How to Turn A Zucchini into a Fiasco

The Great Zucchini Fiasco

“How do I get myself into these fiascoes?” I mutter, as I wipe the kitchen counter for the fifth time, hoping the neon green of zucchini pulp doesn’t stain. The phone rings. It’s my eleven-year-old granddaughter, who’s the starter for our three-kid-and-two-grands Sunday chat.

“Whatcha doin’, Gramma?” she chirps.

“Oh, honey, I am up to my elbows in Zucchini bread, zucchini muffins, and zucchini mini-loaves. I underestimated how much zucchini pulp would make a cup, so I had to triple the recipe.”

She giggles before saying, “That sounds like a mess.”

“You have no idea, dear girl. I started out with a large bowl, transferred the batter to a huge bowl, and then had to graduate the bright green goo to my enormous chili pot. I ran out of flour in my canister, so substituted a chocolate cake mix for the final cup. I wish you were here to help me!”

We visit for a while, me cradling the phone on my shoulder as I fill muffins cups and loaf pans. Finally, I sigh with pleasure. “How many loaves and muffins do you think I ended up with?” I ask, mentally daring her to guess right.

Her giggle reaches through the airwaves again. “I don’t know.”

“Three large loaves, eight mini-loaves, and sixteen muffins. And there is still a fifth of a zuke sitting in the fridge wondering if I forgot it!”

I’ve often joked how I use gardening in the summer and baking in the winter as therapy, because they’re cheaper than a therapist is.  But the zucchini fiasco has me re-thinking that philosophy. I spent three hours of my time mixing and baking, another hour cleaning up, and have yet to ask forty-seven people if they’d like to adopt a loaf or a set of quintuplet muffins to make their home complete. Isn’t my time worth at least two sessions with a shrink, in an office devoid of stained green counters?

The upside is, I have enough breakfast breads to last the winter, my grandgirl and I bonded a bit, and my neglected loaf pans felt needed.

But the next time a friend offers me an 18” long zucchini, I will run the other way!

The above story is an excerpt from my book, Touchable God, Finding the Lord's Friendship through Prayer

Do you like to bake? 

Have you ever experienced a fiasco similar to mine? Do tell.

Two Different Ways We Know God Loves Us

           

My four-year-old granddaughter, Jenessa’s hug was no different than usual, her tanned arms and spindly legs wrapped around my neck and waist like summer vines. What made this hug different—and what surprised me—were her words.

            Jenessa had always said “I love you” as sweet as a grape Popsicle when she hugged me, parroting the words my husband, Kevin, and I had told her since she was born. They were the same words we’d spoken to our own two kids thousands of times, words every child deserves to hear. But this time as Jenessa snuggled against my neck she said confidently, “You love me.”

            “Yes, I do!” I laughed, embracing her tighter. I was pleased that she felt secure enough not to ask me if I loved her, but to tell me. Was she reassuring herself, or reminding me?

            I had corrected Jenessa right and left for the last five days while her two-year-old brother,

baby sister, mommy and daddy stayed with us for the week of Vacation Bible School.  “Don’t tell me you want a banana; ask ‘may I please have one?’, “Swallow your food before you tell us something; we don’t want ‘see food’ at this table, “Sit still, Honey. I can’t read to you if you keep wiggling the book.”

            I’d also cuddled and kissed and teased her. I played in the sandbox with her in the blistering heat. I watched endless episodes of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and read countless library books. I even shared my favorite chunky peach frozen yogurt with her! So Jenessa took my correction in stride, knowing that my love was the supreme motive for everything I did.

           

Similar to a loving parent or grandparent, God corrects us, sometimes more than we like. Perhaps He convicts us when we think poorly of someone, repeat a word of gossip, or speak sharply to our spouse. He’s never harsh or unkind when His still, small voice whispers in our hearts, but we know He wants us to grow more like Jesus, so we’ll be happier.

Both Solomon and the writer of Hebrews encourage us to accept this correction as a loving act: “My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in” (Proverbs 3: 11-12; Hebrews 12:5-6, NIV).

            We also get to experience God’s fun, loving side. He makes our tomato and zucchini plants grow tons more than we’ll ever need, so we can have the joy of sharing. He sends us people who make us laugh when we’re in a bleak situation. He puts us in a family called a ‘church’ so we don’t have to bear our burdens alone. His Holy Spirit comforts us. His Word renews our hope. He shed His blood, so we could be forgiven. All of this is proof that His supreme love is the motive behind everything He does. Even correcting us.

            What else can we do but climb into His lap and, like Jenessa, say, “You love me!” 
The above story is a chapter from my book, Two Scoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top. 

The Giant Zucchini Fiasco

 

“Why do I get myself into these fiascoes?” I mutter, as I wipe the kitchen counter for the fifth time, hoping the neon green of zucchini pulp doesn’t stain. The phone rings. It’s my eleven-year-old granddaughter, who’s the starter for our three-kid-and-two-grands Sunday chat.

“Whatcha doin’, Gramma?” she chirps.

“Oh, honey, I am up to my elbows in Zucchini bread, zucchini muffins, and zucchini mini-loaves. I underestimated how much zucchini pulp would make a cup, so I had to triple the recipe.”

She giggles before saying, “That sounds like a mess.”

“You have no idea, dear girl. I started out with a large bowl, transferred the batter to a huge bowl, and then had to graduate the bright green goo to my enormous chili pot. I ran out of flour in my canister, so substituted a chocolate cake mix for the final cup. I wish you were here to help me!”

 

We visit for a while, me cradling the phone on my shoulder as I fill muffins cups and loaf pans. Finally, I sigh with pleasure. “How many loaves and muffins do you think I ended up with?” I ask, mentally daring her to guess right.

That giggle reaches through the airwaves again. “I don’t know.”

“Three large loaves, eight mini-loaves, and sixteen muffins. And there is still a fifth of a zuke sitting in the fridge wondering if I forgot it!”

I’ve often joked how I use gardening in the summer and baking in the winter as therapy, because they’re cheaper than a therapist is.  But the zucchini fiasco has me re-thinking that philosophy. I spent three hours of my time mixing and baking, another hour cleaning up, and have yet to ask forty-seven people if they’d like to adopt a loaf or a set of quintuplet muffins to make their home complete. Isn’t my time worth at least two sessions with a shrink, in an office devoid of stained green counters?

The upside is, I have enough breakfast breads to last the winter, my grandgirl and I bonded a bit, and my neglected loaf pans felt needed.

 

 

But the next time I’m making a delivery for the office supply store I manage to a church with a “Free Produce” table in their vestibule, if I see an 18” long zucchini, I will run the other way!

 

Do you like to bake? Have you ever experienced a fiasco similar to mine? Do tell.

I'm Too Young!

When my daughter told us she and her husband were expecting their first child I said, “But I’m too young to be a grandma!” I was only 46. Weren’t my own grandparents ancient all my life? I hated the thought of this still-vibrant lady being called a name that was associated with fumbling, forgetfulness, and false teeth.

“That baby can call me Nana, Mimi, or Boo-Boo, but she’s not calling me Grandma!” I insisted. My resolve lasted a whole two days.

Once I warmed to the idea of having a little one to cuddle and spoil, I decided being a grandma wasn’t bad. I told everyone within a ten-mile radius that I was going to have a grand baby.

Now we have three darling miniature people, and when they say, “Grandma” it’s like a favorite song being sung just for me. All the implications of that word have changed, now that I have the role of loving and mentoring these little angels.

Have you ever changed your mind about a word or a role? What changed it for you?

If you’d like to read more of this kind of grandma talk, please join me today at Geezer Guys and Gals, where I share my funny story, Name that Kid.
Have a grace-filled Monday!