Cookies and Christ
Stories of Faith And Recipes
Leaving Behind My Son and His Warrior Wife
Our time in the Las Vegas area had come to an end.
The mix of emotions felt big.
My SUV was packed and I was preparing to head out on my six-hour drive north.
Seeing the grandkids again gave me energy to get packed, but my heart felt heavy leaving behind my son and his warrior wife in this zip code.
I was grateful that we had felt the nudge from God to help them out.
Recovery from brain surgery is expected to take a year. Jodi is doing the work to heal. Most of her work moving forward is invisible to the naked eye. Her cervical collar no longer needs to be worn. Her scar is covered by her beautiful thick reddish-brown hair.
Her eyes hold the wisdom of where she’s been-
The mountains she has climbed-
The storms she has endured-
And-
The paths that lay ahead.
These two were no doubt chosen by God, and I believe -agreed- to travel this difficult path as part of their mortal experiences.They have done so with grace, love, and light.
I’m grateful to have been blessed to ride along in this chapter of their lives to witness God’s love, miracles, and my kids’ unwavering commitment to each other, and to Him.
My son works for the Las Vegas Aces, a women’s professional basketball team. We have become super-fans and never miss a game. While living in Vegas, we’ve been blessed with season tickets.
My daughter-in-law is amazing at navigating her way through this big ‘ol city. I’m a small town girl and the bright lights and busy streets seem very big-town!
She has a way about her- to break it all down- to just living a deliberate life. And on this particular day- guided my husband, who was driving, through the city, a tricky cone-filled parking lot, and then through a large casino/convention center to the arena.
We settled into our seats at our first home game of the season. I was distracted and in awe over all that there was to take in.
However, before the starters were announced-
After the national anthem was beautifully belted throughout the arena-
While the hype music blared that could not just be heard, but also (literally) felt-
There was a message.
It was quick
And fleeting.
From across a nearly packed arena filled with distractions measured in pomp and circumstance and affecting all of my senses –
My daughter-in-law received a gesture of love- a quick wave- from my son as he entered from the tunnel across the arena.
It was sweet and meaningful…
The way these two have navigated choppy waters of less than ideal health troubles, praying for help and healing-
And then waiting…
Living true, meaningful, God directed lives while waiting….
Living in faith, trust, and hope while waiting…
It’s truly remarkable to see.
I felt blessed to share a small portion of this journey with them.
But the time had come to close this incredible chapter.
I embarked on a drive “away”-
Again, with gratitude for a season marked by a few numbers and a street name.
It was a place to serve, learn, and grow in ways only possible by the sacrifices made to be there.
I returned to the town, six hours north, where all of my grandkids live.
This season too- felt fleeting- and I prayed for energy to enjoy it.
I also prayed for direction…
To do the “next” right by God…
And to be all-in–
All-in in loving my people…
All-in in working to remember what I’ve learned about what it takes to hear God speak to me…
All-in in my hope that I live a life where God can use me to share His light…
All-in in getting a bit better with my discipleship in Christ…
All-in in creating a legacy of loving God and continuing to seek to do His will.
I know this means mountains are still to be climbed.
My energy and commitment to God will be tested.
The adversary will work to help me forget every miracle I witnessed.
It won’t be easy and i pray for the faith to know that the continued effort will be worth it.
I arrived “home”.
My resolve was in motion.
So much of the story of “next” is now being written…
-JC
Reece’s Peanut Butter Cookies
1 cup soft butter
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 cup peanut butter
1 ¾ cups packed brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups chopped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
1 cup milk chocolate chips
3 oz. chopped milk chocolate bar
Cream butter, oil, peanut butter and brown sugar with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Hand stir in eggs and vanilla extract; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Stir in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup pieces, chocolate chips and chopped chocolate. Scoop out approximately 32 2” balls of dough. Gently roll. For a richer flavor and smoother texture, form cookie dough balls, flatten slightly, and refrigerate or freeze until ready to bake. Place on greased or parchment paper on an aluminum cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 12+ min. Drizzle with Peanut Butter Fudge. Garnish with crumbled Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Let set. Share!
Peanut Butter Fudge
½ cup semi sweet chocolate chips
¼ cup creamy peanut butter
2 Tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Dash of salt
Melt together chocolate chips, peanut butter, and butter. Stir in vanilla extract and salt. Spoon into freezer strength Ziploc until ready to use. (Use while still warm or gently reheat in the microwave before drizzling.)
I Wasn’t Looking For God To Whisper To Me That Morning…
It was 7:15 am on a seemingly random summer morning.
Was it possible that I had just been kicked in the bum by an angel…?
Sounds absurd…
I know…
But listen to this and you tell me what you think happened…
I arrived at pickleball a bit later than I had planned. I was meeting up with someone I had previously met on the “back courts.” She told me to come play with her group on the “front courts” any morning at 6:45 am.
My back court group wasn’t meeting up that day-
So I set out to drive the thirty minutes-
To find a pickleball game with some random strangers.
I arrived, a bit nervous, hoping I would fit in okay.
I wandered around the front courts feeling like it was the first day of fifth grade trying to find my friend so that I had a “someone”.
My “friend” wasn’t there…
I felt like a lost fool as I looked for games with someone-
Anyone…
Everyone was much better than me but I took a few games with people who were a player short and then exited the rough beating when better players “paddled in…”
I looked for my new friend again-
Still- she wasn’t there.
I joined another group one player short of a game and halfway through-
Felt a pain surge up my back followed by a numbing tingling running down my legs.
This wasn’t a recurring injury…
This was new.
I let my partner finish the game by doing all of the moving and slowly crept off of the court with a strong hitch in my giddy-up.
I went to my bag for some Aleve-
Texted my son who is a physical therapist, begging for a quick stretch he could send me via text and hoping to be back on the court within 30 minutes. He told me to pack up for the day and he would take a look at it later.
As I was packing up to leave-
I began chatting with the guy who had been my partner during the previous game.
It was a typical-
“Where are you from?” conversation.
What I have found in this Las Vegas park is that everyone has a different story than the person they stand with on either side of the court. This man was no different.
He asked me where I was from. I told him- “Tri-Cities, Washington”.
He paused – In a way that caused me to pause telling my story.
He took off his sunglasses and told me his best friend from college used to live there.
He hasn’t seen his friend in more than thirty years. He spoke deeply of his friend, Rob.
I didn’t know Rob. Our paths had never crossed. Nor could they possibly have and I was about to find out why…
But first-
God whispered to me that “Ann” was “this” Rob’s sister.
I wasn’t looking for God to whisper to me that morning…
I was looking to play pickleball at a comfortable 3.0 level…
Ann and I had met in Arizona 8 years prior.
I was going through a rough transition after a move, and I felt God connected us more deeply in that season than either of us seemed to have bandwidth for.
She was always offered a kind smile and I felt like anytime we chatted- we could talk deeply and freely.
Yet-
It had been years since I had seen or texted with her.
And yet-
It didn’t matter.
On a warm sunny morning at a community park in a rough part of town in Las Vegas, Nevada-
God told me that this man was talking about Ann’s brother.
The man shared more about his friend. He told me he had invited Rob to spend a college summer working with him in his hometown a few states away. He had jobs lined up and a free place to stay. They could have a great summer and make and save lots of money.
He said Rob told him he had prayed about the idea and felt like he needed to spend some time at home that summer. So he returned to Washington. A few weeks later, Rob tragically passed away in a car accident.
Tears were freely flowing as he told me that years after his friend’s passing, he had named his first child after him.
I listened.
He talked more about how they met-
A familiarity he felt having known this friend before meeting in the dorms at college…
I listened.
He wiped his eyes-
And said-
I wish I knew how to reconnect with his family. I’d love to talk with his parents.
I told him I thought I might be able to help him. He looked at me with the same disbelief that I likely had on my expression when I said those words. These weren’t my ideas. This wasn’t my resolve as I went to pickleball that morning. And yet, God wasn’t speaking to me days prior in the middle of the night when I told Him that He had a captive audience. He needed me then-
To listen.
He needed me there-
To listen.
And potentially He had to send an angel to slow me down from my own ideas (of a comfortable 3.0 pickleball game) so that I could be more prepared to hear Him.
I told this man that I would reach out to my friend, Ann, and see if her parents were still alive. I told him that I had met them in Arizona eight years prior, but I had not maintained close contact with His friend’s sister-
So I wasn’t really sure where the family was-
But I promised to try to gain whatever information I could.
I asked him if he would be at the park in the same place the next day. He told me he would. I told him I would find out about his friend’s parents and pass along any information that I could find the next day.
I limped to my car, hoping for an immediate evaluation from my son. He was already on his way to work and because of an accident on the freeway – was running late. He said he would have time after his morning meeting to assess me. So I waited in the parking lot while talking to my friend Ann on the phone.
Ann was in near disbelief as I explained to her the connection that I had made at the park that morning. It definitely felt like I was telling a story that was not mine.
We caught up on the comings and goings of our lives, and our kids. She shared with me a podcast she had started. We expressed gratitude for the chance to catch up and said goodbye. She immediately forwarded me her parents’ contacts as they are both still living.
My son came out to the parking lot where I was parked after his first meeting and did a quick assessment. He told me he thought there was just a simple muscle spasm in my glute.
He told me to spend some time that day just trying to get it to relax, and if it was still bugging me after work, he could direct me on what I needed to do to get back on the court.
I drove home in near disbelief that so much had happened so early in the morning.
These connections that I potentially bridged were not mine to connect. This was God‘s work. He knew the desires of the heart of my new pickleball friend to reconnect with his dear friend’s family. And perhaps God remembered that I told him in the middle of the night -days prior- that I was there- a captive audience -willing to listen.
Again, God taught me about God. He taught me that His timing matters more than anything else. And that His messages to me won’t come necessarily when I’m asking for them-
But rather when He needs me to hear just how-
He can use me in His work.
I’d love to say the lesson has been learned. But I fear the adversary’s work is to help me forget.
And thus…
The mortal path we are on…
To keep the adversary at bay-
Enough to let God in and hear Him.
-JC
(Names have been changed to protect privacy.)
Iced Oatmeal Cookies
¾ cup soft butter
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cup quick oats
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
Cream butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Hand stir in egg, egg yolk, and vanilla extract; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Scoop out approximately 24 2” balls of dough. Gently roll and flatten slightly.
(For a richer flavor and smoother texture, refrigerate or freeze until ready to bake.)
Place on parchment paper lined aluminum cookie sheets. Bake at 375 degrees for 10+ min. Let cool. Drizzle with Vanilla Icing.
Let set. Share!
Vanilla Icing
3 tablespoons whole milk
1 ½ cups powdered sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Dash of salt
Combine all ingredients into a food chopper or food processor. Pulse until well blended. Transfer into a freezer strength quart size Ziploc until ready to use. Once cookies are somewhat cooled, snip the corner of the Ziploc for ease in drizzling.
I Heard The Same Voice, Again
I tucked myself into the guest room at my daughter-in-law’s home while my son was away on a work trip.
My job there was undefined and potentially unnecessary. However, we were all unsure if this would be the case until hindsight became part of the equation.
So I settled into the comfy king-sized bed with my door cracked open in case Jodi called for assistance as she was still healing from her brain surgery.
She went to bed early and I had followed suit as early morning pickleball had become part of my routine. I uttered a quick prayer-
Expressing gratitude for Jodi’s healing and of course – my eclectic group of unlikely friends that I gathered with on courts 15 and 21 at Sunset Park each morning in Las Vegas.
We were each soooo different from one another. I loved it! And even more- each story I coaxed out the people I met there. 😉I adored them and told God how blessed I felt to have met Donna (the group’s organizer) a few days after moving to Las. Vegas.
I had quickly fallen asleep post or perhaps even mid-prayer.😳
I’m not sure how much time had passed- but I awoke to someone calling for me.
I assumed it was Jodi —
But she wasn’t at the door–
She hadn’t texted for help and there was no sign of distress.
I wondered if God or one of His angels had awakened me–
I listened for a message, a directive, or something–
Anything to explain who was seemingly talking to me.
My search was returned with silence. I told God that He had a captive audience and that if there was anything I should know about —
Any kind of work that He needed me to do-
I was now wide awake in the pitch black of night ready to listen.
I had just reconciled myself…
Professing I was willing to give Him my time…
And yet…
Silence…
Until all of a sudden–
I heard the same voice, again.
The one that had awakened me from deep sleep.
I recognized it…
Her message wasn’t really for me. Perhaps more of a general message for the household–
I just happened to be the only one listening.
She’s beloved for her helpfulness in keeping the floors of the home clean…
She’s the household robotic vacuum and mopper.
She had completed her tasks and was signing off and returning to her charging station for the night.
There was no message from God that night- despite my belief that there could be.
No angel was waking me up to help anyone- as no one needed my help.
It’s caused me to ponder why God chooses when He sends us messages.
I was ready to receive it.
Willing to go and do it.
Losing sleep anyway–
And yet, God was silent.
The next thought that I believe originated from Him came the next day-
While I was busy–
Distracted even.
God had to fight through my internal monologue of somewhat chaotic homeless thoughts to prompt me to journal some ideas.
And I had to fight through the same to receive it.
That’s His timing.
God was teaching me about Him and how He works.
In so doing–
I can better identify what messages are from Him.
Maybe it’s not always supposed to be easy to hear Him.
Perhaps the greater growth I need is in learning to listen…
-JC
No Bake Peanut Butter Bars
6 tablespoons melted butter
1 ¼ cups peanut butter
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
2 cups powdered sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
Stir butter and peanut butter together until smooth.
Mix together graham cracker crumbs, powdered sugar, and salt.
Combine peanut butter mixture with graham mixture. Spoon into a greased or parchment lined 8” x 8” square pan. Pat gently to level top. Frost with Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge.
Let set. Cut into squares. Share!
Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
½ cup creamy peanut butter
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
Dash of salt
Melt chocolate chips, peanut butter, and butter in the microwave for 30 seconds or until the mixture can be stirred smooth. Stir in vanilla and salt. Spread onto bars while Fudge is warm.
Not all of God’s children are gathered to hear the pastor preaching…
Sometimes “time” as a resource feels fleeting. And sometimes…
It feels like a test–
Of how well I use it, and what I might have to “show” for it at any future crossroads.
Our third, and final, Airbnb in the Vegas area became my temporary home the day after the advertisement was posted. We toured the home and instantly asked to sign a contract to move in the next day. Our landlady mentioned moving out in a hurry, potentially leaving behind some of her things, including the tortoises in the courtyard…
Wait…
The what?
I had unknowingly walked right past their home on my way to the front door.
She mentioned that she or her kids would come take care of them until she could move them.
I would come to learn that desert tortoises burrow to create shelter. There were three of them. They had lived in their burrow since they were 4” in diameter. They were now close to 16”.
We moved into our new rental the next day. The three tortoises seemed to mind their own business–
But I became increasingly curious about them.
I messaged the landlord and asked her if I could feed and water them for her. She was a busy lady and I struggled to meaningfully fill my abundance of extra time.
So it was settled-
I was now the designated household tortoise caretaker.
It was fun to FaceTime the grandkids showing them the turtles as they slowly moved around their enclosure.
I’d research what I could complement their pellet food with…
One early afternoon, on a day with very little to do, I garnished the plate of moistened pellets with raspberries and then I waited…
And waited…
And waited.
After what felt like an excessive amount of wasted time waiting, I went back inside and finished a few tasks I had begun pre-raspberry obsession…
A few hours later, I returned to turtle watching delighted to see one lying on the plate of food-
Soaking in all of the raspberry and rabbit pellet glory.
I was momentarily delighted, and then remembered the saying-
“God can’t steer a parked car.”
I had felt a bit parked lately in my waiting to be asked to help.
I was grateful for the circumstances around my daughter-in-law’s post-surgery rebound and that she did not require nearly the amount of help that any of us were imagining—
But I knew I needed to do more in my days to be productive. Specifically, I felt stalled in my discipleship and working to spread God’s light and love.
I vowed to spend less time garnishing the tortoises’ meals with raspberries and then waiting….
And more time engaged in anything else God could use me for, as His hands, to accomplish any portion of His work.
The ideas and thoughts that followed were simple, seemingly non-consequential work.
I would text a friend, read scripture-based stories and talks, or take a walk with a goal to spread smiles and light to anyone on the neighborhood walking path. I felt a bit invisible in this work, yet committed to staying with the idea that any effort in discipleship matters.
On a warm summer Vegas day, I took a wrong turn trying to get home from the pickleball courts where I spent most mornings. A U-turn put me in a prime position to roll through a McDonald’s drive-through for a cold filtered crisp Diet Coke. (IYKYK)
There was no line. I counted myself pretty lucky and quickly made it to the speaker to place my order. Once I got to the first window, I gave the nice lady my credit card. We had a short conversation. There was no one behind me and no one in front of me. We chatted ever so briefly, choosing connection…
She paused, looked into my eyes as she held my credit card to return it to me, and said “Thank you for chatting with me.”
It was simple.
Seemingly inconsequential.
But there was an opportunity to connect mother to mother, grandma to grandma, daughter of God to daughter of God…. And it mattered.
Did my resolve to spread God’s light put me in the McDonald’s drive-through at that exact moment in time?
I don’t truly know…
I would likely guess not…
But what I did there seemed to matter…
So much of God’s work is between Him and His children. We rarely see the impact we make through the light we attempt to share.
But I can say-
The simple efforts feel “right”.
I’m not at a place in my life where I stand with a microphone on a platform in my discipleship.
Yet in the exact place I was—
God was telling me- that not all of his children are gathered to hear the pastor preaching…
Some need to feel His light and love-
One on one-
And that simple work is what I felt called to do with my time…
-JC
Browned Butter Caramel Krispy Treats
6 Tablespoons butter, browned (Melt on medium heat until butter melts, then foams)
6 oz. caramels
10 ½ cups (16 oz.) mini marshmallows
½ teaspoon salt
7 oz. marshmallow creme
10 cups Rice Krispies
2 cups (additional) mini marshmallows
Immediately pull the browned butter from saucepan and stir in the 6 oz. of caramels to melt the caramels. Microwave in ten second intervals as needed. Heat mini marshmallows and salt in the microwave for 1 minute. Stir in marshmallow creme and browned butter/caramel mixture. Stir until smooth. Add krispy cereal and additional mini marshmallows. Fold over thoroughly until combined. Spoon into a greased 9 x 13 pan. Spray hands with non-stick cooking spray. Use your hands to gently flatten and even out treats.
Let set. Share!
The Thing About Hope In a Fallen World…
The thing about hope in a fallen world, complete with sickness and pain…
Is that some days are still going to be hard days.
Bry and Jodi returned home to the Las Vegas area of Nevada where her family helped them get settled.
My husband and I were a few days behind them.
We managed affairs in Utah and then headed to Arizona to pack up the house. We were under contract for the sale and this would be our final days available to pack before we needed to be in the Vegas area to help the kids.
A few days later we left Arizona.
Our SUV and truck were over-stuffed with personal belongings. As I backed down the driveway a final time, I paused.
I looked at the marker in the yard- a number and a street name-
And yet this home felt like so much more…
The people we met during our time here. It’s the best part about what God has done with our lives over the past several years. In working to follow His will for us- we’ve moved a lot. The amazing people I’ve come to know through my time in Mesa, Arizona are one of the greatest sustaining blessings.
Driving away, I took a final glimpse in the rear-view mirror. Immense gratitude filled my heart and soul as I headed towards our Las Vegas Airbnb.
I arrived in Vegas a couple of hours ahead of my husband. I was hungry and tired but decided to drop off a few things at the rental before I went to get dinner and a few groceries.
I walked into the house. Stale smoke coupled with perfumed air fresheners filled my lungs. Outside, the hot tub was broken and drained, and patio furniture was damaged and scattered in the yard.
I went to my car.
I wished I could cry and feel better- but I’m not much of a crier.
The next few weeks encompassed two different hotels, another sub-par/sub-promised Airbnb BnB, and Jodi’s first post-surgery health episode.
I was shook.
One afternoon I was going through some boxes that I had packed up from the Arizona house.
I came across a watercolor verse my daughter had given me.
It was a scripture and a message that I had used as a mantra in times past-
Reading the words felt like a borrowed belief from before that I no longer knew…
Perhaps from-
-Times when life seemed easier.
-Times when blessings flowed and I felt great gratitude.
-Times when I felt strong and my belief in a God of perfect love was unwavering.
But today-
I was weak.
My heart broke for the kids and the accompanying stress I felt as my presence in their zip code seemed useless.
The truth is-
It didn’t matter what I could do to try and be there for them. I couldn’t do everything. I couldn’t control anything. I felt helpless and worn down.
I stared at the message…
“I could not be shaken.
Jacob 7:5”
And yet-
I was shook…
A few short weeks prior, I stood witness to God’s miracles.
I felt the presence of angels. It was big. I was grateful that it was easy to see. The adversary had felt so far in the distance.
I was drenched in and felt incredibly close to God’s perfect love and an outpouring of His blessings.
So-
How did I get HERE…?
(Shook!)
And how could I free myself of this hopeless mindset?
I left the open moving box at my feet and fell back on my bed with my phone in hand.
The notifications page was full.
I began sorting through and deleting the nonsense that filled the screen.
And then I saw my “scripture of the day” notification with a sobering number attached to it.
I had signed up for an app that sends me a scripture each morning at 7 am. It’s the first scripture I read- and sometimes the only one-
But I feel like doing so sets the stage for my day…
For the past 6 days, I had let the hard win.
I felt shaken-
Why?
Because-
I’m not strong on my own.
My strength comes from Christ.
He is the reason I have hope.
He is the reason I can work through the hard.
He is the reason I know God.
He is the reason I can see the miracles.
And when I forget to turn to Him-
When I choose to be too busy to begin my day learning of Him…
Feeling “shook” and losing hope is a natural cause and effect.
I needed to get back on track…
The path was simple-
A consistent and disciplined approach for just a few minutes of my day, to read the word of God, is all I needed to do.
Laying back on a borrowed bed, feeling tired, empty, and shook…I “caught up” and recommitted.
-JC
Pumpkin Cupcakes
1 cup vegetable oil
½ cup sour cream
1 ¾ cups dark brown sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
15 oz. pumpkin puree
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon cloves
½ teaspoon allspice
Mix together vegetable oil, sour cream, and brown sugar until well combined. Add one egg at a time, mixing well after each one. Stir in vanilla extract and pumpkin puree. Add all dry ingredients and mix until combined. Spoon out into 24 prepared cupcake tins. Bake at 350 degrees for 24 minutes or until done. Let cool completely. Frost with Browned Butter Spiced Cream Cheese Frosting.
Let set. Share!
Browned Butter Spiced Cream Cheese Frosting
8 ounces softened cream cheese
6 tablespoons butter, browned (Melt on medium heat until butter melts, then foams)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 Tablespoons whipping cream
3 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Dash of salt
Mix cream cheese and butter until smooth. Stir in cinnamon. Add vanilla extract, whipping cream, powdered sugar, and salt. Mix until fluffy.
Soaked In Hope
Bry was told that it would be best to let Jodi be cared for by the nurses and doctors- and that he should get good sleep.
I reserved two rooms at a nearby hotel. Bry spent ten minutes of one day in his room to take a shower—and only that—because Jodi’s ICU room didn’t have one.
He championed every step of her recovery. She was a warrior fighting for better health. He took every literal step with her, cheering her on…
My job…?
Literally-
To watch the miracles unfold and bring in food…
One evening, I left the hospital after dropping off food and grabbed a to-go bag for myself at a nearby drive-through.
I was trying to get back to the hotel before dark. The hotel was close to the hospital but not in the direction of a really great neighborhood.
I felt safe-ish…
I had finished my sandwich as I drove and quickly gathered my trash so that the car I borrowed from my sister wouldn’t have a lingering stale fried-food smell.
I briskly walked to the entrance of the hotel. A thick marijuana smell filled the cold evening air.
I went to my room, triple checked the lock on the door, and crawled into bed.
I had nothing left for the day. Every bit of mental and emotional energy I had-
I had used.
I needed to rest, regroup, and recharge to continue my outside of the norm routine. I felt very task-oriented. Such was a good thing. However, the sun wasn’t shining. Every day, the weather was a rain/snow mix. I had underdressed and underpacked for the “spring” Colorado weather.
I was chilly throughout each day.
On the final day the kids were at the hospital there loomed an April winter storm warning.
Several feet of snow were expected.
The timeline worked out amazingly, and we arrived back at my sister’s before the heavy snow began to fall.
We arrived to a package on the front step of my sister’s…
My daughter had sent me fleece-lined leggings and a thick sweatshirt. She had asked if I needed it. I told her I didn’t. I had assured her I was “fine.”
But my “fine” was a chill I couldn’t and hadn’t shaken for days…
I literally hate the cold. My body hates to be cold.
I called my daughter with tear-filled eyes of gratitude. I went straight upstairs to my borrowed room and pulled the leggings on with my bone-chilled fingers and settled in at my sister’s home.
The spring storm dumped several layers of ice and snow. My sister and her husband were out of town.
We hunkered down with no plans to leave our mountainous borrowed home until everything white and beautiful was melted.
4 days passed…
During this time, we watched TV, cooked, baked, and chatted.
Jodi adjusted to life with her cervical collar and took her -doctor-mandated- steps each day around my sister’s home.
One afternoon, while “walking” she paused to survey the white landscape outside the floor-to-ceiling windows…
She whipped her torso around and said…
“I think I feel bored.”
Bry and I looked up with a silent pause. She had our attention with her conviction…but we didn’t fully understand.
She went on to explain that sick people don’t feel bored. You have to feel ok to feel bored. Boredom is a luxury sick people don’t know.
I had never thought to be grateful that I’ve felt bored or restless…
It’s a blessing to feel enough energy to feel that way.
I was now a full week into my time in Colorado. This entire experience was literally changing who I was and how I thought about life. It had been non-stop days engulfed in God’s miracles.
I could hardly take in all that was happening.
Dreams that had yet to be dreamt for this family seemed to be part of the possibility of their next…
I couldn’t believe that I was along for the ride to witness it all.
My son and his wife- and their army of families have prayed for over a decade for some hope…
Ten years…
In truth…
Is not too long…
To receive hope…
It’s the kind of hope that is truly only available through faith in Jesus Christ, and His Father, our Heavenly Father.
It’s the idea of hope that is followed with faithful steps of enduring the hardest of hard days void of anger or frustration toward God.
It is hope- while knowing God’s perfect love and wisdom is always the best plan for our lives, despite our lens to see.
This is the type of faith and hope that Bry and Jodi flooded their lives with. It’s who they are.
Every conversation I witnessed that week between these two exemplary people, my son and his warrior wife, was soaked in hope.
-JC
Butterfinger Cookies
1 cup soft butter
½ cup oil
1 ¾ cups DARK brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk chocolate chips
1 ½ cups butterscotch chips
1 ½ cups chopped Butterfinger Candy Bar pieces
Cream butter, oil and brown sugar with an electric mixer on medium-high for 2 minutes or until well blended. Hand stir in eggs and vanilla extract ; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Stir in chips and Butterfinger pieces. Scoop out approximately 32 balls of dough. Gently roll and flatten slightly. Refrigerate or freeze before baking for the smoothest texture. Place on greased or parchment paper lined aluminum cookie sheet.
Bake at 375 degrees for 12+ min.
Drizzle the tops with Butterscotch Fudge.
Let set. Share!
Butterscotch Fudge
½ cup butterscotch chips
½ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon coconut oil
Melt ingredients in a microwave safe bowl for thirty seconds, or until soft. Stir until smooth. Spoon into a freezer strength Ziploc and use while still warm.
The Work Is Connecting with God
Jodi was over five hours into her “nap” (with the aid of anesthesia).
My mind wandered to hope for the future for my son and his wife— for better days of health and more easily available happiness through the ease of living with less pain and discomfort.
At Bry’s lead—
We headed back to the waiting room in the neurological surgery wing.
A short time later—
The surgeon emerged.
I silently watched as my son greeted him and took in the update.
These were just words to Bry…
I heard that the surgery was deemed successful and that through 3D imaging they didn’t have to cut into the brain to the degree they initially expected.
Bry took in the message. But to him— These reassuring words were just that.
He wanted to see Jodi. He needed to see Jodi.
I was amazed by and grateful to witness his love for her.
The neurosurgeon had completed his portion of the surgery—
But Jodi needed to be stitched up and cleaned up.
It would be another hour before they took her into recovery. The wait continued.
Bry opened his laptop and put himself back to work.
As a kid, my parents taught me to work.
My husband and I, in turn, taught our kids to work.
No one can out-work them.
They didn’t always like it.
When the boys were in middle school, we bought a 2½ acre parcel of land and had a house built on it.
Over the next six years, we had 80 tons of landscape rock delivered.
The rock was large (4-6 inch diameter) of black basalt rock.
It was pretty—
But you couldn’t shovel it. I had boys… not men, yet…
Teenage boys who began a bit undersized.
Each rock had to be placed by hand—
First onto a saucer connected to a rope.
A saucer full of rocks would then be dragged to its location somewhere on the 2½ acre lot. It was then carefully dumped and nestled around the plants. The process was repeated countless times. Hours each weekend we “did rocks”. Gatorades and pizza flowed freely.
It was a lot of work- mostly silent work. There was little instruction. It was simply an exercise in physical grit and mental toughness.
I’m grateful we didn’t have the money to hire the job out.
My oldest would often say “No one I know has to work this hard on the weekend!”
He didn’t mean it as a compliment. Sometimes I felt bad.
Except that my husband and I, and our young daughter (as long as she’d last) worked right along with them. They were not sent to work alone. We worked hard— together, as a family.
So it’s not too surprising to see my kids turn to and lean into work…
They know its value—
Physically, mentally, and even spiritually—
It’s how you grow, and how you get done what you set your mind to do.
Lets explore this idea in regards to spiritual work.
A few days ago, I did a hike that was familiar. It’s the one I often hiked a few years ago when I was going through a bit of a struggle with God. I was driven and relentless in chasing down a specific answer from Him.
I worked to earn the answer-
I tightened up my spirituality where I felt like I could put forth no greater effort in being eligible to receive God’s guidance in my life.
God was silent.
I felt like I was undeserving of His silence.
I tightened my efforts, repented of pride, distractions, and faithless moments, and tried again.
I tried again. And again. And again.
Why was God holding out on me?
I thought we had a pretty good working agreement and track record.
He tells me the path to take.
I take it.
And yet–
I was ready to move in any direction, pivot from any expected path…
I was seeking something from God-
Anything…
And there was nothing…
I was reminded of a lesson I had been taught by God—
His timing is part of His plan.
In fact, it’s likely the most important part when it comes to each of us and our individual progression.
Spiritual work is a discipline in understanding God’s will.
Begging for an answer and even feeling like I’ve worked to be deserving isn’t the spiritual work I need to do.
The work is connecting with God—
-Understanding who I am as His daughter
-Understanding my purpose in Him.
Efforts to seek direction when God’s timing isn’t in line with my desire for an answer usually lead to frustration.
Working to connect with God leads to peace, feeling His love, and increased patience in understanding His will and His timing.
What I’m being told today is to be deliberate. There’s no specific course of action. Only that God is telling me to be deliberate in my decision-making. Again, the work involves connecting with God versus seeking a specific answer in a specific direction. When I connect with him, perhaps I am able to better understand what he needs me to do without being told exactly what that looks like.
That feels like leveling up 😉
Sometimes it’s hard to be told by God what to do because it seems like a hard ask.
Sometimes even harder to do it.
But in my experience, it’s even harder when God simply tells me to be deliberate in my decision-making and isn’t giving me the “out” with an answer at that juncture.
It’s a level of spiritual work.
I endorse it.
I applaud it.
But living it-
I’m working on finding the joy…
During Jodi’s surgery, Bry distracted himself with work, until the surgical coordinator returned to the waiting room confirming Jodi was in recovery. She would be sent to the neurological intensive care unit-
Room 7326.
Bry was told to give them some time to get her settled and then he could meet her there.
He went straight to the room. Our walk took us past nearly every room in the intensive care unit…
It was sobering to see so many people…so sick…
Before long, a CNA chased us out and told us to give them time to get Jodi hooked up to the wires, monitors, and connections that they needed to care for her.
Ten minutes later, the same CNA came and retrieved us from the waiting room and brought us back to Room 7326.
It was there that I witnessed the sweetest post-surgery reunion.
If love can help heal…
Jodi was in the best hands possible…
-JC
Toasted Coconut cookie Bars
1 cup soft butter
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup packed brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon coconut extract
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup quick oats, blended to powder form
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 ½ cups toasted coconut (I prefer sweetened), divided
1.5 oz. grated milk chocolate bar
1 ½ cups chocolate chips
½ cup mini chocolate chips
Cream butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Hand stir in eggs and extracts; don’t over mix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Gently stir in 1 ½ cups toasted coconut, grated chocolate bar, and 1 ½ cups chocolate chips. Sprinkle 1 cup toasted coconut into the bottom of a 9” x 13” greased or parchment paper lined aluminum baking pan. Spoon cookie dough on top and gently pat down. Sprinkle the top with remaining ½ cup toasted coconut and ½ cup mini chocolate chips. Bake at 350 degrees for 40+ minutes, or until the center is set.
Let cool. Cut into squares. Share!
Lost To God?
While spending time in Arizona this past year, I’ve come to know an army of amazing women.
In the months where cold winds blow in the lands we emerge from, we gather on the pickleball courts three days a week to serve, dink, and drop-shot our way to victory or defeat.
But the truth is—
At the end of the day—
The win/loss tally doesn’t matter. We come to connect with each other. We learn about each other’s careers, children, hopes, and even despair.
Each one of these women has a story…
There is faith, fortitude, and fear entangled in them all. We hail from areas all over North America…
‘Home’ is often hundreds of miles away…every spring, we return “home” with the promise to gather again when cool fall breezes blow, chasing us to the desert.
As we converge in the land of cacti and desert sun on a striped court, we deepen our connection as women.
I could see that these women were some of the greatest blessings of my life. I was introduced to them at a time when I needed hope and healing. I love that this is how God saw fit to bless me.
God has often blessed me with great friends.
At the age of five, a new best friend moved next door. Throughout the early years, she was with me daily— at school, and at play. One summer, Mom moved our bedrooms around and my window faced hers. From the second story, we chatted across the rooftops at night—about anything and everything.
Fifty years later, I still recognize that God places incredible women in my life. I learn from them, unite with them, and understand life better as we share experiences unique to each of us.
It’s a web that has woven us together as a collective group. We aren’t meant to travel the journeys of our earth life alone. I’m grateful for the people I meet along any given path—
They help me see who I need to be.
At countless crossroads over the years in seasons of hard and heartache—
God places a new friend in my path. I only try to recognize the strength gleaned as I look in the rearview mirror of the experience.
The choice to reach out in friendship or take an outstretched hand toward me is always mine to navigate.
When our family moved to Pennsylvania, I, as a sophomore in high school, I struggled to leave my best friend from next door. It dramatically felt like my parents were ruining my life. My new school was so different in every way from where I came.
One of the first days, I had a note passed to me in class.
It said-
“We took a vote and decided you could join our clique.
Do you want to?”
YES NO
Clearly, I was expected to circle my answer and send it back.
My heart raced. I didn’t even know what this meant.
If I joined this clique—
What were the expectations…?
Were these my only friends?
On one hand—at least I would have a group to eat lunch with…
That had been the hardest part of my first few weeks as a new kid…
No one feels more lost than a new kid at lunch time.
That lonely feeling of not belonging screams as you scan the cafeteria looking for anywhere to sit that might feel welcoming.
It’s literally the most brutal feeling.
I sat with my note open on my desk, for most of the class. I didn’t know this girl— or her friends. But I was desperate for friendship.
Towards the end of class,
I circled the blank space in between YES and NO, quickly passed it back, and dashed out of class as soon as the bell rang.
The ache of wanting to belong— wasn’t just with anyone…
It was with the right someones…
That felt like an innate truth to my spirit.
At this same time in high school,
I was grappling with what I believed in spiritually.
Many of my teachers at church seemed very boring as they read from the lesson manuals each week.
My parents engaged us in reading scriptures together as a family—
But I dreaded that too.
I felt a bit lost.
Lost in friendship—
Lost to God.
A degree of despair followed.
I wasn’t ready to grow my spirituality, or turn to my family for connection.
So I went all-in with my sports teams.
It was track season…
God blessed me with a running mate and—with a lens of hindsight—a dear friend.
He knew what I needed to feel safe enough to—
In time—
Work more to connect with Him.
On the day of my daughter-in-law’s surgery, I turned to my phone to distract me during the six-hour wait. Bry had settled into a project on his laptop, teaching himself how to code. He was mentally engaged so as to not spend his day in stress and turmoil.
I texted with family and friends, including my army of pickleball women from Mesa, Arizona. God had placed these people in my life. There felt to be a bit of strength in unity.
At one point, I got up to stretch my legs. I wandered into the hospital chapel. It was empty. I looked around acknowledging these walls had encompassed many in depths of desperation in prayer, searching for hope.
My heart ached for those whose prayers seemed to linger in the rows of pews they were uttered in.
I know God hears all of our prayers for help. But I also know— sometimes we don’t get the miracle we plead for…
I’ve worked to gain some truths about God:
Always…We can feel His love to the degree we seek it…
With Him, we always belong.
He welcomes us— no matter where we are in our duty to serve Him.
Our worth to Him is not predicated on anything we do or don’t do.
We are never lost to God…
We are His…
He is ours…
Always.
-JC
Caramel Stuffed Browned Butter Chocolate Chunk Cookies
1 cups butter, browned, chilled back to solid form
¾ cup granulated sugar
1 ¼ cup packed dark brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cornstarch
¾ teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups dark chocolate chunks
½ cup grated dark chocolate
Additional ingredients:
14 oz pre-made soft caramels
Mix together cooled browned butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium high for 1+ minute or until fluffy. Hand stir in eggs and vanilla extract; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Stir in chocolate chunks and grated chocolate. Scoop out approximately 24 2” balls of dough. Stuff with pre-made caramels (I used 14 oz of pre-made caramels in 24 cookies.) Gently roll. Fatten cookie dough discs slightly and refrigerate or freeze until ready to bake. Place on greased or parchment paper on an aluminum cookie sheet. Sprinkle with sea salt flakes. Bake at 385 degrees for 12+ min.
Let set. Share!
An Elevator Was Sacred Ground
A year ago, I recognized my prayers were getting a bit lame. I wasn’t really talking with God about anything specific.
I reached out daily to connect with Him—
I expressed gratitude.
But beyond that, There wasn’t much I was talking over with Him.
I decided to be more purposeful in my prayers to God regarding my children.
As a mom at my stage of parenting, there’s less to physically do for my children.
I’m not complaining. I’m happy that they have each flexed their independence. They are at an age where I no longer have to set curfews, outline chores, and deal with daily comings and goings. The way I see it- is they are now accountable to only God for whatever they do next.
Nevertheless, as a mom, I still want to love on them and help them in the right ways.
So I took it to God.
It felt strangely difficult that I didn’t know what to pray for.
When they were younger, I uttered hundreds of prayers as they stood at bat, on a playing field, and at the free throw line…
I prayed for them during tryouts and tests. I prayed that they would make good friends and have someone who was kind to sit by on the bus.
And then I watched the craziest things happen-
They struck out.
They missed the goal.
They bricked the shot.
They got cut from the team.
They did poorly on the test.
They were lonely.
They were bullied.
My prayers didn’t seem to change the outcome. They truly didn’t…
So, in this season of life—
As I manage my expectations,
And work to stay in my own lane in my children’s lives—
How, and what, do I pray for my kids?
I’m learning to spend more time listening to God as I pray,
And I’m working to have deeper conversations with my kids about the things they’re praying for, so I can unite with them in prayer.
As I linger in prayer,
I begin to better understand the purpose of prayer.
Is it that I’ve learned something new?
Or perhaps simply deepened my understanding?
As I discuss my children with God, asking to be mindful of my role as their mother,
My understanding of how God sees them—and how He wants to direct them—grows.
I better understand that the purpose of praying for my children is not to ask for things I think would be good for their lives. Instead, it’s an opportunity to discuss them with God—who loves them perfectly. It’s a chance to listen and to seek understanding of where God is showing up in their lives, and thus, what in their lives holds the greatest eternal importance.
Last fall, my daughter-in-law came for a visit. One day, as we were chatting, she told me that they had felt strongly that they should pray for a miracle.
They believed God was telling them to ask.
A miracle with her health at the time would seemingly be anything in a better trajectory.
She had been in a hard place with symptoms and seizures.
I found great purpose in praying with them—and for them—that they would recognize the miracles God would bring into their lives.
On the morning of her brain surgery, we journeyed to the hospital before daylight. Jodi and Bry cheerfully approached the attendant at the desk to check in. We were directed to the surgical floor.
It was a short elevator ride up a few floors.
The three of us entered what seemed to be an empty elevator. Bry and Jodi stood together across from me.
Yet without a doubt, I came to understand that we were not alone. For a moment, I could see and feel that angels stood with them. Miracles had been unfolding to bring us to this point, on this day.
God was letting me know that these two were His children and that He had them encircled. He had His perfect love wrapped around them and had sent angels to linger with them. I was blessed with God’s lens to see it and, through faith, an unshakable understanding.
It was real.
It was eternal.
I felt privileged to stand with them—near them.
An elevator became sacred ground that day.
God’s Spirit and angels filled it.
No matter what would happen next—
That day, that month, or the next year—
God was in control.
This life—
Our life—
Is His work.
-JC
Strawberry Crunch Krispy Treats
Make a batch of: Strawberry Crunch
½ oz. crushed freeze dried strawberries
12 crushed Golden Oreos
2 ½ tablespoons melted butter
Dash of salt
Combine all ingredients.
Sprinkle Strawberry Crunch mixture in a greased 9” x 13” pan. Bake for 4 minutes at 350 degrees. Remove from the oven and pan. Let cool slightly. Line clean 9 x 13 pan with parchment paper. Sprinkle Strawberry Crunch on the parchment to evenly cover the pan with the mixture.
Gently spoon onto it the layer of Strawberry Krispy Treats, being careful not to mix up Strawberry Crunch layer on the bottom. Spray hands with non-stick cooking spray. Use your hands to gently flatten and even out treats. Let set.
Before serving, invert treats onto a large parchment, cutting board, or tray. Peel off parchment paper. Strawberry Crunch will now be on top.
Cut into squares. Share!
Strawberry Krispy Treats:
6 tablespoons butter
16 oz. mini marshmallows
½ teaspoon salt
1 ½ oz crushed freeze dried strawberries
7 oz. marshmallow fluff
10 cups crisped rice cereal (Rice Krispies)
Melt butter, mini marshmallows, salt and crushed freeze dried strawberries in a large bowl in the microwave. (Approximately 1 minute.) Stir in the marshmallow fluff until smooth. Gently fold in rice cereal.
Eyes Drenched In Faith…
I don’t know God’s rules for how He chooses to hand out miracles…
I wish I understood better.
My son, daughter-in-law, and I arrived in Colorado after a few flight delays due to storms.
My sister picked us up and we headed to dinner. Unfortunately, the blizzard hit a bit early and we were caught in it as we climbed the hills to her home.
She was steady.
It was a white-out.
I felt bad that I had somehow put her in this situation. She and I are both fair-weather drivers…
I prayed for our safety hoping I wasn’t “using up” too many of God’s allotted blessings for me.
I needed them all for the next day…
Again-
I’m sure that’s not how exactly how God works…😉
The mysteries of God-
Truly, the unknowns that cannot be explained.
How does He choose whom to and when to help?
I see everyday the effects of living in a fallen world.
I see seemingly senseless suffering.
I see faithful people fall into grief from prayers yet to be answered.
I believe in ‘God knowing everything for everyone’.
But it’s hard to sort through the pain of His timing and His perfect love and how that brings joy to some and pain to others.
I could get lost in the questions.
It’s ‘trending’ that so many seem to choose the questions over the answers…
How we sort through it with our imperfect mortal minds can send us on a trajectory that may or may not serve us well.
When my boys were little, we had a couple of toy chests in their room.
We also had several plastic containers on their closet shelf.
Sometimes, I would enter the room, which should have been marked with caution tape, and attempt to organize the chaos.
One particular day, I remember clearly.
The boys were summoned to help me.
We sat around the pile of dumped out toys in the room and attempted to organize it.
I realized we saw the task differently.
My brain saw-
Legos
Batman figures
Matchbox cars
Blocks
Train set
Books….
Distinct groups of toys.
Each could be placed with their own kind and tucked neatly into size appropriate containers.
The boys-
They saw an interlocking kingdom.
All of these pieces worked together to become platforms, and planets, and heroes, and transportation, and buildings, and forts, and fortresses…
They were all together. Not separate.
I could spend all day “sorting through” their toys to restore order…
But they didn’t play with the same variables of order as I saw.
I was reminded that all things work together in the playroom for the good and the imagination of any who choose to engage.
Riding in the backseat of my sister’s car as she calmly drove us down the driveway to her home amidst a snow storm-
I wondered how God sorted through when He sees fit to grant the pleadings of our hearts and when He has to say “not this time…”
The truth is-
My mortal mind doesn’t (get to) know that answer.
But my spirit can choose to connect with God.
I can choose to feel His perfect love for me all of the time.
I can work to understand that my brain can try and sort all I want…
But in God’s kingdom-
Everything works together for our “good”…
It’s a “good” we can’t always understand.
It’s a “good” that often hurts or feels chaotic.
It’s a “good” that can only be seen by eyes drenched in faith.
And by a heart amplified with hope…
We can choose-
To lean into God, choose to pray— not knowing how those prayers will be answered…
Or to pull away from Him…
Letting doubt, reason, and some version of reality rule our mind…
I laid in a warm bed in my sister’s beautiful home-
I was safe.
I felt at peace.
I uttered a prayer of gratitude and a special request that Bry and Jodi could continue to identify God’s miracles and His “good” in their lives.
My alarm was set for 4 am…
-JC
S’mores Bites
Graham Mixture:
1 cup crushed graham crackers
¼ cup powdered sugar
Dash of salt
6 tablespoons melted butter
Additional ingredients:
10 standard size marshmallows cut into half
3 ½ (1.55oz) milk chocolate Hershey Bars
Stir together graham crackers, powdered sugar and salt. Add melted butter and mix until mixture has a consistent texture.
Spray mini muffin tins with baking spray. Spoon in a scant Tablespoon of the Graham Mixture and gently press it down into 20 mini muffin cups.
Bake at 350 degrees for 7 minutes.
Remove from the oven and add a small chocolate square to each tin. Top with ½ of a standard sized marshmallow. Broil in the oven for a few seconds until marshmallow tops are toasted.
Melt remaining Hershey Bars in a freezer strength Ziploc and drizzle the tops.
Let set. Share!
