Defining my identity

So I have been quite frustrated lately in my search for work. Partly because I need the money, partly because I have a need to feel useful, and mostly because my biggest need is to feel like I belong somewhere. I have been looking everywhere trying to find my identity. Am I a writer? Am I a baker? Am I a Business Analyst?

In my mind it seems that everyone else in the world is busy about their own tasks of being who they are, and still here I sit trying to figure out where I am supposed to be going and who I am supposed to be being.

It came to me as clear as a bell tonight on my drive home from cake decorating class, that I will never be happy until I first recognize that my identity is in Christ. That sounds great in concept but it's miserable in the living when you are anxious for direction and change. The sad thing is that I don't even know what I want or what is best for me. I just want to be doing something that is directed by God, the best for my children and husband, and helps pay some bills.

I'm realizing that I haven't spent enough time praying about this. Maybe now would be a great time to start. I will keep you posted.

Disquieted soul hard to placate

So since I decided to start this blog I have been incessantly irritated by thoughts that are screaming for release. I suppose that is a direct result of the repression I have dealt them for such a long time. I finally came to the realization that I haven't written actively for so long because I haven't allowed myself the luxury. The luxury of time, concentration, focus and peace. Solitude is something that is in short supply in my home where pre-kinders rule the roost, and unfortunately I feel like in starting this blog I have unknowingly opened Pandora's box.

Now my compulsion to write is turning into an annoying distraction. Not in the doing of it, but in the wanting of it. I lie in bed at night with my mind racing, thinking about all the things that I am keeping on a low boil ready to erupt at any time. My mind is screaming for me to get up and write - to get it out. But somehow I'm frozen at the edge of the water wanting to jump in; restraining myself because to give in to the instinct would be a devotion of time and energy that at this point in my life I fear I cannot make. I am also afraid of giving myself over to something that could become an indulgence when my family is so very much in need of my sacrificial service.

I haven't made peace with my spirit yet, perhaps because my desire has to be channeled into something more glorious and purposeful than just my single life. It has to be filtered through what God's will is for my life. To write without consideration of Him would be to pursue my own plan for my own gratification; and although I still have a voice it is a polluted one. Bringing Him into this all-important aspect of my life will purify and intensify that voice so that it does more than just bring me peace. If I can find His voice in me, maybe it can change lives.

And so it is with us all. We all have something; and what we do with it will determine the impact it makes in this life and the next.

Pierna adobada makes lasting impression

I remember the first time I tasted Pierna Adobada (Roasted Fresh Ham with Adobo Sauce), I didn’t quite know what to expect. It wasn’t sweet like an American barbeque sauce but it wasn’t tangy like a tomato sauce either. It just didn’t fit in with anything that I had experienced before. The one thing I did know, however, was that the 4 hours it had taken to prepare and roast the ham was enough to make me crazy with anticipation.

I had been invited by my then Mexican boyfriend (later husband) to come over and learn how to make this special occasion dish that was only served once or twice a year. It started with the deveining and seeding of several types of dried chiles, a few of which I had never seen before. They smelled sweet and peppery, and gave me the thought that they might taste something a kin to a raisin. My sister-in-law (looking somewhat like a mad scientist) combined those chiles with garlic, cumin seed, red wine and a whole host of other ingredients and then into the oven it went. Then we waited.


While we waited, the family gathered around and started to talk. Other family members heard through the grapevine that we were eating Pierna and they too started to trickle in one by one. Soon the small, over-heated kitchen was filled with conversation and the wonderfully suffocating smell of roasting garlic. It was only the serving (and of course eating) of the Pierna that finally calmed the roaring sea of our voices. The Pierna was so much more than I had expected. The complex flavors were enough to challenge the pallet of one who had acquired a taste for it, and yet inviting enough for the novice to want to come back for more. And so I did.