you know you can’t set yourself free and someone comes along who can, well, doesn’t that make them the primary object of your affection? Doesn’t it make you want to throw yourself at their feet and clean their house from top to bottom and bake them triple chocolate brownies and spend hours and hours just listening to them speak?