Peach Pie

So, I mentioned in the last blog that Jeff was away for a week in Michigan, preaching a revival. It was the first time we’d been apart for more than one night. Thankfully, I had my friend in town to keep me (and Gideon) occupied. And thankfully, Jeff had an entire congregation to care for him, so he didn't miss us as much as he might have.

Several things happened to Jeff on that trip which greatly amused me, but I’ll share just one. I never realized just how particular he was about his food. I mean, I know he doesn’t like cheese, but he loves nachos, pizza, queso, and a little dollop on his salads. What he won’t eat is grilled cheese sandwiches, cheeseburgers, or sliced cheese on any sandwich. I’ve yet to completely figure this one out. I have to ask every single time. “Will you eat cheese on this?”

Jeff was more worried about his food intake while off preaching than what he would say from the pulpit….you see, he’d already prepared his sermons, so that was no surprise. He couldn’t control what he was being fed. I packed him a few snacks, and off he went. His biggest worry was that he would have to eat bologna and cheese sandwiches every single day as one young seminarian did several years ago. I told him if that’s what he was served every single day for every single meal, then he would smile a great big toothy grin, say thank you, and eat it all up as if it were a piece of Salt Grass cheesecake (our favorite).

I got a call on Monday night, after he’d preached a particularly inspiring sermon where he was stomping his feet, swinging his arms, and getting fired up like the old timey preachers; even the soles of his feet were on fire. After he told me how the service went, he switched gears.

“Guess what I had for lunch today?”

“Lunch? Uh, I have no idea.”

“Well, the elderly couple I was staying with – the wife went to work and told us we would have to fend for ourselves for lunch. Her husband, a diabetic, said, “well, at least I know where the pies are.” I thought he was just joking and I laughed right along with him. Come lunchtime, though, he said, “what would you like? Peach or apple?” And I said, “I guess peach.” He served us both up a helping and we ate up our pie. Midway through, I realized this was all I was going to get, and you know how hungry I always am, so I just prayed and prayed that God would multiply that piece of pie in my stomach.”

I had to laugh out loud. I could just picture the scene. Jeff, eyes bulging, but too polite to even ask for a second helping, frantically thinking about how to get his stomach full, yet trying not to….

A Nostalgic Ode to Friendship

God places certain people in our paths at certain times of our lives. One of my dearest friends, a very busy woman, found time to work her schedule out so that she could come visit Gideon and I while Jeff was in Michigan preaching a revival and singing Southern gospel this past week.

When she left yesterday amidst the “sky is falling, the sky is falling” Texas weather, I got to thinking about friendships. She became my dearest friend, advisor, and counselor at a crucial time in my life.

When we graduate from home, then college, we suddenly experience the freedom of choice like never before; at least, that’s how it was for me. Life had been pretty simple before D.C. And then, my early to mid-twenties were spent in a town fraught with self-serving and godlessness, a town that sucks the life right out of you, if you let it, and replaces self-sacrifice with power mongering and unholy living. I’d come from the Bible belt, where finding a good church home and good Christian fellowship was easy, where the lines of black and white were clearly marked and I didn’t struggle with many “grey” issues. Suddenly I found myself alone in a big scary town and surrounded by fence-straddlers, those who, as my dad says, “have one foot on God’s side and one foot in the world.” The world seeks to destroy all that is holy and good. Many people in D.C. come for the right reasons, to stand up for what they believe is right, to make a difference, and to affect public policy; all good things. And then their paths, littered with temptations, get muddled.

Friendships, especially godly friendships, are essential for the Christian life, and were essential to my spiritual growth while in this town for three years. God blessed me with many friends, but this one in particular. My friend, Beverly, in spite of her own circumstances, was always a voice of reason, a voice of hope, and a voice of encouragement. She became a sister to me, and was always there to listen, and point me back to Scripture. Her most amazing gift is the gift of listening. It’s a skill I have yet to perfect. She listens with her whole heart, asks just the right follow up questions, and still wasn’t afraid to tell it to me like it was. And because I knew she cared, I always listened. Now, stubbornly, I didn’t always follow her advice, but I always listened.

I look back on those days with fondness. I wouldn’t want to repeat them, but those days prepared me to meet my Jeffrey. Some of those days weren’t particularly fun or particularly rewarding, but having a close circle of friends to laugh with, eat lots of chips and salsa and vanilla coke with, certainly took my mind off of life’s many struggles.

While Beverly was here, we drove up to Garland to visit another friend of ours, from those days. She, too, is now a mother. Her little gal is just a couple months older than Gideon. She, like us, has emerged from that town, not necessarily unscathed, but, wow!, what a woman. In the few short hours we spent with her, I saw a new woman, an incredible woman. Not that she wasn't before, but giving God all the glory, a new sweet humble spirit shone like a beacon.

Seeing firsthand how God has worked in each of our lives and used us to encourage one another, really just sends me into a sentimental and thankful whirlwind.

Certainly I could not have become what I am (still a work in progress) without the support of these friends. The book of Proverbs addresses friendship. I like what chapter 27:6 says, “wounds from a friend can be trusted.” These gals, I know, would tell it to me straight up, and still not forsake me. They are counted among my truest friends.

Here’s a picture of the two aforementioned gals. We sure did have some kinda times! Of course, we had to go eat Mexican food together.

Hip Hop Hoodlum, etc.

This picture cracks me up. Took Gideon outside last Sunday after church. Didn't have a sunhat, so I improvised. And then I found our rain umbrella...patted meself on the back, did I. No sunburn for this little man. All he's missing is a little bling.

Well, he's getting there. Hasn't quite figured out which end goes where.
(Yes, that's Jeff beside him sleeping)



He can now hold his own bottle, if it's the little one.
'Bout time.


As of two Sundays ago, Jeff can can do funerals and weddings.

Deep Waters

Yesterday, when our pastor asked who of us in the congregation had a perfect husband, I automatically raised my hand without question. When I looked around, I realized there were only a few other hands raised and it had really been a joke of a question.

But, I stand by my admission. I really do have a wonderful husband, perfectly formed for me. God knew what kind of man could reach me. We spat, fairly regularly, and we make up just as quickly. Remember, Jeff has 26 years of Audrea-being-bossed-around-by-men-and-detesting-it to overcome. And Audrea has 26 years (we’re not counting the year plus we’ve been married - wait, I’m 28 – well, whatever) of talking back and standing up for herself to overcome. That said, God is really working in both of us through Jeff's incredible leadership skills.

I started thinking about that volatile word outside Baptist walls - “submissive” - and the Holy Spirit really used that to deliver some much needed daggers to my pride. You see, most of you know that I come from a male dominated family. And yes, they were bossy. I was always striving to not just keep up, but to assert myself as an equal member. Mom and Dad tried to help, while also trying to instill valuable and God-given female traits, but I was having none of it. I wanted to be equal with the boys.

That desire has caused occasional strife in my marriage.

I have always believed that God created man and woman, with different, yet equally important and distinct, roles. Man represents Christ, and as Christ is the head of the church, she (the church, and thus, wife) is the bride of Christ. God instituted the sacred institution of marriage and purposefully fashioned it after His relationship to His church. It’s a beautiful picture, really. Because Christ loved the church, he gave himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25). The beautiful and poignant part is the way husbands are to love their wives – “as Christ loved the church” – think about it. The example is there in Ephesians 5. A husband’s objective is to make his wife “holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.” That’s a huge undertaking, but what a picture. It is our husband’s duty to not only start out loving us this way, but to keep us this way.

What I had to remind myself of is that when I consider these words, I have to realize that Jeff and I aren’t on opposing teams. As he has told me numerous times, he’s not out to get me. We’re on the same team. His job is to love me like Christ loved the church, and my job, (not my only job, but the one presented here within these verses) is to “submit to my husband as to the Lord.” I never THOUGHT I bucked under that word, submit, but I do, sometimes. I easily submit to God’s authority in my life; my duty, then, as commanded within Scripture, is to submit to my husband’s God-instituted and God-ordained authority in that same life. So why do I sometimes make it harder than it has to be? My husband is fulfilling his role in the way he loves me. Submitting doesn’t mean “giving up or giving in or doing whatever one is ordered with inner resentment”; it means to “yield to authority” and yield means to “to give or render as fitting, rightfully owed, or required” – good night. What a concept. If I am a Christian, and I am, my actions must reflect the words I claim to believe, or else I am worse than a heretic. I blaspheme the holy name of God. Jeff and I ARE on the same team. Submitting should be easy when he’s doing his part. It’s recognizing that I don’t always have to be right that’s not easy. It’s my selfish pride that gets in the way of our typically harmonious existence.

Ladies, I have one word for you, something I have always known, but am finally trying to actively “live out.” If you want your spouse to succeed outside of your home, you must help him succeed inside your home, and instead of just assuming it's going to occure because of your beliefs, you must "do" something about it. Many of you already know this. Loving your spouse means putting his needs above your own, praying for him daily and consistently. That frees him up to be the man God intended him to be, which in turn, also frees him up to love you the way you were intended to be loved – as unselfishly and wholeheartedly as Christ loved his church.

Whew. Deep. I preach myself a sermon, post it online, and that'll keep me accountable, eh?

And here I was going to write about my poor l’il ol pinky toe getting smooshed and runn’d over by a shopping cart…I was hobbling in pain and oozing blood like crazy all while trying to keep up with Jeff and Gideon running away with the cart. I’ll save that story for another day.