Popcorn and bronze

Last summer/fall while I was unemployed, a friend blessed me by cleaning out her pantry and giving me its contents. One of the free-food items was a container of popcorn. Since I don't have a popcorn popper, I use a saucepan and a glass lid. I pop 1/4 cup of kernels with about 1 1/2 tablespoons of oil (give or take), which yields about three servings or so. I've enjoyed this snack so much that I've been making it on a regular basis and have kept buying popcorn kernels at the grocery store. (I just add salt, no butter, and it's cheaper than microwave popcorn.)

 

Watching popcorn pop is a mesmerizing activity. The kernels sit there for a few minutes in the oil, then they start to sizzle, and then they finally begin to pop. (I've attached a short video of what this looks like.) After about a minute of popping, voilà. All that preparation and waiting for a few seconds of glory. But the kernels need to spend some time soaking in the hot oil first.

Yes, the popcorn-popping process particularly reminds me of trials.

I've noticed that many trials often begin gradually, with a doom cloud floating over your head. (However, some trials begin quite suddenly and, voilà, your life is never the same again.) Say, for example, that you know that you could lose your job. The CEO has announced that some layoffs are inevitable, the accountants are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and morale is swirling around like a nasty cesspool. You're waiting... waiting... waiting... expectant and ready for anything, but you're not exactly sure what is going to happen or when it will happen. Then suddenly, POP! The axe has fallen, and you're jobless. There's no turning back to the way things were. Now everyone around you can see what you're made of, because what's inside you has suddenly popped on the outside for everyone to enjoy. And it's nice and salty.

That's a silly example of something serious that happens to people every day (myself included), but I still think it's a fascinating concept. Something hard gets placed in a situation where it's forced to respond, and voilà, it becomes soft enough to enjoy.

There's no shame in letting people see your heart during a trial, whether you've worked through your issues or not. 

As I've mentioned before, I've felt like God has said that my word for 2018 is "brazen." Yes, I've taken that to mean that I'm going to be more fearless and brash than I've ever been before (so I've been watching myself, and I've abstained from acting out on all sorts of outlandish thoughts that sail through my head sometimes). And yes, I've taken that to mean that I'm going to get to be strong this year (because brass, where we get the word "brazen," is a strong material). I've also obsessed a little bit about brass versus bronze (from what I understand, brass is more malleable; bronze is stronger and has more additives).

But God has shown me that it's all of the above. And He's also had to point out the sentimental obvious: What do you do when you want to remember something extremely special? You have it bronzed.

He's shown me that this year -- the year of shaping, the year of the "suddenly" -- has basically been My Life In Review. Another phrase He keeps using is My Life Before My Eyes. That latter one concerned me for a little bit. Um, Lord, am I dying? No, but wouldn't my tiny little lifespan of 80 years or so only be like a year, or a fraction of a year, on God's timeline? So, 2018 has been a strange, unique series of events that keeps reminding me of the life I've led so far.

I guess 2018 is like the Greatest Hits album of my life. So far, I've written short stories, sold items on eBay, redefined friendships, led groups of people at church events, agonized on how to pay bills, worked at a job that I no longer love, worked through some loneliness issues, burned and organized music CDs, etc.

I even became depressed for a week or two and came eerily close to suffering an emotional breakdown. The way I broke out of it was by saying out loud, "Screw it. I'm going to enjoy my life, no matter what it looks like."

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." (James 1:2-4)

Today, I watched some YouTube videos and saw people creating bronze items from scratch. It's a much longer, more dangerous-looking process than I thought it would be. A mold must be created in the shape of the item that you wish to create. This involves packing sand into the mold so that it forms around the model that you wish to copy. Then a crucible needs to heat a metal, such as copper, to 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit and melt it down. I believe several batches of copper are melted into the mixture before another metal, such as tin, is added. Then the molten metal mixture is poured into the mold. After it forms, the sand is brushed off and the new creation is polished.

The entire process has several steps that require a bit of time to complete. And the metalworker really needs to know what they're doing, or they could get hurt. During one of the videos that I was watching, a guy was creating a bronze axe and accidentally sliced his leg open during the polishing process. But he's OK, and he made a very strong piece of equipment that will probably last for years to come.

I was also fascinated at how crucibles aren't really permanent. After being heated to extremely hot temperatures and cooled, and the process is repeated many times, the crucible will wear out, maybe crack, and more than likely be replaced.

I guess maybe that's why God takes us through more than one trial during our lifetime: The vehicles God uses to shape us into the image of His Son might not be able to take all those fires. 

But we can take them. Otherwise, He wouldn't be putting us through them.

For this particular season that I'm in, I feel like God has been telling me to not rush it. During a time when I was thinking about walking away, He said, "Stay in the kitchen." In other words, it's hot during this meal preparation, but it's worth pushing through and waiting for the process to end.

So, God is having my life bronzed, like an adorable little pair of toddler shoes on a proud Papa's fireplace mantel.

He keeps showing me that this season of intense preparation -- where my heart is placed in fiery situations all over again, left to melt there for a while, and additional ingredients are added, only to await the molding and polishing process -- is the prerequisite for something very special. Something is coming, but I need to let the Master do His work. He's fashioning His little weapon for a very specific purpose, and He knows exactly what He's doing. He's a Pro.

And the waiting... waiting... waiting... POP! will all be worth it.

If Cinderella were Tirzah

Once upon a time, a young-looking maiden named Cinderella slaved on a dirty, grungy floor. Day and night she worked while her evil stepmother cracked her whip and her ugly stepsisters lazed about.

Ironically, Cinderella didn't really mind the work so much. Have you lost weight? people would ask her. Yep, she would reply, hoping they would change the subject. If you worked as hard as I do, and you only got paid peanuts, you'd probably lose weight, too, she thought. Heh, heh. I like to keep people guessing.

"Stop thinking so much!" cried her evil stepmother. She was about to crack her whip again when Meepthuselah's deep growl caused her to cautiously exit the room with her whip behind her back.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Cinderella remarked under her breath while she continued to scrub.

Meepthuselah was Cinderella's wildcat who once latched hold of the evil stepmother's foot and attempted to gut it with her long back claws. The evil stepmother had kept her distance from the animal ever since.

"Good girl," Cinderella told her pet with her singing voice.

Suddenly, Meepthuselah leapt onto Cinderella's arm and latched onto it with her fangs. Her high-pitched meep-growl reverberated through the room. Instinctively, Cinderella grabbed a nearby dustbunny and flicked it across the room. Meepthuselah unlatched from her arm and chased the dustbunny.

"Someday my prince will come?" Cinderella remarked under her breath and wondered if perhaps she were in the wrong fairy tale. She rubbed the fresh welts that her wildcat had created on her arm and pretended to not feel the pain.

Suddenly, ugly stepsister #1 sauntered over to Cinderella's scrubbing spot on the floor. "I've been told that you're doing it wrong," she declared while standing over Cinderella.

Ugly stepsister #2 kicked some dirt in Cinderella's face. "If you were doing it the right way, you would have finished already, rookie."

Cinderella stopped scrubbing and scowled at ugly stepsister #2. "Who are you calling a rookie? I've been working down here for nearly six months, and you've only been here for a few weeks. If either of you two would pull your own weight, we wouldn't have so many dustbunnies around here." She spotted one nearby and flicked it away. Meepthuselah suddenly appeared to play with it. Her very presence frightened the ugly stepsisters, who shrieked and scurried out of the room.

"Good girl," Cinderella whispered.

Later that day, at high noon, there was a knock at the door. A royal messenger sounded a trumpet and read a royal message: "Hear ye, hear ye, peasants young and old. The royal prince has decided to marry a few of you in the next few months, if the budget allows, if he hasn't mismanaged his kingdom to the ground, and if he feels like it."

"We're polygamists?" Cinderella remarked under her breath.

"The way that the prince has chosen to identify the stars in the kingdom -- the ones who work especially hard and make an especially focused effort in kissing his butt -- will be based on a shoe test," the messenger continued.

"Shoe test?" asked ugly stepsister #1. "We weren't told to study for a shoe test."

"Don't interrupt," retorted the messenger. "The prince only has one pair of glass shoes and has decided that his future wife or wives will wear it."

"Who in their right mind would wear glass shoes?" asked ugly stepsister #2. "What if they break?"

"I said don't interrupt. The prince will come by sometime this afternoon, if the budget allows, if he hasn't mismanaged his kingdom to the ground, and if he feels like it. He will administer the test at that time."

"How much time will my daughters have to study for the test?" asked the evil stepmother while clutching her whip.

The messenger sighed and shook his head. "Thank you for your time and attention to this matter." He did an about-face and marched away.

"Well, don't just stand there, servant," the evil stepmother barked at Cinderella. "Get back to work! We might be having company this afternoon!"

Instead of rolling up their sleeves to help Cinderella, the two ugly stepsisters gossiped about the messenger's proclamation.

"This story is all wrong," Cinderella muttered while she slaved away. "I don't get a fairy godmother or nothin'."

"What's that you're complaining about?!" cried her evil stepmother.

Cinderella sighed in frustration. "With all due respect, please make up your mind. Do you want me to think, or do you want me to share my thoughts out loud?"

Meepthuselah growled deeply. The evil stepmother cautiously exited the room with her whip behind her back.

That's right, hotshot, Cinderella thought while she scrubbed faster.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door. The evil stepmother and ugly stepsister #2 ran to open it. The women grimaced at the sight of a strange-looking character in the doorway.

"Um, your majesty?" asked ugly stepsister #2.

The strange-looking character -- who was dressed in a monk-like robe with a hood over his head -- slowly nodded. He entered the room and asked quietly, "With whom shall I begin first?"

The evil stepmother groaned. "I wish you could begin with my elder daughter, but as usual, she's late! Please begin with my younger daughter."

Ugly stepsister #2 excitedly grabbed the glass shoes out of the prince's hands and tried them on. The shoes were only half the size of her feet, so she nearly sliced her feet on the glass.

"My apologies, m'lady," said the prince sophisticatedly while he yanked the shoes off her feet.

"Let us all keep calm and stay positive," said the evil stepmother while clutching her whip. "My elder daughter is AWOL, my younger daughter has giant feet, and so, eh, where do we stand now?"

The prince pointed a sinister finger at Cinderella. "What about her?"

"Well, she's only a temporary servant, but I suppose you are welcome to test her as well."

Cinderella pointed her callous right foot into the right shoe and slipped it inside without incident. She did the same thing with her left foot into the left shoe. "Whoa. They fit."

Ugly stepsister #2 kicked a nearby dustbunny and stormed out of the room. Visibly suppressing tears, the evil stepmother covered her face with her whip and scurried away.

"What now, studmuffin?" Cinderella asked boldly.

With a royal gallantry that made Cinderella feel as if she were about to live happily ever after, the prince slowly removed the hood from his head. But underneath the hood -- instead of a hip-looking young prince -- was a shriveled-up old man.

Cinderella groaned so loudly that she awakened Meepthuselah from her deep afternoon slumber. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!"

"Don't be mad at me," said the old man. "I'm not the one who's writing this fairy tale parody."

Cinderella crossed her arms. "No, I'm not mad at you. I respect you. This is just a frustrating situation." She removed the shoes from her feet and handed them back to the old man. "I think I understand what's happening now."

The old man received the glass footwear and asked, "Eh?" with a confused gleam in his eye.

"See, up until this point in the story, everything about this messed-up fairy tale has been symbolic of the author's employment situation: the quota, the management, the uppity coworkers who are trying to kiss up so they can get hired, the peanuts -- "

"And who is she supposed to be?" asked the old man while pointing at the newly napping Meepthuselah.

"Oh, she's a fictional version of the author's real cat. Methuselah is a Bible character who lived to be 969 years old, so the author based her cat's satirical name off of that -- because she wants her cat to live forever."

"And who am I?" asked the old man with a chuckle. "A prince?"

"Yeah, you were at first, but at this point in the story you symbolize something else: The author's calling."

The old man rolled his eyes. "This author chick is mighty weird."

"She knows. See, you have the tools in your hand, and they're a perfect fit for her, but it's just not time for her to wear them yet."

"Then why am I here? And why am I so old and eccentric?"

"Because the timing is off. Also because you've been inside the author since forever."

The old man ran his wrinkled fingers through his thinning, balding hair. "So, eh, you're saying you're attracted to octogenarians?"

"Pffffft, no. But nothing personal; I've sworn off men forever. Ain't no one on this earth man enough for me." Cinderella suddenly used her magic powers to shrink the old man and his glass shoes, enclose them inside a glass jar, and set them up on a nearby shelf.

Shocked and frightened, the old man pounded on the jar and shouted, "Get me out of here, you cheeky heifer!"

Cinderella chuckled. "No, sir, you need to stay there for safe keeping. If God is going to keep me in a holding pattern for a while, I might as well have some fun with it." She added in her thoughts, Shucks, this ain't no fairy tale. This is fantasy fiction. Anything can happen.

"I heard that!" cried the evil stepmother from the next room.

Meepthuselah growled deeply.

Cinderella grabbed her scrubbing bucket, rolled up her sleeves, and squatted on the floor to resume her work. "Good girl," she told her pet with her singing voice.

Suddenly, Meepthuselah leapt onto Cinderella's arm and latched onto it with her fangs. Her high-pitched meep-growl reverberated through the room. Cinderella sighed. 

#BoycottTarget

You used to be my favorite store. I used to visit you every time I got a paycheck. I used to spend around $75 or so with you every two weeks.

Then your customer service got bad. Why did you have to treat me like cattle? After all we'd been through, you just took me for granted?

Then came the bathroom scandal. I mostly boycotted, but I couldn't completely stay away. You still sold some products that were better and cheaper than your competitors. Besides, many of my friends still shop with you. How bad could you be?

Today I found out. Your bathroom scandal continuing, a little girl got exposed to something that she never should have been exposed to at one of your stores on Easter Sunday. Well, guess what, megastore? She's not a piece of furniture, and neither am I. Enough is enough.

I will never set foot in any of your stores -- physically or online -- ever again. Goodbye forever.