I almost had a heart attack today. Well, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. But still, I did have a moment of panic. As I was trying to install a new widget on my blog I received the "Your publisher is taking longer than expected..." message that I kept getting last week when my blog was officially broken. All I could think was, Not again! I already lost an entire week of being able to put the intimate details of my life on the Internet. Seriously, last week was quite frustrating.
Finally I contacted Maddee my blog wizard and informed her I was having problems. I suggested that in my attempt to be tech savvy I might have messed with some code or something on my blog. Sure enough, I officially was the one who broke my blog. Thankfully, I am able to pay someone to be tech savvy for me since clearly I am not. However, I did employ two new elements on my blog that you might find of interest.
If you scroll down in my side bar you will now find: 1) An Amazon.com widget that tells you what I am currently reading/listening to and enjoying. Check it out, I've got some good stuff on there. 2) You can now sign up to receive a feed from this blog via email. Now, honestly I don't expect anyone but my parents and my husband to be that interested in what I'm saying. But, should you so choose, you now have that option available to you.
So, here's a quick recap of the things I would have blogged about last week had my blog not been broken:
The Bunny Cake On Easter I attempted to wow my family with my fancy culinary skills by making this three dimensional bunny cake using a pan I bought on sale last year at Williams-Sonoma. All things appeared to go well on Saturday night. The ganache even set well in the refrigerator. Since it was hot outside, I decided to leave the bunny in the fridge at home while Michael and I went to church and come back and get it afterwards before making the one and a half hour trek to my parents' house. Turns out, I seriously underestimated the heatwave we were having and the ganache melted and the bunny fell apart in my lap on the drive anyway. I tried an emergency rescue operation once we arrived, but it was too late. The bunny didn't make it.
The Culinary Surprise
Last week's "Cooking with..." post was going to feature an unlikely guest chef: Michael. The man can make my dishes sparkle, but normally all tasks involving raw foods or fire fall exclusively to me. However, last week I made a trip to my "haircut, barber lady" (as Michael calls her) and he was left with the prospect of eating leftover stir fry for lunch or fending for himself. Surprisingly he chose the latter. What he created was unusual, but surprisingly good. He took two pieces of wheat bread and slathered them with orange marmalade. Then he put a piece of ham on each bread slice and laid one piece of Swiss cheese in the middle. I sampled his creation when I got home and was pleasantly surprised. More than anything I was impressed he had "cooked" for himself. He immediately wanted to know if he made the blog. I should have a photo of this but I don't.
The New Projects
I am often asked if I am currently working on more books. For the past year and a half the answer has been a steady no. But last week that changed. Right now I am working on a new three book proposal for my agent to begin shopping around, so I'll keep you posted on that as things develop, but suffice to say I am extremely excited about the possibility of writing new books. I'm also in the process of taking on an editorial role in another project that I am equally excited about--so more news will come on that in time too. In the meantime, I'm preparing to head out to two girls' retreat in Illinois and Ohio in the next few weeks and I'm really excited about sharing God's Word and hanging out with some teenagers. I plan to blog live from my two weekends away...so stay tuned.
I Beat Michael at Bowling
Michael and I went out to pizza and bowling on Saturday night with our Thrive group. In the top photo I'm pictured with my friends and fellow bloggersChiara and Rebecca, and below Michael and I are pictured with our friends Michael and Kristi Carlson from our small group. My husband is an extremely competitive person, and he never lets me win anything out of courtesy. If I ever win I truly have to earn it. And earn it I did, when I threw five strikes on Saturday night. I like to think that is evidence of my fine Biola education at work thanks to Coach Orr my bowling teacher.
So, there you have it. A week's work of blogs in one post. Didn't you miss me?
My blog server has been having problems. I haven't been able to post for an entire week. This is a test to see if I can fix the problem. If this works, I will post again (for real) shortly.
I know last Sunday was Palm Sunday, and this coming Sunday is Easter. For years I’ve sat in church and listened to sermons about those two Sundays—and the events that transpired in the week between the two—but this year, I decided to take up the practice of actually studying the week between Palm Sunday and Easter during the week between Palm Sunday and Easter.
Today’s passage put me in the midst of the Passover supper celebrated between Jesus and His disciples. I only got three verses into reading before I was stopped in my tracks. Matthew 26:20-22 (ESV) says:
"When it was evening, he reclined at table with the twelve. And as they were eating, he said, 'Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.' And they were very sorrowful and began to say to him one after another, 'Is it I, Lord?'"
Oddly enough, the very first response of the twelve disciples wasn’t to point fingers as it might be in modern day churches. Instead, the impact of Christ’s words made them sorrowful and led each of the twelve into thoughtful introspection. “Am I the one, Lord? Am I going to betray you?”
Certainly not the response you would get from self-respecting Christians. Such a question would be shameful to ask. Instead, on Easter morning we pile into our churches in freshly pressed (often, brand new) outfits, with perfectly coiffed hair, newly manicured nails with our minds half focused on the Easter ham we’ll be having later in the afternoon. When the music starts our hearts burst forth in praise as we sing loudly and proudly thanking God for the gift of salvation.
But, let’s be honest here. Many times, the thanks we feel is more of an, I am so thankful that I have been given a ticket to heaven. I’m so glad I’m on the bus, type of thanks. And not an, I am a wretched sinner who deserves nothing short of hellfire and damnation, type of thanks. Although much more pleasant to think about, that greatly skews our ability to understand and appreciate the magnitude of what Easter is about.
We as 21st century Americans, Christians or not, do not understand sin as evidenced by this current news article on the topic. If we don’t understand sin, then we don’t understand salvation. And, if we don’t understand salvation then Easter is completely lost on us.
In a world running rampant with child molesters, murders, and the like it can be difficult for those of us who have grown so accustomed to hearing about gruesome sin and wickedness on the 6 o’clock news to have a healthy understanding of the sin in our own lives. Let’s face it. If telling the occasional lie and accidentally stealing a few office pens every year is as bad as it gets for most of us, then it’s easy for us to come out feeling pretty good about ourselves when we weigh ourselves against the 6 o’clock news types.
But the Bible doesn’t ask us to line up next to the world’s worst and make a quick comparison between us and them. Instead, Romans 3:23 makes it perfectly clear: “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”
And this year, it would due us all good to take a few moments and imitate the sorrowful introspection of the disciples. If they—the twelve who walked and talked with Jesus in the flesh for three whole years, and performed miracles in His name—weren’t above asking the hard question, “Is it I? Am I the one who will betray You?” Then we certainly shouldn’t be above it either.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, the day that marks the anniversary of Christ’s death on the cross. If we are willing to examine ourselves closely, each of us will realize that we have blood on our hands. In order for Sunday’s glory to be fully embraced and understood, we must be willing to own up to our part in Friday’s shame.
Somehow, I seem to have caught the obligatory springtime cold. Since breathing out of my nose is out of the question, and all forms of cough syrup in the Primicerio household were past their expiration dates, I found myself with quite a bit of extra time on my hands last night. In my opinion, there are few things worse than being exhausted and unable to sleep due to some type of physical ailment. When the clock struck three o'clock this morning and I still hadn't slept for even five minutes, I began to realize that my Wednesday schedule was going to take a hit due to my cold.
What does a person think about when she can't sleep in the middle of the night? Springtime cupcakes. Yes, I'm that devoted to this blog. Actually, when my mind isn't directly occupied with something I am currently doing, it always turns to anything and everything writing related. You'd be surprised by how many blog posts I write in my head (in the shower, at the gym, laying in bed at 3 am, etc...) that never make it to the Internet. I also think about much more pressing writing projects like the two events I am preparing to speak at next month, and a new freelance writing endeavor I am undertaking. But, honestly, I spent a good deal of time thinking about these cupcakes last night too.
Last year, I made these cupcakes for my then six-year-old niece Emma and my then four-year old nephew Aidan and they loved them. In fact, Aidan was so excited about them that he stopped and offered a prayer of thanks before digging in. "God, Thank you that Shannon and Mito [sounds like My-toe] came to my soccer game and brought me cupcakes. Amen." The child then proceeded to pound down something like eight cupcakes. So, based solely on his recommendation I am passing this recipe (and decorating tip) along. My brother-in-law Scott claims the Dum-Dums look like balloons. Really, they are supposed to be flowers. I think they look like flowers. Pretend with me, will you?
Since yesterday (see post below) I recommended a whopping ten songs, I'm forgoing today's accompanying music recommendation. Pick something off my i-Mix list and enjoy!
You can get a great recipe for some chocolate cupcakes here.
Decorating: Take 1 cup shredded coconut and add in green food coloring until coconut reaches desired shade of green. Top frosting with green coconut and then position two Dum-Dums on each cupcake so they look like flowers.
Easter is arriving early this year. Perhaps that's why I'm finding myself caught off guard by it. In order to really set my heart on what Sunday's celebration is all about, I've been listening to a special mix of songs to really get me in a worshipful mood.
At Christmastime, my friends Ryan and Chiara created a CD sampler that they gave out with a bunch of Christmas songs on it that really focused on the true meaning of the holiday. In that same tradition I've created an i-Tunes play list to help get your heart prepared for Easter.
In my six years of ministry to teen girls, the most common topic I get asked to write or speak about is rejection. Thinking it’s exclusive to them, girls constantly pose questions to me about how to deal with being thrust to the outside of the in-crowd, what to do when “the one” really doesn’t turn out to be “the one” even though you still want him to be, and other such issues. Imagine the shock I am met with when I explain that those things don’t really symbolize rejection as much as they do disappointment. Real rejection, I always tell them, is summarized in what is perhaps “the saddest verse in the entire Bible” as some commentators suggest.
John 1: 11 says: “[Jesus] came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.” Every time I read that verse my stomach churns. As Easter week (or Passion Week, as some call it) is upon us, I can’t help but realize that the pain and rejection of Jesus Christ didn’t begin with the cross. It started long before that in the dusty, bustling streets of Israel as the very people He came to save walked right by Him and didn’t recognize Him. Or worse yet, outright denied Him. The religious elite scorned Him, and constantly tried to trap Him. Claiming they knew God better than He (Who, ironically, was God in the flesh) they cried blasphemy and wanted Him dead. Jesus Christ, the King of Kings, couldn’t even find twelve loyal followers. One man thought it quite a trade to sell Jesus out for thirty pieces of silver (of which a modern day equivalent would amount to about $6,000). His own brothers thought Him crazy until after the resurrection.
But what really strikes me about this rejection is that it really boils down to the fact that Jesus didn’t fit the mold that people wanted Him to fit. They wanted a valiant warrior king, a conqueror of Rome who would free them from oppression. When Jesus said things like, “My kingdom is not of this world,” the crowds grew agitated as their hearts screamed, “But ours is. Give it to us now!” Before Jesus ever had to encounter the angry mob that cried, “Crucify Him,” He had to endure the crowd who wanted to take Him by force and make Him king (John 6:15).
And when He disappointed their expectations, they wanted Him gone and out of their way. They preferred to wait for someone else who would meet their every demand. And modern day Jews are still waiting for their messiah today. God Himself came down to earth and put skin on, and they missed Him. And thus, the ultimate rejection that this world will ever see transpired. And when salvation was opened up to the Gentile as well as the Jew, the rejection grew even worse.
Now there are people of multiple nations who look at the biblical Christ and say, “Nope. He doesn’t really do it for me.” Or worse yet: “Let me just change Him a little, and make Him fit my standards for what God should look like.” And a god who resembles a combination of Gandhi, John Lennon and the Publisher’s Clearing House is born. Walk into any Christian bookstore and over on the best seller’s shelf you will find titles on how God wants to make you rich, or on how the Bible is really just a book of suggestions and our personal encounters with God are all that really matter. As if we are better judges of right and wrong than God Himself.
Non-Christians try to corner those of us who profess Christ and antagonize us with questions like, “Didn’t Jesus come to bring world peace?” We stutter and mumble something unintelligible in response and walk away wondering, Is Christianity really just a club where we’re all supposed to get along?
In a society where both the world and the “Christian” church are out promoting the act of making God in our image, instead of recognizing that we were made in His, it can be extremely hard to be a discerning Christian. So, this Easter as you sit in church with family and friends, I challenge you to really listen to the sermon. If the center of the sermon is you then you know the Jesus you are being spoon-fed from the pulpit isn’t the real Jesus. Because the heart of the gospel message isn't about us. It's about a holy God making a sacrifice we were unworthy of. If we forget that, we've missed the whole point.
If you have small kids, and you're looking for a fun hands-on way to teach them about the real Jesus this Easter, try this fun activity.
And if you want to watch the Palm Sunday sermon that got my wheels turning about all of this, you can watch/listen to my pastor, Dr. Mike Fabarez below:
Now back to our regularly scheduled programing: Each Wednesday from here on out I will feature a new "Cooking with..." post recommending both a new song and a new recipe for your reading, listening and eating pleasure.
It's no secret that I'm a Chris Tomlin fan. For years I have loved his music, but last year I read an article on how he deals with his widespread fame by reminding himself that he is just like John the Baptist in the sense that he is the messenger proclaiming a great truth. He isn't great when you compare him to Jesus. After reading that my admiration for Chris Tomlin the person soared. I'd always loved him as an artist. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a person who really, truly gets it. As Christians, we'd all do well to let that truth sink in. It's never about us--it's always about God. Any greatness that exists within us is from Him, and it should be for Him as well. We aren't great--but God is.
So, last week, as I was dancing around my kitchen and pounding the elliptical pedals at the gym, Chris Tomlin kept me company via my i-Pod. But I'm not the only one he kept company. On at least two--yes, count them, two--occasions I walked into my kitchen to find Michael rocking out to Chris Tomlin. Judging by the praise moves of that man you'd think he was charismatic. My husband doesn't dance. Ever. Unless he is forced. Now I know there is one other exception--Chris Tomlin. So, you can bet I'll be playing Chris Tomlin even more often now just for sheer entertainment value. Currently, my favorite Chris Tomlin song is "Let God Arise" which you can watch the video for here:
Now, onto the recipe. Here's an easy cake/cupcake recipe my friend Jessi gave me back in college. Every time I use it people ask me what makes the cake so moist--yogurt. Although I'm sure you can use any flavor you want, I've always used strawberry. Enjoy!
Yogurt Cake Ingredients: 1 box white cake mix 3/4 c water 1/3 c vegetable oil 3 egg whites 1 six ounce container strawberry yogurt 1 tub whipped vanilla frosting 10 strawberries, halved
Instructions: 1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees 2. Grease two 8 or 9 inch round baking pans 3. Beat cake mix, water, oil, egg whites and yogurt at low speed for 30 seconds 4. Then beat mixture for two minutes at medium speed 5. Pour into pans and bake for 30-35 minutes (or until toothpick comes out clean) 6. Cool on racks, frost and garnish with berries
I was surprisingly calm driving to the hospital on Friday morning. My mom called to tell me they were taking my dad into surgery about two hours early, so he had already been in surgery for about half an hour before I arrived. Even though there were risks involved, it was like God wrapped me in a sort of calming fog that morning. As an adult I no longer believe my parents are invincible as I once did, but there is still something a little unsettling about knowing one of your parents is cracked open on an operating table somewhere. I guess I hadn't really thought of it like that until I met my mom in the waiting room and saw her holding a bag of my dad's clothes labeled with his name, birth date and age. Something about that sight made my heart jump into my throat. It was almost as if I had suddenly been hit over the head with the reality that some people come to the hospital with a loved one, and leave only with a bag of clothes. Quickly, I pushed that thought--and others like it--out of my mind.
Waiting rooms are interesting places. A bunch of strangers are herded into very close quarters, and they all sit together waiting for what could be life altering news. As surgeries finish doctors come in and speak to individual families right there in front of everyone. There's an audience for every reaction whether it be a sigh of relief or gut-wrenching sobs. My dad remained in surgery for a full three hours after I arrived to be with my mom, so I had a front row seat for a variety of reactions. I have never prayed so hard for strangers in my life.
There was the gray haired man with bushy eyebrows who kept pacing as he prayed the rosary for his mother. Seated near him was a middle aged husband and wife who left one empty seat between them as she read a book and he clicked away on his laptop while their teenage daughter was in surgery. Huddled away, seeking as much privacy as they could find, was a man in his mid-fifties wearing dark sunglasses speaking in hushed tones to his sister about the bad news they had received about their mom. Just outside, on the other side of a glass wall sat a man who must have weighed four hundred pounds bawling like a baby. And just behind me sat an extended Jewish family eating a large spread of food they brought from Whole Foods Market and planning a barmitzvah while their patriarch underwent some sort of bypass procedure. Those are just the people who stood out to me, the room was really packed.
One by one doctors came in and walked over to anxious families. Some were older and intelligent looking, another looked as if he was twelve years old. Even though I tried not to listen I could still hear what most of the doctors said, "I'm so sorry but the cancer has spread..." "The surgery went well and she is resting comfortably..." "No, sir, I'm sorry but she won't be allowed any visitors today..." With every doctor that came in, I said a prayer. Before going to the hospital I had asked God to show me how I could minister, so I went ready to engage in conversation. But all God asked me to do was pray. So pray I did.
The night before my dad's surgery, my Thrive (couple's) group had studied 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18--the passage describing how Christians don't have to grieve like those who have no hope. So, that was my prayer for those people. I prayed that the man with the rosary would see that his attempts to reach God were futile, and that all he needed was Jesus Christ. I asked God to show the Jewish family that the Messiah had already come and they had somehow missed Him. And I prayed for the seemingly faithless people who made no mention of God in any of their grief and I asked God to reveal Himself to them in the midst of their pain.
Finally, my turn came. My dad's short, Israeli, doctor came into the waiting room and immediately spotted my mother. He wasn't somber faced as many of the other surgeons who had been in to visit families. No, this doctor came in excited and the more he talked the more excited he became. Everyone could hear what he was saying. Eventually the man was dancing--hugging my mother and literally dancing.
In his thick accent he turned to me and said, "This man was a real challenge." To which I instantly thought, Sir, you don't know the half of it. I get my stubborn streak from my father. He proceeded to tell me that on a scale of one to ten, my dad's injuries were a fifteen. This doctor--a world renowned surgeon in his field--was amazed that my dad hadn't suffered more external injuries like broken bones, and he admitted it was miraculous that he was able to repair my dad with just one surgery. This doctor was dancing because he had witnessed a miracle. My mom and I both teared up at this realization. Science couldn't explain away what this doctor had witnessed. What we had was a God thing.
Later in the weekend, when my dad was resting comfortably (and drugged to a place of delirium to ease his pain) my mom and I walked a few blocks away from the hospital in need of fresh air and some lunch. Before we realized it we found ourselves smack in the middle of a Hollywood movie premiere for the children's movie Horton Hears a Who. There were grandstands lining both sides of the street, and there was a thick bright orange carpet rolled out to welcome the celebrities, complete with a stage sponsored by Entertainment Tonight.
Fans were lined up to greet their favorite stars, and the movie company told each one of them that in order to attend the premiere and snap photos, they would have to don the free bright orange t-shirts and floppy, fuzzy elephant ears. Fifty-year-olds and five-year-olds alike eagerly dressed up and waved liked maniacs to Hollywood's finest. A woman approached my mom and me and offered us tickets and elephant ears of our own. We declined since we thought it would be inappropriate to wear fuzzy elephant ears and wave at celebrities while my dad laid sleeping in a hospital a few blocks away. As soon as the woman was gone we looked at each other and burst out laughing. And in that moment I realized that on a weekend when God could have just as easily given me a cup of sorrow, He chose to give me laughter instead. Just two months ago, a failed surgery attempt to repair my dad had left us all in tears.
Suddenly the words of Ecclesiastes 3:4 came to mind: "...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." I am extremely grateful for the dancing doctor and fuzzy elephant ears that signaled that this is truly my time to laugh. And I will keep praying for the families I shared a waiting room with who are spending their days mourning and crying. Thank you for your prayers for my dad, God has done great things for us. And we are truly grateful.
Please forgive my super short blog post, but my brain feels like a bowl of alphabet soup. I am so tired, it's hard to form all of my thoughts into sentences that make sense.
Thank you very much for your prayers for my dad over the weekend. My family and I were so blessed by all of the phone calls and emails we got from our church families (my church and my parents' church). God did great things for my dad this weekend.
My dad's surgery was successful and the doctor was able to perform Option A even though there was more damage than he realized once he opened my dad up. My dad went home this morning, and is expected to make a full recovery. But these next six weeks will still be a challenge for him. So, please, keep praying for a full recovery and minimal pain. I'll write more about my weekend at the hospital when I have more energy--it promises to be an entertaining post complete with stories about dancing doctors and people wearing elephant ears. You won't want to miss it.
I know I'm overdue for my new weekly "Cooking with..." post, and I've got a good one coming for you soon, I promise. But this has been a crazy week, and I could definitely use the prayers of my friends here in the blogosphere.
Those of you who have followed my blog for quite some time know that my dad, Kenny, was in an accident back in November and that he sustained serious injuries. In January he had a failed surgery attempt and has since been referred out to a specialist. Up until yesterday, his new surgery date was scheduled to be April 4th.
However, a cancellation spot opened up, and my dad is now scheduled for surgery tomorrow! This is a huge praise as he has been in a lot of pain and discomfort. But his doctor doesn't know exactly how extensive the damage is, so my dad is scheduled for exploratory surgery that can result in one of two outcomes:
Option A: The doctor can go in and do a one time repair surgery on my dad that will restore him 100%. Or, Option B: The planned procedure won't work due to the extent of the damage and some major reconstructive work (that will take multiple surgeries) will be required. Obviously, we're praying for Option A--but we're trusting God no matter what.
So, prayers would be appreciated. Please pray for wisdom for the doctors as they are literally exploring their options tomorrow, and pray for peace and comfort for my dad. I will be spending the weekend with my mom at the hospital. So please pray for us as we will be in an unfamiliar area. As you pray and ask God to heal my dad, please also ask God to use my mom and me during our time of waiting in the hospital. Hospitals are such ripe places for ministry to take place--and we want to be open to that.
The day after my dad was in his accident, my pastor had written a little note that appeared in our weekly bulletin. Part of it said, "There is genuine strength and sustenance that is granted to us because of the intercession of God's people...when the prayer circle for our hurts is broadened there are more Christians who end up giving thanks to God when His gracious answer to our team-praying is finally provided..." That ministered to me so much at the time that I cut it out and taped it to my computer screen. Today, I want to put that into action in a new way by asking for prayer. Thank you, for reading this post and praying for my dad.
I'll report back with an update (and a "Cooking with..." post) as soon as I can.
Buckle up this is going to be a long post. I’m fully aware that this a blog post and not a book, but some things just cannot be said in fewer words. However, if you want to get the most from this post, I encourage you to read Numbers 13-14 in your own Bible before proceeding any further. The other night, in my daily Bible reading, Numbers 13 was one of my assigned passages, and I haven’t been able to move away from the passage ever since. I’ve continued on with my reading, but Numbers 13 is still wrapped around my heart and running through my mind.
Here’s the setup. The children of Israel have been wandering in the dessert for quite some time now. They’ve seen the parting of the Red Sea, they’ve experienced manna (and even quail) from heaven and they’ve weathered the embarrassing sin that was the golden calf. These people have seen God do great things for them, and they’ve witnessed the fiery anger that comes when they don’t take God at His word. And in Numbers 13:2 God speaks to Moses saying: “Send men to spy out the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the children of Israel…” (Emphasis mine).
So, Moses sends one man from each of the twelve tribes as God commanded. These men spend forty days scoping out the land of Canaan (otherwise known as the Promised Land), and they come back with a report.
In Numbers 13:27 the spies hold up large ripe fruit and say, “We went to the land where you sent us. It truly flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.” Translation: “What Yahweh said about this place is true.”
But in verses 28-31 they follow that statement up with: “Nevertheless the people who dwell in the land are strong…we are not able to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we.” Translation: “But Yahweh was wrong about promising us this land. He can’t give it to us, it’s inhabited by giants.” (Verse 31 verifies that it really was inhabited by giants).
Thus, the people ended up with 50% faith. Their train of thought went something like this: “What Yahweh said about this land is true. But what He said about it being ours was wrong. Therefore Yahweh was only 50% right.”
And God got angry. Why did He get angry? The answer is found in Numbers 14:21 partway through His speech to Moses. “…but truly as I live, all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the LORD,” God said.
The people’s 50% faith angered God because it robbed Him of His glory. You see, it’s impossible to believe that God is who He says He is while simultaneously believing that God cannot (or will not) do what He says He is going to do. That type of paradox of belief strips God of His glory and dumbs Him down to being nothing more than a dreamer or an idealist or even worse—a liar.
Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Unfortunately, there are things that all of us do, possibly even every day that rob God of His glory. But what we fail to realize is that the very act of robbing God of His glory is sin. So that means our own bouts with 50% faith translate into nothing but 100% sin.
Often, we misquote Jesus’ response to His disciples in Matthew 17:19-21. They come to Him and ask why they couldn’t drive out a demon from a little boy. His answer was, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."
We read that and think, “I only need a little faith—like that found in a mustard seed—and I’m good.” So we simultaneously fill our pockets with a small mustard seed of faith, and a big huge boulder of unbelief and we wonder why we feel so weighted down when it comes to walking with God and watching Him work in our lives. But that’s a misinterpretation of that passage.
Jesus flat out told His disciples in verse 17, “You could not cast out the demon because your faith was so small.” In other words, “I didn’t use you to do it because you really didn’t think I could.” I don’t know about you, but that certainly turns my understanding of that verse on its head. I always heard the mustard seed portion, and completely missed the rebuke on small faith. The glory of God was not manifest in the lives of the disciples that day because their faith was too small.
In Mark 9 the same story is told with more detail and the father of the boy came to Jesus saying, “…if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us” (v. 22).
Jesus’ response to Him was clear in verse 23." 'If you can'?" said Jesus. "Everything is possible for him who believes." Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" And Jesus healed the boy. So, how do we reconcile that man’s prayer “help my unbelief” with God’s anger over 50% faith in Numbers 14?
We examine God’s track record in the Bible, in the lives of people we know and even in our own lives. In examining that record we will come to see that God has not ever failed even once when it comes to keeping His Word. And thus, our unbelief must be completely and instantly abolished—otherwise we are knowingly continuing to sin. God’s proven track record is the help He gives us in overcoming our unbelief.
Now comes the hard part. How do we reconcile the truth of God’s faithfulness when our loved one dies, when the job that would have provided so adequately falls through, or when our dreams are incinerated before our very eyes? Going back to Numbers 13, those heartbreaking moments do not mean that God allowed us to be defeated by our giants.
Instead they mean that God, in His eternal perspective, saw (and still sees) victory in a different light than we are able. As it was with the death of Lazarus (John 11), there is greater glory for God in death than in life. And the glory of God is what our lives are really about.
It’s not about us. Never has been. Never will be. And that’s why 50% faith will never do.
On Easter I attempted to wow my family with my fancy culinary skills by making this three dimensional bunny cake using a pan I bought on sale last year at Williams-Sonoma. All things appeared to go well on Saturday night. The ganache even set well in the refrigerator. Since it was hot outside, I decided to leave the bunny in the fridge at home while Michael and I went to church and come back and get it afterwards before making the one and a half hour trek to my parents' house. Turns out, I seriously underestimated the heatwave we were having and the ganache melted and the bunny fell apart in my lap on the drive anyway. I tried an emergency rescue operation once we arrived, but it was too late. The bunny didn't make it. 
Michael and I went out to pizza and bowling on Saturday night with our Thrive group. In the top photo I'm pictured with my friends and fellow bloggers Chiara and Rebecca, and below Michael and I are pictured with our friends Michael and Kristi Carlson from our small group. My husband is an extremely competitive person, and he never lets me win anything out of courtesy. If I ever win I truly have to earn it. And earn it I did, when I threw five strikes on Saturday night. I like to think that is evidence of my fine Biola education at work thanks to Coach Orr my bowling teacher. 
