Dr. Hubby, guest blogger here.
Amy is doing well. The surgery went fine, no complications, problems nor surprises. She is recovering nicely, and has already progressed from water to gatorade to orange jello! If all goes as planned, we should be heading home tomorrow (2/27).
No pictures tonight, per patient’s orders.
We’ll try to keep you posted. Thanks for the prayers. God’s been good.
–Dan
A couple weeks ago, I bought new 8 lb hand weights for our home gym. They still have their price stickers on them, and I haven’t touched them since. Right now, I think they’re being used as a door stop.
What began as a good intention is now becoming a guilt laden eyesore. In the weeks prior to buying them, I’d been a bit lethargic about my weight lifting routine, and I thought it was because it was time to move up from 5 lb to 8 lb weights. I was doing way too many reps, and I was getting bored.
That obviously wasn’t the problem.
The problem is that I know that on February 26th, I’m going to have a surgery on my esophagus (correcting a hernia), which will make it so I can’t exercise for at least 6 weeks. I’m having a hard time seeing the point of lifting weights to build up muscle that’s only going to atrophy.
I’m bringing this same attitude to my scripture memorization as well. I know that even though I’m memorizing the book of James now, it’s going to go the way of Psalm 23 and the various other Psalms I’ve memorized in my lifetime. It’s all just going to atrophy. Part of me wonders, “What’s the point, if it’s all just going to go away?”
So, I took this Eeyore like attitude to my husband, and he told me that I should keep up the exercising to be as fit as possible for my surgery. I want to be as healthy as I can be to have the best chances of healing quickly.
I hadn’t thought of it that way (Sometimes, it’s annoying having a doctor in the house).
I suppose that the same goes for my scripture memorization. I should do my best to make my heart as spiritually healthy as I can, to survive the ins and outs of life, especially because I’ll probably need those verses to get me through some tough times ahead…even if they’re only there in fragments.
So, I’m going to exercise and memorize verses until I have my surgery. I’m going to lose a lot of muscle tone during the six weeks, and my running mileage is going to be shot when I start over. I might even forget some of the verses I learned just prior to the surgery (maybe I’ll blame the anesthesia). But, this strength is for the surgery, too.
Please keep me in your prayers on Tuesday morning during my surgery. I’m going to be taking some time off from writing while I recover, but I’ll be back as soon as I can to let you know how I’m doing.
I’ve been getting some thoughtful e-mails from readers, wondering how the scripture memorization thing is going. Thanks so much for keeping me accountable to this and also for simply taking the time to make sure I’m hanging in there.
In particular, I’d like to thank Midnightrun for telling me about a great article by John Piper on the topic of Scripture memorization. You can find it on the Desiring God website by clicking here. It’s encouraging to read about all the heroes of our faith who practiced this discipline.
In all honesty, I have to admit that the scripture memorization hit a major snag for the past couple weeks. Going to Mexico didn’t help. I wasn’t exactly flipping through flashcards while sitting in the lounge chairs by the pool, even though I brought them along, just in case.
My main problem was that I got stuck on one verse in particular. I’ll share it with you, and maybe you’ll understand part of the problem:
“For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business” (James 1:11).
For one, it’s a freaking long verse. It’s the longest one I’d encountered yet. Next, talk about confusing sentence structure. It’s not your typical subject, verb, object layout. Finally, I really couldn’t see how it applied to me. I’m not a man, and I’m certainly not rich. In my book, that makes this one of the most impractical verses for me to memorize.
After successfully memorizing 10 verses, I got to number 11 and was ready to throw in the towel, all because I couldn’t make it past this one verse. For several days, I diligently got out my index card and packed it around with me, trying to pull it out while I was at traffic lights or at various breaks during the work day. It didn’t work. I was stuck.
Then I went on vacation, forgot about it for awhile, came back and tried again, half heartedly.
Finally, I brought the concern to God. I should have done that from day one, but no, I’m stubborn and self reliant.
God showed me some bigger issues at work.
In life, when I encounter something tough, I tend to bang my head against it for awhile until I tire out and finally give up. Examples? Let’s see. Chopin’s Ballade no.1, my arch enemy in the piano music department. Yes, I think it’s the most beautiful piece of music ever written for a piano, but I can’t count the number of times that I’ve pulled it out of the piano bench, only to cram it back in there in frustration. Now, it’s been on the shelf for well over a year. Or, what about relationships. Maybe I’ll have a row with a friend, and after trying out reconciliation for a little while on my own strength, eventually, I’ll just give up.
With this lovely new insight into my heart, I took another stab at the verse, this time with God’s assistance. I tried some different approaches to learning it, which included listening to a recording of it about 100 times to get the feel for the rhythm. I also spent more time thinking through how it applied to me because, surprise, it does have a lot to do with me.
Finally, I moved on to the next verse, while leaving the other one unfinished. This goes against all my perfectionist tendencies, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t let myself get stuck in a hard place and stay there without moving forward. Sometimes, we just need to push past the hard stuff and move on with life. So now, I’m carrying a couple cards with me, and I keep referring back to verse 11 as I learn the others. I still don’t have it perfected, but I’m definitely making headway. It’s also nice to have other verses to learn in the meantime.
Now, I’m on verse number 14. I’ve got 88 left to go.
My favorite activity in Mexico, aside from eating and drinking, was painting pottery. I did this on our honeymoon on the Mayan Rivera, so I’d hoped to have a chance to paint some useless knick knacks while on this trip. 
The first full day we were at the resort, I visited the pottery painting area, where I selected an object among misshapen turtles, overly large coffee mugs, flowery containers, Spiderman and Shrek figurines, and an assortment of vases. I decided to go with a vase, thinking it seemed the most practical (although I wonder if it will hold water).
After paying the whopping sum of $100 in pesos (which translates to less than $10 US, but it always sounds frightening that way), the manager brought me my paints, thoughtfully arranged in Corona bottle caps. Over the course of 3 hours, I set to work decorating my pottery.
I watched small children pick their animated character figurines and slap two colors of paint on them, losing interest in about 10 minutes. 
One adult stopped by to watch my progress. When she saw me painstakingly mixing my colors, she approached me and said, “You know, you don’t need to be so picky. They’re going to fix it all when you’re done. You won’t even recognize it when you get it back. It will look great.”
Frankly, I was a bit miffed. The magical Mexican pottery fairies were going to whisk away my creation overnight and repaint it to perfection. I was spending a lot of time making it my own, and they were going to change it. This bothered me a bit.
Once I finished my vase, I told the manager that it was done, and I didn’t want it changed. It was perfect, just the way it was. Apparently, he didn’t agree. He pointed to the center of the petals, and to other locations around the vase and said, “Desea una línea aquí?” (Do you want a line here?”)
I kept saying, “No. The vase is fine. Leave it alone.”
The next day, my vase was ready. 
It was beautiful, glazed and shining in the tropical sunlight. Opon closer inspection, I noticed that my requests weren’t followed. The neck had a new decoration, and everything was thickly outlined in black.
But, here’s my problem. It looked better. The woman was right.
I have a lot in common with my little ceramic vase.
“But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand” (Isaiah 64:8 ESV).
We are the clay pots. God is the master potter, and it’s hard to trust that he knows what he’s doing, forming us. He’s the talented artist, and although we might work hard to make ourselves the best we can, he’s the one who really knows how to make us truly beautiful.
Like with my pottery, I often get things backwards. I pig headedly insist that I know what’s best for me. I don’t trust Jesus to take care of this earthen vessel, this jar of clay (2 Corinthians 4:7), that’s his to begin with.
“You turn things upside down!
Shall the potter be regarded as the clay,
that the thing made should say of its maker,
‘He did not make me’;
or the thing formed say of him who formed it,
‘He has no understanding’?” (Isaiah 29:16 ESV)
Oh Lord, may I trust the one who formed me to make me beautiful in His sight.
If you’re planning a trip to Mexico, here’s a short list of words and phrases to know before you go: agua, por favor, gracias, si, and cocodrilo. The last one is probably unfamiliar to you, but believe me, it’s important. Practice recognizing it when a native Spanish speaker is yelling it to you as a warning.
After our third day of complete lethargy, Dan and I decided to leave the resort and go on an outing to explore the nearby towns of Ixtapa and Zihatanejo (Zihua). It was stinking hot and muggy, and by the time we got to the beach in Zihua, I was running down the sand, talking off my shoes, and rolling up my pant legs in one motion. The water felt refreshing and cool on my sun scorched body, and I didn’t care that I was one of the only people in the water. I only cared that I saw ocean, and it could cool me down.
Shortly after I began wading around in the water, a short Mexican man ran up to a child in the water near me and pulled him out, yelling at him and pointing at the beach.
He then turned to me and began speaking Spanish faster than I’ve ever heard any one speak it before. I stared at him blankly and said, “Americana…No sé.” (loose translation: I’m a stupid American and I have no clue what you’re telling me”). He slowed down his language and spoke very emphatically.
“Cocodrilo…Cocodrilo…Cocodrilo…Sabe Cocodrilo?”
More blank stares.
He decided that hand gestures were the best way to communicate with me. He pointed at the water, then he spread his hands very wide, then he pointed to the water again.
In the back of my head, I started to hear a vaguely familiar tune. “Dah Dum….Dah Dum…”
There’s no way a Shark would come in this shallow.
The man was becoming impatient. He kept pointing out to the water, more hand jestures, sweeping motions this time.
Maybe he was talking about the undertow. I’d read in my guidebook that it was especially nasty in these parts. Maybe he’s just warning me that I could get sucked out to sea. That must be it. Cocodrilo must mean undertow.
“Si, gracias! I’ll be careful.”
He looked at me skeptically but left me alone.
A few moments later, a large shape surfaced out of the water about 20 feet away from me. It was about 6 feet long and very dark colored.
I don’t think I’ve run that fast in a long time. I stood on the beach next to the Mexican man, who was now chuckling.
“Pescados grandes?” (Big fish?) I said. My Spanish vocabulary is limited to things I can order off a restaurant menu.
He grimaced a little and didn’t say anything. The creature kept swimming closer to shore but was headed further away down the beach. A crowd was now gathered to watch it.
As it got closer, I realized the meaning of cocodrilo: “crocodile.”
After our first croc sighting, there were many more. These crocs lived near our hotel in a 
swamp that led directly onto our beach. We kept a close watch for them ever since my close encounter in Zihua.
For those golfers among you, Ixtapa has some great golfing, as long as you don’t mind a few croc hazards here and there.
We’re officially back from Ixtapa, Mexico, suntanned and more relaxed than before. You’ll doubtless be hearing a lot about our trip in the coming weeks, since I found plenty of ways to embarrass myself in another country.
Most of the time, we stayed on the beach or by the pool, enjoying Jose Cuervo’s finest and reading fluffy novels. I took along a couple of bodice ripping historical fiction works to fill the time. Dan’s reading involved guns, adventures, and other manly sorts of things.
We picked a place that was off the beaten path, away from the main tourist areas of Ixtapa. Our hope was to find somewhere away from early spring breakers and other drunk Americans. Thankfully, for the most part, our resort seemed to cater to Mexican families.
But, there were the standout Americans who somehow found their way to our little private paradise. Around day 4, they started showing up, and they always found each other by the pool. There were about 5 couples, and all of them seemed to come from somewhere in the Midwest. They all came with their own big gulp sized containers, which they took to the swim up bars to refill every hour or so.
They all seemed to have megaphones permanently attached to their faces because no matter where we migrated to around the pool, we could always hear their loud, drunken banter. It was hard to snooze in the sun overhearing shouting matches about the best way to mix a drink or the costs of home ownership. Dan and I grumbled about being ashamed of our countrymen. We hoped that we were better representatives.
After awhile, I recognized my prideful attitude, and I tried to recall some of the remedies that I’d recently read in C.J. Mahaney’s little gem of a book Humility: True Greatness. One of his suggestions was to try to see people from God’s point of view, to look for evidence of grace in their lives, to see where God is working. This can mean looking for fruits of the spirit (Galatians 5:22-23) and gifts of the spirit (Romans 12:6-8 and 1 Corinthians 12:8-10).
I sat there on my lounge chair, singing my stupid little fruits of the spirit song to remember all of them, trying to figure out if any of them applied to the drunken idiots disturbing my peace on the other side of the pool. My annoyance was clouding my ability to find any grace at work. Grumble, Grumble.
Later, we left and dressed for dinner. While walking to the restaurant, we noticed a breathtaking sunset and stopped for a moment to snap some pictures. Many people walked by while we were posing in front of the camera, but nobody stopped to join us, until the Americans came along.
The whole group of them was on their way to the bar, but they stopped when they saw us and offered to take our photo in front of the sunset. Two of them took turns taking different shots of us, trying to get the best angle and the most flattering pose. They spent several minutes with us, and they complimented us on how nicely dressed we were and how wonderful it was that we were married for so long and so obviously still in love. Afterwards, they invited us to join them for drinks.
Here were my signs of grace. I’d been rubbed in the face with them. These people obviously had better things to do than stop and do a photo session with us. They were wonderfully generous, patient with us, kind for their sincere compliments and offers for companionship, and good for their service to strangers.
When I was fuming by the pool, I forgot about future grace, and the way God 
could also work in their lives outside of that moment. I was too focused on a low point in their lives, and my bitterness clouded my ability to look beyond it for God’s grace elsewhere.
I’m not saying that we should value people based on what they can do for us because I think this could easily be interpreted that way. However, in this case, I think I needed to have these people demonstrate God’s grace to me in such an overt way to get the point across. God often needs to be blunt with me. He even left me with a souvenir of the event to remind me to humbly look for his grace in others.
I once heard a story about a woman who always cut both ends off her pot roasts. One day, her husband asked her why she did it. She said, “This is how you cook a pot roast, silly.” He couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone cut the ends off pot roasts before cooking them, but what did he know?
But his question sparked her curiosity. She asked her mom, “Mom, why do we cut the ends off pot roasts?” Her mother looked surprised, “Oh, you do that too? My pan was always too short, so I had to do it to make them fit.”
I had a “pot roast” moment during dinner tonight.
My husband makes one dinner, and he does a great job at it. His meal is fish sticks, and he knows exactly how to make them perfectly golden brown and crunchy. I’ve always insisted that the best accompaniments to fish sticks are buttered bread with honey and steamed green beans. Every time he makes dinner, that’s what we have on the side.
I didn’t feel like cooking tonight, so I punted to him. He got to make dinner, so it was fish sticks, take out, or cold cereal.
As we sat eating our dinner, I realized how ridiculous I was being about my fish stick dinner. I am way too militant about the required sides. Sometimes, Dan will helpfully suggest another vegetable or another grain. But, I’ll hear nothing of it and seek out the green beans and bread.
I’m the lady who watches the Food Network for fun. My idea of a good time is hanging out with friends and learning to cook something new together. I like to experiment and try new things in the kitchen. So why in the world am I so rigid about the stupid fish stick dinner?
Then, I remembered. In elementary school, it was my favorite hot lunch: fish sticks, green beans, and buttered bread. I’m surprised I didn’t buy little boxes of milk to drink on the side. I had been recreating a childhood comfort food, and I didn’t even realize it.
I hope my walk with God works like this. Maybe, if I keep my eyes on him, I’ll do things his way, and it will become second nature.
Someday, someone will ask me why I turn the other cheek when someone insults me. I’ll ask my father, “Hey God, why do we do it that way?” And he’ll let me know why.
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