Lessons from a Crock-Pot

Seven years ago, (which is approximately 127 blogging years ago,) I composed a post right around my birthday titled "Lessons from a Cheesecake." In it, I talked all about how I tried to make my traditional birthday cheesecake be worthy of a Better Homes & Gardens prize-winning recipe contest and it all went horribly, horribly wrong. A few years later, I wrote again about my birthday cheesecake--lamenting the fact that my long-loved tradition was approaching its last hurrah, because aging and lactose are dumb.

And that's how we got here, people. Birthdays, and cheesecakes, and lactose intolerance.
(And a dinosaur that has 127 blogging years under her belt.)
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Have I ever shared the story about the first time I cried because I lived in Alaska? It's a real doozie.
I wish I could tell you that it was a warranted cry--that I felt lonely, and far away, and stressed out, and missed my family and friends. But that wasn't the reason.

I cried over a ruined dinner.

Living in the interior of Alaska has presented so, so many different challenges for us. Because we knew going into it that it would be lonely, far away, and hard, we decided to live on a military installation. We thought it would be smart to have a built-in community in a place that is usually famous for being people-less. We thought it would be helpful to have stores and emergency supplies close at hand so I wouldn't have to drive an hour through the wilderness in the wintertime any time we needed anything. We thought it would be smart to have the children live close to their schools instead of having to be bussed who-knows-how-long to who-knows-where. And we especially thought it would be smart to try to keep the kids' routines as close to "normal" as we could get them.

I think every family has their own "crazy thing." Maybe you are the all-natural, everything-from-scratch family. Maybe you are the extra-extravagant, everything's-an-extra-special occasion family. We are the extra-busy, nine-hundred-extracurriculars family. My children have a lot of loves and I don't want to lock them into one thing too early---and so I cave and let them do allllll the things.
This is what that looks like in Alaska:
"Hey, super job trying to make your life easier by living on post, Liz, but you're still going to have to drive for hours all over interior Alaska on winter roads that are paved PRIMARILY in ICE AND SNOW PACK, mmkay? Also, enjoy crock-pot dinners several nights a week because, girlfriend, that's the only way y'all will ever eat hot food."

One night, after several hours of running my children hither and thither to their various activities, I came home to discover that the dinner I had prepared for us to eat had never actually been turned on. Yes, the slow cooker had pulled a fast one on me.
Refusing to be defeated so easily, I started doing a mental run through of my options. I could buy a rotisserie chicken from the Commissary (our grocery store.) Oh shoot. Nevermind. It's closed today... I could swing by the Burger King and grab some fast food. Check hours. Nope. Closes at 7p.m. That's lame... Grrr. Go out to eat? Negative. Nasty restaurant on post also closes at 7. Like, WHY EVEN BE A RESTAURANT,THEN?! Gas station? Gas station is still open...

That's when the tears came.
Moments later, my poor husband came in the door and saw me weeping, cursing Alaska and all of its 7 p.m. closing times, saying really weird things like "Don't they know that moms are humans?! Don't they know that sometimes we forget to turn on our Crock-Pots?! Do they expect us to never burn dinners?! Why does Alaska HATE ALL MOTHERS?!?"
We did eventually eat that September night...Inside a Wendy's with 25 Christmas trees in it. Only took us an hour of driving, round trip.
(Yes you read that right. One hour of driving for Wendy's. And yes, that really is our best option--unless you particularly love gas station food.)

(And yes, the Christmas lights in September were lovely.)


It's such a silly story, I know, but it does have a point.

It's been a lifelong habit of mine to make snap judgments. I did it in Missouri. I did it again in Austin. And I certainly did it here.
Shortly after that experience, I decided that I was ready to leave Alaska. It just wasn't for me. It just wasn't for us. It was too expensive. It was too far. It was too harsh of a climate. It was too "behind the times." (Plus, it didn't help that it hated all mothers.)

And y'all, I got my wish.
Exactly 6 months after our arrival here, we learned that the Army is needing my husband elsewhere. My household goods were unboxed in August, and will be put right back into boxes in May. (I'm already tired just thinking about it.)

It's probably what makes me judge places so quickly, this never having enough time. Needing everything to work *just so* on my crazy-tight schedule.

So many of us are living in pressure-cooker worlds where we expect everything to be done in minutes.
But a lot of things in life take a little bit more time to be ready.

Crock-Pots are marvelous because they're slow. It tenderizes things until they are so easy to handle that they fall right into place. It cooks things fully, but without drying them out. It takes raw things and makes them safe, without smoking everybody out of the place in the process. You just have to give it enough time. (And, you know, turn it on.)

Alaska may not have been every single thing that I was wishing for, but I look back at all of the stories that I wrote here and I realize that I have learned so much. And I truly am so very grateful that I was here for those lessons!

And seven years down the road from my very first documented kitchen mishap, I *still* may not be every single thing that I was wishing for yet--but another birthday and a little extra time has taught me this:
The longer it takes,
the more tender I am towards others.
the less likely I am to burnout as I reach it,
(or burn anyone else in the process.)
the more delicious it will be when it's finally ready.


So here's to all of us who are taking a bit longer to "find our finish." TURN IT ON, and then keep it going. It will be worth the wait.

"Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6)

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Just as a TOTAL throwback, I thought it'd be fun to give you my favorite Crock-Pot recipe. :)

"Moose Drip Sammi's"

You need:
-2 1/2 lb chuck roast (or moose roast if you're in Alaska) ;)
-2 c beef broth
-1/2 c soy sauce
-1/4 c Worcestershire sauce
-3 T brown sugar

{-1 T garlic powder
-1 T onion powder
-1 T Italian seasoning
-salt
-pepper}

{these are all completely made up measurements. HA! just season to taste.}

Dump everything in a slow cooker. DEAR GOODNESS, DON'T FORGET TO TURN IT ON. Low is good. Cook beef for 4-5 hours. (Moose takes even longer!) Get out forks and shred meat in the crock. Put on top of toasted bun with provolone cheese. Add horseradish sauce to the bun if you love yourself. Ladle juices into ramekin for sandwich dunking if you really, really love yourself.

New Light

Before we moved here, this silly Texan thought the hardest part about living in Alaska would be the cold. But as it turns out, living in the cold has been surprising bearable. Ask any Alaskan and they'll tell you that there really is no bad weather, just bad gear.

No, the hardest part about living in Alaska has been dealing with the crazy darkness.

Around mid-October, daylight hours began growing noticeably shorter. The sun wouldn't rise until mid-morning, barely cresting above the horizon, and then it would completely vanish again by the middle of the afternoon. On the day of the winter solstice, I didn't see the sun until 11 AM. It barely warmed our -23 degree sky, and then it went back down again at 2:40 PM.
I'm absolutely certain that if twinkle lights would not have been popularized for Christmastime, Alaskans would have made them a thing anyway. The snow sparkles here out of pure necessity. We need all the light we can get.

Even now that the shortest day of the winter season is behind me, I still have quite a ways to go before things return to "normal." Today the sun rose at 10:30 and will set at 3:15. We will earn about five minutes of sunlight back every day, which feels painfully slow--even more so now that most of the Christmas-y twinkle lights are down.

The lack of sunshine has been a big player in my life lately. The darkness has taken a toll on my motivation, my energy, and my mood. It's actually quite hard to make your body work when the sun does not. And even though I make a deliberate effort to move and get out and about each day, I can feel the draining impact that the dark has on me.
We wake up to "natural light" alarm clocks so that our bodies are cued when it's time to rise. We take vitamin D supplements every morning. We sit in front of our light therapy boxes every day. But all of those things are lesser substitutes for the thing we are missing the most:
Sweet, sweet sunshine--and perhaps even a humid 90 degree day if you are a silly Texan.


Because of my pining, watching for the sunrise has become a bit of a daily ritual for me here. And fortunately for me, Alaskan sunrises never seem disappoint:

And these are just stinky camera phone pictures, y'all! It's truly like looking at massive watercolor paintings...

Even though I have been awake for hours before these sunrises happen---even though I have taken all of my fake-sun supplements, and gotten the kids to school, and squeezed in a workout, and knocked out some errands, *or sometimes have started making my lunch!!* (it really is so, so crazy)---my day suddenly starts over again once I see the light.
Living like this for the past several months has taught me a couple things.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, I've learned that there is no substitution for the true light.
There are lots of tips, tricks, and gadgets on the market for us up here in the arctic that claim to help combat the darkness, but they all pale in comparison to the real thing. There is no amount of exercise, no amount of vitamins, no amount of twinkle lights that do the work the sun was made to do. And friends, since Jesus is the Light (John 8:12), we'd do really well to remember that there is no substitution for Him. No amount of good works, no amount of followers, no amount of "likes." No powers, no professions, no self-help scenarios. Nothing on this earth can do the work that the Son was made to do.

Secondly, I've learned how important it is to relish the new starts that the light brings.
Before the sun rises here, I feel a bit like a zombie. I drink the coffee and I do the things, but I do them reeeeeaally slowly. (And probably without brains.) But I'm like a completely new woman when the sun comes out. A new day literally dawns for me, even though it's midday!
Light is rejuvenating. It wakes us up. It helps us see. It warms us. It powers us. Light makes things begin again.
Many of us get spun up around this time about a new year, but there really is something so lovely and important about each new day.
If you feel like your year is already off on the wrong foot, find comfort in this new day. And if you feel like you didn't start the day off right, take comfort in our gracious God who makes a sunrises in the middle of the day!!
And even then, He gives a new hour. He gives a new minute. He gives a new breath.
Notice it, and begin again.

"Those who live at the ends of the earth
stand in awe of your wonders.
From where the sun rises to where it sets,
you inspire shouts of joy." (Psalm 65:8)

Now if you will excuse me, I have a sunrise to catch ;)

Shaken

Well folks, today I experienced my very first earthquake.
And I have to admit, I’m still pretty shook up about it.

We are several hours north of Anchorage, but we experienced tremors from their 7.0 magnitude quake. My experience lasted about two minutes in real life---but it felt like 272 minutes in the moment. As most of you could probably guess, I handled it with exactly no chill.

I was sitting on a backless bar stool at my kitchen counter doing my daily Bible study. I suddenly felt really, really dizzy. I thought I was being struck with vertigo. I lifted the Bible from the counter and held it up in front of me so I wouldn’t have to look down to read. I was reading from Psalm 62:

“Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from Him. Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will never be shaken.”(v1-2)

All at once it dawned on me that I wasn’t dizzy. I was shaking.


Here’s how the whole thing went down in my brain:

-I put the Bible down and stood up. Y’all, I kid you not--after reading that verse, I could have sworn the LORD was returning right then and there!! I think I actually said the words “Help me, Jesus!” out loud.

-I kind of ran around my house from corner to corner. Apparently I should have listened better to what my children do during earthquake drills in school…

-My children!!! Oh my goodness! My children aren’t with me!!! *activate crazed, hyper-protective parent* Mentally talk myself out of running to/calling school during an active earthquake…

-Earthquake! I’m STILL shaking. Are things falling? Let me assess. No. Nothing falling, but blinds and hanging objects are swaying really heavily side to side. Ugh, so am I…

-I feel awful. I get motion sick just from riding on an elevator these days. I was not built for earthquakes…

-Earthquake! Oh my goodness! How is this still happening?! This never would have happened in Texas. Texas just has tornadoes. Tornadoes are way easier than earthquakes. They come with warnings and sirens and shelters. I miss Texas. And tornadoes. (Okay, maybe not tornadoes.)...

-My dog always hides in the bathroom in tornadoes. Am I supposed to hide somewhere? Yes! Under a table! (I knew I listened to my kids when they told me things!!!)…

-Oooh, I feel sick. I’m not going to be able to squeeze myself under a table right now. Maybe I’ll find the dogs and hide with them…

-Locate dogs. (They were napping on the rug.)

-Phone rings. It’s my husband. Immediately feel validated that I wanted to call school ;)

-Tremors settle while we’re on the phone. Assure each other we’re okay. Tell husband I thought Jesus was coming. Laugh-cry a little.

-Text my mom.

-Receive alert from weather app---hmmm. Not helpful.

-Look at the “Alaska Bucket List” that the school counselor gave to my children and lament to myself that she included an earthquake box to check off.

-Put the dang checkmark on the stupid box.



After I settled my heart and my brain a little bit, I climbed back onto the (newly inadequate) back-less bar stool and looked at the verse I was reading when my world started to rattle.

“Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will never be shaken.”

Y’all, nothing on this earth is as secure as we think it is. We build skyscrapers up from the ground never stopping to think that they are only held up by a constantly shifting, thin layer of rock. I am certainly grateful for the roof over my head, but I was extra aware today that if the ground shook it hard enough, all of the walls around me would crumble. The feeling of the earth swaying side to side was so surreal, I recognized—maybe even for the first time—that the very ground we walk on can fail beneath our feet. The earth hangs on nothing, (Job 26) and one day it will all pass away (Matt. 24).

We have one sure, solid foundation.
One way to salvation.
One everlasting, never-failing, absolute hope.

One thing that holds us together when everything else is shaking.


I feel silly about how scattered I was in the midst of my first earthquake. But I also feel really settled.
God knew I needed that Bible in my hand when the tremors hit. He knew the verse I needed to see. He heard me call for His help. He knew I was going to be a fool and stand under a ceiling fan when I should have been under a table. And He held me together when everything around me felt unsteady.

That’s who He is. That’s what He does.
And that kind of revelation shakes everything up for me in a much better way.

“Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe.” (Hebrews 12:38)