Bedeviled by Sean Connery’s Catchy Mantra

Here’s a near-paradox. I love sleep, but I hate rest.

I felt pretty cruddy when I got up today, so I decided to do two things: rest, and stay warm. I think it was a mistake to be active yesterday. And the hotter I get, the better I feel. Except for smelling and sticking to things.

What do you do when you rest? I hate lying around watching TV. I don’t have enough character to do something productive while I rest. This is one of those times when the Internet is actually good for something.

What can I blog about? Here’s something fun. I never, ever redeem my credit card points, and they keep expiring. The stuff you can buy with them is usually not very interesting, so I forget to redeem them, and I lose them.

This year I decided to redeem them for a Sears gift certificate and see what I could find. I decided to get a Fein Multimaster.

This is one of those tools no amateur buys for himself, because they’re insanely expensive for what you get. But when you have a pile of old credit card points and nothing else to do with them, putting them toward the price of a Multimaster seems almost justifiable. It beats not using the points at all.

I have no use for it, as far as I know. Detail sanding, I guess. Cutting things in awkward spaces. That’s about it. I think it’s one of those tools that come into play at random moments, when nothing else works. Like a Dremel.

Maybe I should go lie on my back and listen to religious CDs. I actually enjoy that. If you’ve never had an experience you considered supernatural, this kind of thing can be boring or silly, but when you’ve seen a few kooky things, it’s comforting to hear other people talk about their own manifestations.

What else can I do? No cooking. I’ve gained two pounds. Was it the holidays? Partly. Mainly, I’ve been eating too much because I feel sorry for myself. If I can’t do anything or go anywhere, I should at least be able to eat ice cream, right? That was my line of reasoning. But I am not willing to gain weight, so I had to quit.

I could practice sight-reading, which is like studying Harry Reid speeches while eating liver and waiting in line to have your driver’s license renewed. I’ve decided I’m going to do one of two things: learn to sight-read and give keyboards another chance, or give up the whole keyboard dream. A cousin of mine is married to a famous trombone virtuoso, and she suggested sight-reading as a way of compensating for my deteriorating musical memory. Can’t hurt to try. If I can make myself do it, I might at least be able to compose efficiently, even if I never become a good pianist. Composing was my original goal.

I’m working on improving my memory. I memorize scripture and I am fanatical in my efforts to get enough sleep. And I’m losing weight. I have this idea that being fat is bad for the brain. I’m also taking B1 again.

God gave me a big pile of gifts, and so far, my biggest achievement has been creating the world’s best cheesecake. I realize that’s a major feat which, on its own legs, justifies my elevation to sainthood. But I can’t help thinking I should be accomplishing more. “Cheesecake” makes for a short resume. I hear such beautiful music in my head; surely I was intended to write some of it down.

Christian music was great for a few years, but it seems to be in a slump. Some of the songs they play at my church are so monotonous, you wonder why anyone bothered paying for the copyright registration. If I wrote a song like that, I’d delete it from my hard drive without telling anyone. Christians ought to have quality music again. We don’t want to spend eternity busing performers in from hell whenever we have a party.

I could practice. Or I could go look at YTMND.com for six hours.

My Nose Hairs are Smoking

I think I killed my digestive tract. I’ll have to replace it with PVC.

The chicken curry was magnificent. I was actually able to taste it through the viral infection. I used three habanero gold peppers in 2 pounds of chicken, and it was perfect. Any hotter, and I would not have been able to eat it. Any milder, and it wouldn’t have gotten the job done. I needed something to scorch my sinuses and open up all the little holes in my head, and this stuff did it.

I wish I had some chicken fat to add to it. That would make it even better.

I Attempt to Melt a Slotted Spoon

I found a doctor who works on Saturdays. This guy is open twelve hours a day during the week, plus Saturday mornings. Crazy. Seems like a good doctor. Very efficient. I commented on his schedule, and he says his friends can’t make a living because they don’t want to work.

He says I have a viral throat problem, so I have to avoid people for a few days. Unless they are people I want to kill. He also said you should always see a doctor when you have a sore throat, to make sure it’s not strep, which can affect your heart. This is pretty much why I showed up.

My blood pressure bordered on high, so he gave me a sheet of dietary instructions. I took a look, before giving it to Marv to chew on. He could have just said, “You know what you do all the time? Stop it.”

My diet is actually pretty healthy these days.

Last night was a fun ride. It started with a scratchy throat. Then it got worse, and I got unbelievable bone pains. I got so cold I could not get warm. I put three blankets on the bed and cranked the heated mattress pad to its highest setting, and my hands were still like ice. The air temperature in the room was 75, but it didn’t matter. Then, of course, I woke up frying. I slept about fifteen minutes.

I can’t drive for the church tonight. I guess they’ll find someone else to drive people from the shelter.

There’s one nice thing about being sick. It gives me an excuse to make blistering-hot food. When you have a cold or sore throat, spicy food and ice cream are the only things that taste good. I have to decide what I want. I’m thinking curried chicken.

The great thing about this opportunity is that I don’t have to share this, so I can make it so hot it glows. And I’m going to pile sour cream on it.

Soon the viruses will wonder what hit them. This body will not be a pleasant place in which to make a home and raise little viruses.

I feel pretty good today, except for the throat and a little mental fog.

Don’t Try to be This Holy at Home

PRIME RIB! PRIME RIB! PRIME RIB!

Time to put the roast in the Showtime oven!!!!!

Another Miracle? Ho Hum.

How many times do I have to write a blog post that begins with me saying that God has freaked me out?

I guess I’ll never stop.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, for the people who just want to read about tools, food, and politics), I can’t say much about the things that are freaking me out this week. They involve problems another person is having. I am working on a solution to some debilitating, life-ruining difficulties in another person’s life, and as he so often does, God is hammering me with one “coincidence” after another. And this time, my dad has a front-row seat. He can rationalize nearly any move of God away, but this one will be a special challenge. Man, I wish I could blog it.

My church is having a ten p.m. service tonight, and I would rather die than stay up past 9:30, but I’m going to go. I want to be there to show my gratitude for the things that are happening to me and around me.

I walked by faith back in ’84, when I lived on Kibbutz Geva. I never knew what I was doing as I made my way across Europe and to the kibbutz, but I found that as I continued putting one foot in front of the other, things simply worked out. When I returned to the US, that all stopped. I started to get it together about 20 years ago, but I abandoned ship because I got offended. Lately, I’ve been getting back on track. And once again, God seems to be right over my right shoulder, steering me around obstacles and opening doors. This is what life is supposed to be like, but it’s hard to make your mind up to live this way.

Yesterday a guy asked me if I wanted to write a book about his life. This happened as a result of the problems I mentioned above. I was in his office, trying to get help for someone else, and he dropped this question on me out of the blue. In front of my father! Incredible. I want to do it. I’m sure it’s a good project. I don’t know if there is any cash in it, but it’s exactly the kind of thing I want to do with my life from now on.

The person with the problems doesn’t know it, but a “perfect storm” of God’s contrivance has developed. Circumstances and timing are arranging themselves in such an extraordinary, odds-defying manner that this person will have no choice but to make a defining decision that will either end the problems or lead to perdition. Either way, the boil is coming to a head, and the collateral damage–the torment that has bled outward onto other people–is going to be cut off abruptly.

Day is going to break for me, and it will probably break for my father, because of the effect this spectacle will have on him. The only doubtful issue is whether it will break for the afflicted person. That depends on free will. God can be extremely persuasive, however, so I am not losing hope. God blinded Paul in order to wake him up. He has penetrated some very bony heads (mine included) and crushed many revolting egos. Defiance requires effort and strength, and God knows how to weaken people who need to be humbled. He put Lester Sumrall on a deathbed when he was in his teens. He has put many people on the floors of rehab facilities and jails. He has twisted a lot of arms in order to turn people around, and it often works. It’s a mistake to overestimate the impregnability of free will.

The other day I saw an Internet video where some guy was asking Kari Jobe questions, and she grinned and said God was “just wrecking” her life. I know what she meant. When God moves powerfully and quickly, it can be like an episode of Extreme Makeover, only without the ensuing foreclosure and divorce and arrests, because God does a better job than ABC.

If I will just listen, my life will be on rails from now on.

Dinner was fantastic. The pig was gorgeous. Everyone loved the flan. And Val’s aunt made ambrosia, which is…a COINCIDENCE…because Mike was asking me for a recipe yesterday. Maybe I can get her to spill the beans.

Talked to Val’s wife Maggie again about visiting church. I’m going to get them. And their little dog, too. Wait and see.

I have to poke Marv before I get in the truck. Merry Christmas Eve.

This Year’s Noche Buena Pig

I write a lot about tools and religion. Today I thought it might be interesting to talk about medicine. Here’s a look at the latest advances in prostate surgery. First, the surgery itself:

Second, the patient relaxing with a caring OR nurse.

I guess some of you realize this is not really prostate surgery. It’s the pig Val Prieto is cooking for tonight’s Christmas Eve feast. I helped him for a couple of hours, and during that whole time, I didn’t see a single kitchen implement, other than a spoon. It was all tools. Isn’t that how cooking should be?

This year he’s doing a small pig at his parents’ house. That’s a 50-pounder. And he cheated by buying congri instead of having me make it (thank you, Lord).

I know this does not photograph well, but here are some shots of the pig prep, in case you want to try this yourself. He got the pig at Winn-Dixie instead of the matadero, and he said it smelled fresh and was very clean. Until we got ahold of it.

The older gentleman in the photos is Val’s dad. The younger guy is his nephew, whose name I can’t spell. The OR nurse is Val’s sister.

There is some seismic instability in the pig, so I may have to run to Home Depot for some hardware cloth or chicken wire.

I prepared two pans of coconut flan, which I delivered this morning. Here’s a tip: if you cook your flan in disposable aluminum pans, put a heavy dinner plate on top of each one to keep it from floating in the water bath. If it floats, the flan will flow to the lower side of the pan, and you get a flan that is tall on one side and short on the other.

If you use my recipe, you might try adding an additional cup of half and half and maybe a tablespoon of sugar. I think I may have made the version in the book slightly thicker than it should be, and the added half and half will loosen it up.

Today is my dad’s birthday, and I got him a crappy fanny-pack-type thing for concealed carry. It’s perfectly nice, and it will be a great convenience, but it was cheap. He’s always telling me not to spend money on him, so I figured I’d let him see what happens when he asks for things he doesn’t really want. TOMORROW, on the other hand, he gets something better. A Glock 26 with Tru-Glo sights. I figure 24 hours of suffering are enough for him.

He’s 78 today, and I know he probably won’t live forever, so I figured I’d get him a gift to remember. On Father’s Day, he gets a pair of socks. Second quality. On sale. I am not made of money.

I know he’ll like the Glock, because he shot mine when he went shooting with me and my Christian buddies, and he loved it. I’m hoping this will give him incentive to keep shooting with us. I remember telling him we should take my pastor fishing, and he said, “I’m afraid he’ll get the Holy Ghost on me.” Maybe the same thing can happen at the range.

I have a prime rib roast in the fridge, for tomorrow. I salted it down and covered it with butter and mashed garlic. I’m hoping some of the salt will get into the meat. This will be the first time I’ve used a roast with the ribs cut off and tied back on. It will also be the first time I’ve used my dad’s Ronco Showtime rotisserie oven to do prime rib. The unknown variables scared me, so I called Mike for a consultation. He says he puts a little additional twine on the roast to reinforce it. That will keep the ribs and the meat from separating and falling apart.

He told me he likes to make prime rib and slice off a big portion of the fat and the underlying meat. You know the part I’m talking about. The extra-fatty meat around the outside of the cut. He likes to eat a sheet of that, basically. I was amazed to hear it, because one of my dreams has been to cook this and call it something like “filet of prime rib.” It’s unquestionably the best part of the meat.

I asked Mike what his wife and kids get when he does that, since it pretty well butchers the meat. He says A) he doesn’t care, because he does all the work and therefore makes the rules, and B) they don’t mind, because for some insane reason, they don’t want the fatty part.

Mike is a storehouse of that sort of manly wisdom.

Hope you and yours are having a fine Christmas Eve.

Entry Removed

I decided to take down the post I wrote last night because I have a long list of things of which I am repenting, and one of them is mocking people. If I keep cutting back on speech and writing that offends God, there may be little left for me to say or write, but I want to be serious about changing. Sorry your comments had to be dragged down with the entry.

I’m about to get in the car and help Val Prieto put together a pig roast. I’m also delivering two delicious coconut flans. No time to blog.

Holiday Prayer

I just had a visit from Val Prieto. He was borrowing a cooler to marinate this year’s lechon for Noche Buena. His mom is having health problems, including a hernia. If you would like to offer a prayer, he would appreciate it.

He has Established my Goings

If I were to say I had had a weird couple of days, I would barely scratch the surface.

Let’s start.

I have a bad habit of volunteering for things at church. I now have conflicts. That’s how bad it’s gotten. My dad and I have been trying to help my sister with her problems now that she has cancer, and a few days back, I actually got cross with him, because I had to do something for the church, and he wanted me to drop it and do something for her. I said, “I made a commitment to my church. It’s not a joke.” I’m sorry about that now, but it’s important to the story.

A couple of weeks back, I volunteered to help drive people to services. The guy who was to be in charge of this ministry is named Danny. I didn’t know him very well, and I didn’t know what kind of people we were going to be driving, but the church was very serious about it. They’re even willing to buy me a hack license. Unfortunately, I also joined a Saturday morning prayer group, and I volunteered to cook food for the cast of the Christmas play.

On Saturday, I spent a good part of the morning at a Denny’s in Hallandale, with my prayer group. I made some real connections. We met for two hours. Then I called Danny, intending to cancel because I was so busy. He was very nice about it, but I felt awful. I called the associate pastor who was directing the play and asked what I should do, and he advised me to go with Danny and to let cooking go for this week. I called Danny again and got back on track. Then I realized I would still be able to cook, if I made cookies instead of something difficult. I had two cookie recipes in my cookbook. One was so simple, it was in the super-basic chapter called “Five Greasy Pieces.” I went and got ingredients, and I made over three dozen oatmeal-raisin cookies.

When the cookies were finished, I drove to church and met Danny. We got in one of the church’s smelly, scary old vans and headed to Broward County, to the Broward Outreach Center. This is a shelter for the homeless, domestic violence victims, and convicted criminals released under supervision. Danny is one of their case workers.

I don’t know what I should tell you about Danny, because I don’t know what he makes public, but I can tell you that he works with a lot of addicts. And I discussed addiction with him.

He said addicts have to hit bottom and resolve to change. No big surprise there. But he also made a disturbing comment about the three main ways addicts hit bottom. The three ways are institutionalization, jail, and death. He did not name a fourth.

He gave me a tour of the center. I was surprised. It’s extremely clean. The dining hall still had water on the floor from the last mopping, and the smell of bleach was in the air. The floors all through the place shined. The bunks were made, and the bedclothes were so clean, the air near them smelled like clean laundry.

They have a five-step program, starting with the intake phase and ending (I think) with job placement. They give people remedial classes. They help people get GEDs. They teach them how to market their skills over the Internet; some have never used email before.

They have to memorize eight principles, which I can’t recall right now. I guess I’d fail their program. They have to complete a lot of requirements. There are little graduations along the way, and they get certificates, and their relatives show up and cry with joy.

He said the vast majority of them score below the 9th-grade level on tests, which may explain how many of them ended up where they are.

While he talked, I knew I was walking by faith. It was just like being in Israel in 1984. In those days, God dragged me around and brought me people to show me things and guide me. For no intelligent reason, I volunteered to help Danny, and we ended up at the shelter, and he started pouring out their story, and I knew it was as if God himself was talking to me, because he wanted me to be there, and he wanted Danny to show me the center and tell me these things. I can’t tell you why, because I don’t have that information yet.

We got the residents (“clients”) in the vans, and I drove my bunch down I-95, and I could not help but overhear them. It was moving. They didn’t tell filthy jokes or fight or cuss. They talked about their progress. They coached each other and gave each other tips. I can’t tell you how impressed I was.

Touring that place full of humble belongings, dedicated to humble yet vital and lifesaving achievements, I thought of people I know who have had much greater opportunities, yet whose attitudes can’t compare to those of the BOC clients I met. If you’ve been to college or have a skill, and you have a little money in the bank and no criminal record and no disabilities or diseases, you are so far ahead of these folks, you might as well be from another planet. But does your attitude reflect an appreciation of the depth of your blessings? Think where you could be, instead of where you are. Tomorrow, you could be having your next class on coping with HIV, or you could be studying eighth-grade history in order to get a high school diploma.

It may be a week before I have the nerve to complain about anything again. I’ll miss it.

We got these people to church, and they enjoyed the Christmas play, and then something like two-thirds of them went to the altar call. I got to sit in the front row last night, so I was able to get up and pray with them. Two hardcore gang kids accepted Jesus and stood holding each other and weeping. Danny was floored by the way his busing project paid off.

Now we have to figure out what to do when they want to attend regularly.

I got home at about 9:15 p.m., and I made over four dozen chocolate chip cookies for the play cast. I got to bed at 11, and I got up at six. Off I went, to work with the “armorbearers,” or the male volunteers who keep the church going during services. They put me and Danny in the kids’ ministry, helping people drop off and pick up their children. There are so many well-behaved kids at that church, it’s hard to believe it’s located in Miami.

At one point, I went to the men’s room, and I heard a tiny voice yelling, “I want to wash my hands! I want to wash my hands!” A kid about nine inches tall was jamming himself against the counter, but he couldn’t reach the knobs to turn on the sink. I couldn’t believe it! How many grown men wash their hands after using the bathroom? Maybe one in five? Some parent or pair of parents did something right with this boy. I helped him out, and then I went back to my post.

This was supposed to be a special day, because my sister was scheduled to come in and be baptized with the Spirit. Her cranial irradiation starts tomorrow, and she has been very scared, so she developed a sudden and urgent desire to get the baptism.

I had been hoping and praying for this for a long time. The baptism is the biggest difference between the Old Testament and the New Testament. Afterward, God lives inside you and changes you day by day. You receive some of his power and much of his character. It grows inside you and crowds out everything else. This is what prayer in tongues is all about. It builds the Spirit’s works in you. If you don’t pray in tongues regularly, it’s like not watering a plant.

If you’re Spirit-filled, and you have a relationship with someone who hasn’t had the baptism, it is likely to be turbulent. And the baptism makes it easier for you to confront and overcome your problems and failings.

I wanted to be present when my sister showed up, because I figured if she didn’t get the baptism today, it might be months before she gave it another shot.

Unfortunately, there was an obstacle. When I left the house this morning, I was having strange and unpleasant sensations. I couldn’t figure out what they were, but because this was a big day, I ignored them and got in the truck. After a couple of hours of work, however, things started to get worse quickly, and I realized what was going on.

I had a kidney stone.

I could not believe it. These things only hit on weekends, when treatment costs ten times as much. And why did it have to be this weekend, when I needed to be there for my sister?

I told everyone I had to leave, and I got back in the truck. I figured I’d go home and ask my dad to drive me to the hospital. Hopefully, the pain would not be full-blown by that time. I would have to leave my sister in the hands of the folks at the church.

In the parking lot, I prayed for healing, and I did the whole rebuking routine. And as I started driving toward the exit, I felt a couple of very unpleasant sensations. My best guess was that they meant I was getting worse.

A little farther down the road, I realized I felt somewhat better. Maybe the pain wouldn’t be too bad when I got home.

By the time I had gone maybe two miles, there was no pain. And I realized I had been freed from a very general feeling of sickness. It’s hard to describe, but when you have a kidney stone, there is an oppressive feeling that fills your entire body, as well as your mind. I know this now, because I know how I felt when it left. The bad things I had felt in the parking lot were probably caused by the stone dislodging and moving on.

As I got close to home, I saw a bunch if birds on some power lines. White ibises. I had never seen an ibis on a wire. I hadn’t realized they were given to sitting on wires. For some reason, I decided to count them. Seven. The number of the Holy Spirit. The Bible says there are seven Spirits of God, and the menorah in the Holy of Holies (which represented the Holy Spirit) had seven branches and seven lamps.

I went home, drank a lot of water, confirmed to my satisfaction that I was okay, and drove back to church! I was fine!

I went back to work with Danny, and after my sister showed up, one of the guys in my prayer group relieved me. At the end of the service, a bunch of us went into the green room behind the stage with my sister and the pastor. In a smaller room beside it, we prayed for her healing, and then we prayed for the baptism in the Holy Spirit. We didn’t get a result. The pastor asked all of us except my sister to go out into the green room. We waited while he and she prayed. I was outside the door, praying as hard as I could. I didn’t know if unresolved problems in her life could prevent the baptism, and I was afraid she would be rejected, somehow.

I can’t go into the details, but he tried a new approach that came to him while they were praying. And when they came out, he said they had gotten the victory. I was overwhelmed. How long had I waited to hear that? Years.

I’m home now. I got myself some magnesium pills on the way. Years back, a reader recommended them to prevent kidney stones, but I had quit using them. I’m going back on them. I don’t think magnesium was the problem. I think my sister and I are the objects of a very special hatred, and the kidney stone was an effort to keep me home so I would miss this wonderful event. It’s like the first time we went to church together. While I was getting ready, I fell down the stairs.

I will give Pastor Rich Wilkerson credit. He did not give up on my sister, and he cared enough to try something new and to stick with it until it worked for her. And when he told everyone in the green room how it had gone, he said, “This is real. This is NO JOKE.”

Naturally, I thought of what I had said to my father. Pastor Rich didn’t know.

Now I feel completely drained, and I intend to hang out with Maynard and Marvin and do absolutely nothing.

I can’t tell you how happy I am that I’m not in the emergency room, zonked out on Dilaudid again. I enjoy Dilaudid a great deal, but this is considerably better. And like so many of God’s great gifts, it’s free.

Last time I had Dilaudid, they charged me six grand!

Being healed of a kidney stone is a tremendous thing. It would have ruined my week. I am unable to describe my gratitude adequately.

I better go talk to the birds. It’s a wonder they still remember me.

Into the Canal

I can’t believe how tricky pizza is.

I perfected my recipe last year or in 2007, I think. I was making pies that brought tears to my eyes. But I haven’t made an A+ pizza in a while.

It’s my own fault. I know perfectly well that the best cheese around here is at Costco, and today I made a small pie using frozen cheese instead. I think the frozen cheese is from Costco, but for some reason, after freezing, it cooks up like supermarket cheese. To make it work right, you have to stir a small amount of butter into it. I didn’t do that.

I have a new bag of cheese from Gordon Food Supply, but it’s not the same.

I should chuck this bag of cheese, plus my frozen cheese, into a canal. It offends me.

That butter trick is gold. Remember it.

Ammo Stacks Make Nice Furniture for Profiteers

Outdoor Marksman has Federal 9mm ammunition for $11.95, if you buy a scant 20 boxes. Not too bad. To me, ten bucks a box is reasonable. We are getting closer to that point. Sellier & Bellot is down to $13 per box at Natchez Shooters Supplies.

It seems like commodities prices aren’t the problem. Copper is getting more expensive, in spite of the bad worldwide economy, but ammunition prices keep dropping. That leads me to suspect that profiteering is the big problem. Obama created an artificial ammunition market by threatening our Constitutional rights, and the people who make and sell ammunition may have been cheating us since it began.

I know there has been a lot of profiteering, because only a fool would believe there was any market justification for a $30 box of FMJ 9mm rounds or a $50 box of primers. But can it really be that greed is responsible for most of the price increases? People are basically evil, but ordinarily, they exhibit some restraint, especially when bad behavior offends their customers.

The folks who tried to corner the market seem to be starting to bleed. I see GP11 480-round battle packs selling on Gunbroker for $259. That’s only $30 above the market price. And a search of completed auctions shows GP11 is not selling. Great. I’m all about capitalism, but cheating people in a time of national upheaval is wrong.

Let’s see what else I can learn.

Hornady 17 HMR V-Max is failing to sell, at $10/50. That’s good news. That would have been an okay price before the Obama crisis.

I’m checking 9mm prices. The prices are a shock to the conscience, and I haven’t found one lot that has sold.

I’m checking 7.62x54mm 7N1, and apart from some sucker paying $285 for a case, it’s not selling.

Maybe the vultures are finally getting caught with excess inventory, as they deserve. Who on earth would pay $15 for Sellier & Bellot? This stuff is one step above throwing rocks. I’ve never had any problems with it, but it’s among the cheapest factory ammo around.

Gunbroker is such a ripoff. It’s virtually useless.

In other news, I had an interesting thought this week. I was thinking about the strange freedom God has given me from overeating, and about my church’s request that I get involved in making food for their cafe.

Back when I was working on my cookbook, I had extraordinary luck with recipes. It seemed like one dish after another was a startling success. I made some stupid things that didn’t work, but I had bizarre victories. For example, I made my coconut flan recipe up in one try, with very little experience to go on. I don’t like baked beans all that much, but I put together a recipe so good, I couldn’t quit eating them.

I got fat, especially after I got pizza under control. I could not stop making and eating delicious food. I couldn’t take the weight off.

Then God took away the compulsion to overeat, and the weight started coming off by itself. I can even resist pizza. And suddenly, my church needed help with their kitchen.

We always want God to give us stuff, and I’m sure he wants to do it. But would he be a good god if he gave us things that hurt us? Of course not. If I had been asked to work in the cafe before I got power over what I ate, it would have been a real problem. There is no way I would have been able to resist stuffing myself. But now I can go in there and cook anything they want, and I know I won’t get fat.

I got the blessing, and I was spared the danger inherent in getting what you wish for. That’s a big deal.

It makes me think about other things I’ve wanted, as well as things other people have wanted. I look at these things and see how they could cause harm if they were suddenly dumped on us.

I strongly suspect that God changes people, through the Holy Spirit and miracles as well as through work and scripture, so that when they get what they want, it will only bless them. I think God is cleaning me up so the good things I want can come my way, without making me rebellious or proud or ungrateful or fat.

We are told that he will give us the desires of our heart (Psalm 34), and that he only gives good gifts (Matthew).

I suppose, then, that if you want a thing, you have to want the power to avoid being harmed by it. If you want money or possessions, you have to want to be freed from greed and covetousness and selfishness. If you want power, you have to want compassion and generosity and gentleness. And if you want to cook for God, you have to want the ability to eat moderately. God doesn’t want to give us new idols or new masters. Doesn’t that sound plausible?

I’ve noticed that the less things control me, the more I enjoy them. I enjoy food a lot more, now that I’m not shoveling it down at every opportunity. I enjoy the things I own, now that they aren’t as exciting as they once were. I wonder what’s next.

The more you surrender, the more you win. That’s how it seems to work.

Maybe this is why many people who give to ministries and charities have little money. They overspend, they default on debts, they borrow at outrageous interest, and then they expect God to give them cash because they max out their credit cards to support missionaries and charities. How can God possibly repay them in kind, before he makes them fit vessels? Would you pour water into a reservoir with holes in it? And besides, what if these people gave money God never asked them to give, because they didn’t ask for his guidance? And if you give to a ministry while you cheat a creditor, whose money did you give? Not yours; that’s for sure. You stole from another person in order to give to God. Is he supposed to encourage that?

I think the charismatic “word of faith” crowd needs to think about these things. I don’t doubt that God wants to do stuff for us, but you shouldn’t ask him to be an enabler.

So once again, I have more to be grateful for than I realized. That’s the bottom line. If you can’t be grateful for discipline and instruction, you are utterly lost.

God Freaks me Out Again

I was supposed to have dinner with my dad and my sister tonight, but it did not work out, and I had no backup plan. I decided to make myself a small pizza. I was worried, because back in August, I experienced a miraculous delivery from the compulsion to overeat, and pizza is something I have never been able to eat in moderation.

I ate three pieces and threw the rest out. Didn’t feel a thing.

Don’t ever try to tell me God is not real or that he does not deliver people from their problems. This is incredible.

In other news, I am losing my touch. Less salt and oregano, next time. And Costco cheese. This Gordon Food Supply cheese is very good, but Costco mozzarella is pure magic.

Chow Delivered

I just dumped a bunch of desserts off at church. I didn’t get to try a single one! All I got was a couple of tablespoons of batter and such. I hope the food is okay.

I don’t know if it was smart to make chocolate flan. I like it, but not everyone is crazy about the combination of chocolate and burned sugar, and in any case, it will look sad among the cheesecake, brownies, and coconut flan, which are all bona fide blockbusters.

They have decided to close the church’s cafe until January, because people will be out of town, and the place is dead. So I won’t have to cook on Monday. I have time to plot.

I still have to fix stuff this weekend. The cast of the Christmas play will need food again. Last week I made macaroni and cheese and chili. I’m not sure what to make this time. Maybe people familiar with my cookbook could recommend something. I was thinking maybe doro wat and rotis.

Rotis are kind of a pain to make. You have to roll them out on a dining table or something. You need a lot of room.

People are buying the book this month. As a Christmas gift, it’s a natural. Everyone knows some fat guy who cooks. I guess it will sell at Christmas time for the rest of my life, or until it becomes dated.

I’m pooped. Try making two flans and two batches of brownies in one day, while making goop and putting berries on top of a big cheesecake. I don’t plan to cook at home any more. It’s just too much aggravation. And of course, I left my pans at church again. I hope they don’t walk off.

People steal at church. If there is a faster ticket to hell, it’s hard to think of what it might be. If you think there is no God to punish you for stealing, why are you in the building?

I’m wiped out. This is what happens when you do work that doesn’t feel like work. You’re too caught up in enjoying it to realize you’re tired.

I have half a mind to make a pizza.

Hey, it’s for the glory of God.

Desserts

Busy morning today.

I have to finish the strawberry cheesecake I started making yesterday. The danged thing cracked on top, as always. I have no idea why that happens. I cooled it slowly, and I was careful not to overmix it. Doesn’t really matter; after one bite, no one cares what it looks like. They want to marry it.

I have to make two flans and some brownies. I may do two trays of brownies. That would be pretty easy.

Let’s see. Twenty-eight servings of flan and cheesecake. Forty-eight servings of brownies. That makes 76. There will be 125 guests. So 39 people (at least) will get nothing. More, if the women charge the table and grab multiple servings.

Oh well. We need a loaves-and-fishes moment, and supplying those is above my pay grade. Perhaps someone can pray to Obama and he can redistribute someone else’s desserts to us.

I think I may make lasagne for Monday. It’s easy and good. Not the best thing I make, but still, beyond reproach. It’s hard to make bad lasagne.

Calculating ingredient amounts will be hard. Okay, it will be impossible. I can probably come close, however.

Power is Already Rotting my Brain

I ran down to church to see what kind of help they needed in the cafe. The upshot is this: I will have dominion over a small arsenal of commercial cooking equipment every Monday from now on. Now no one is safe!

They have one other volunteer who can cook. The rest are grunts. I will break them and indoctrinate them and mold them into mindless culinary shock troops. You got to make de food first. Den when you get de food, you get de power. Den when you get de power, den you get de womengs. Oops, I’m channeling Scarface.

Okay, I take back “grunts.” I mean the rest are not ready to bring in recipes, plan meals, and cook stuff from start to finish. But they are nice people who want to do what they can to help, and I am lucky they are offering. And they will give me someone to blame if I screw up.

I had to look up “shock troops” just now. I realized I had no idea what it meant. It just sounded good.

If I understand the picture, it works like this: they have a certain number of items they can throw in the fryer and slap onto a plate without much effort. But they need a daily special and a couple of sides. About forty servings. I can handle that. I usually make twenty when I’m cooking just for myself. More or less.

They’re having some kind of function on Thursday, with 125 people in attendance. I had to demur on that. I’m sufficiently intimidated by a six-day lead and forty servings. I don’t need to deal with a giant crowd on two days’ notice. I would rather fail on a small scale.

They’re thinking of getting a pizza oven. They’re in real trouble if they do that. I am totally ready to be a pizza warlord. They want to get one of those jobs with a conveyor belt, which is fine by me. They seem to work great, with very limited attention.

I stopped by Gordon Food Supply on the way home and looked over the merchandise. They have boneless picnic hams for $1.55 a pound. That has potential. Big time. I can turn them into caja-china-style pork very easily, and I can crank out yuca and moros on the side. But I have to find out if the quality is there.

I could not resist getting some pizza sauce and cheese at GFS. I think I’ll donate it to the church and wangle an opportunity to make a couple of pies. If they go as planned, they will cement my position as chief principality and power of the kitchen. I could also make a calzone or two. Maybe a pan con lechon calzone. Man, those things are good. I wish I hadn’t thought of it.

I hit a normal store and picked up some stuff for cheesecake, brownies, and flan. I plan to bombard the Thursday function with desserts, since I can’t cover the main dishes. Coconut flan, brownies, chocolate flan, and strawberry cheesecake. I guess there won’t be enough for everyone. We’ll see how well their holiness holds up when they have to play musical cheesecake. This will be a test that would have humbled Job. The goats will feed, and the sheep will have to wait for their reward in heaven.

Here’s a thought. God delivered me from overeating in August. Now suddenly I have been asked to help run a restaurant. Could I have survived this a year ago? No way. It would have killed me. But now maybe it will work.

Coincidence? Another one of those remarkable coincidences that seem to happen EVERY SINGLE DAY when you’re a Christian?

Must be.

If I can have pizza stuff in the house without going Jabba in a week, I can do anything.