a life-changing date.

The last four weeks have been "fraught with loss and change" - full of new and mostly unpleasant situations, human responsibilities, and cares.  In a futile attempt to keep myself from crumbling under the weight of human life, I subconsciously decided to push the Lord and my time with Him to the back-burner and getasmanythingsdoneasipossiblycaninoneday... without Him.  Including making major life decisions.  Including bearing anxiety.  Including trying to find joy and satisfaction in my life.

Oh, Lydia.

But He is my loving and merciful God.  Who wisely knows how to break through heart-crust.  This time one of His wise master tools was the internet, of all things.

This Facebook post from A.P. - "The one who experiences the most transformation is the one who is most open to the Lord. - Watchman Nee"

This tidbit I listened to from my dropbox.com collection - "If you are not in the fellowship with the Son in a life-changing way daily, you will fall down..."

This blog post from V.Y. - "maybe you attempt in a humble spirit to actually touch the Lord but then condemn yourself for doing all the above instead of coming to Him as the Fountain of living waters."

Later in the evening, I was lying in bed, thoroughly engrossed in a novel, still busily ignoring the Lord.  I had been craving comfort-food, but all the people I attempted to recruit for dinner plans were unavailable.  Suddenly, surely motivated by hunger... and the Spirit, I sat up, put down my book, and said to the Lord, "Alright, Lord.  Wanna go on a pizza date with me?"  And He did.  So I got in my car - with the Lord - and headed to Costco, and for the first time in a long time, talked to Him.  The small sentences and phrases I had read earlier came up in my being.  Those individuals had no idea, but their faithfulness to share their portion had been God Himself ministering to me. Through His mercy, I opened to Him.  I had life-changing fellowship with Him.  I finally came back to Him as the Fountain of living waters.

Because of the aforementioned four weeks of troubles, I recently made this card for myself and a couple of my companions, which reminds me to have a thankful and rejoicing heart for at least one thing every day.

Yesterday, I thanked Him from the bottom of my heart for our pizza date.  Because I asked Him to get pizza with me and He made me fall in love with Him again.  There was no miraculous deliverance from all my situations and problems.  But that's not really what I needed.  My true need was a sweet Costco-pizza date with my dear Lord Jesus. :)

my verdict.

I am not going to start a business.

Of course, parts of my experiment with Lydia's Bakery were completely thrilling.  I loved pushing myself to come up with new flavor combinations and techniques to polish my skills.  I loved the name that I finally came up with - "The Sugar Bin."  I was encouraged constantly by my supportive family and friends who asked "so when are you opening that bakery?" every time they sampled my creations.

On the other hand, I learned something essential about myself and my baking.  And that is, I have to keep money out of things.  The pressure of selling quenched my inspiration.  Once business came into play, I was no longer rushing to the kitchen in every free moment just to try out a new recipe, but instead felt compelled to save my baking energy for when it really mattered; i.e., when I had to produce something worthy to sell.

So I counted the costs.  Option A involved working long and hard to open a business, advertise, create a menu, perfect my recipes.  Option A was the glittery, glamorous one.  (Hi, I'm Lydia.  I own a bakery.  Here's my card; come drop by the Sugar Bin sometime.)  But on the most basic level it meant that I would need to become okay with charging other people, including my family and friends, for something that I loved giving away for free.

Option B was not to start a business.  To miss out on the glitter and glamour, yet to preserve and cultivate my hours in the kitchen for the purpose of artistic inspiration and soothing joy instead of cold commerce.  I would not have to work 40 hours per week at the office and then plug through a business plan or balance tables when I got home.  Instead, I could do something I love and bring joy to myself and to others without the taint of dollars and cents.

I still want a bakery.  But I have chosen Option B because in five years I envision myself with a warm home filled with family and friends and freshly baked brownies.  Actually, I already have a bakery.  But not for buying and selling.  Just for the sole purpose of heart-warming.

Now that my decision has been made, my inspiration has thrived.  This morning I woke up with the strong urge to make chocolate peanut butter whoopie pies, which recipe I created in my head as I snuggled in my warm bed.  And can't wait for the right chance to make these petit fours.   I am back!  Here are some recent  creations to show for it:

Please don't be disappointed that I am not living up to my potential for success by not opening a bakery.  Instead, come have coffee with me.  I'll make cupcakes.  Or tarts.  Or beignets.  Or a cake.  Or your special order.

my traveling patisserie.

It's been, quite literally, an eventful November. Packed full with tasty treats and kindred spirits.

And so much to be thankful for.

Baby Shower

Per request, I made Rice Krispie Treats and Pumpkin Spice Cupcakes.  The mommy-to-be was well-showered with food, love, and gifts.  Welcome, baby NB.

Bridal Shower

Pumpkin cupcakes were again requested; I added a personalized touch for the special bride and groom.  I like you two. :)

Wedding

My dear friend, the bride, wanted a table filled with small desserts in lieu of the traditional wedding cake and recruited her baker-friends to make it happen.  This was such a special event to be a part of!

                      

I spent three days in Philadelphia planning, shopping, baking, arranging flowers, tying bows, making new friends, seeing old ones.  The climax of the trip was the morning of the wedding, watching my beloved Janet transform from a sleepy-eyed girl with wet hair in a bathrobe into a literally breathtaking bride.  As she put on her earrings, as her mom fastened her dress, as her sister slipped on her shoes, fastened her bracelet, applied another coat of hairspray, the atmosphere in the bedroom was solemn yet joyful awe.  My heartfelt congratulations, Mr. & Mrs. Acosta.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving means family. Home. Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Grandmas, Brothers, Parents. And certainly, food.  What's not to love?  My cousins, aunt, grandma and I spent hours in the kitchen sauteing, baking, kneading, chopping, mixing, melting pound after pound of butter (ahem...no worries, it's Thanksgiving).  Other cousins made me laugh until it hurt.  We played games, had Sound of Music singalongs, prayed, went on entertaining walks, discussed quantum mechanics and skin cream.  Grandma lovingly reminded my cousin and I of our number one and two spots on her prayer list.  A cozy holiday indeed.

a poem.

butterflies in my stomach.

questions on loop.

talk and pray.

latte on a chilly day.

enjoy opened doors.

sing for an hour.

sing in a bear voice.

sing in a fairy tale voice.

remember my new idea.

burn a jasmine candle.

hundreds and thousands.

so on i go.

sweet and maniacal.

living with lydia's bakery.

I made my first cake when I was nine years old.  I remember excitedly studying the browning pages of my mom's old cookbook searching for a recipe easy enough for me to make from scratch.  It was a yellow cake.  And I made it all by myself.  As soon as daddy got home, I gave him a big piece, carefully cutting around the slightly burnt edge.  He told me it was delicious, and I smiled at him, so joyful.

That joy was addictive.  Soon enough, the things I made actually were delicious, and the recipients of them became more and more wholeheartedly appreciative.  There were minor mishaps along the way (one guest described my cake as "really crumby" [to his credit, I'm sure it was quite dry] and I most certainly heard "crummy".  He hurriedly corrected himself, and we both laughed about it), but my love for baking and serving has grown year by year since that time.

Two weeks ago, I created a facebook page entitled "Lydia's Bakery".  I set up an email account.  I told all my friends.  I began working on a menu.  All my spare thinking time since then has been swarmed with brainstorms of domain names, websites, buying and selling, branding, marketing, polishing, developing new skills.  Last night, I found myself in the midst of the following:

I had intended to make this cake for work weeks ago.  And while the concept was a bit of a crazy one and the labor required was a bit more strenuous than average, the experience was morphed into one of anxiety instead of pleasantness because Lydia's Bakery loomed over it.  I have to be able to make things that are good enough to sell.  This has to be perfect.  How in the world will I compete with the professionals?  How much is this really worth?

Ironicaly, Lydia's Bakery took the soothing, therapeutic joy out of Lydia's baking.  While I am not quite ready to trash the whole endeavor (though perhaps I may lay low for a while), I do desperately need to remind myself of the reason I bake.  It is because, a decade and and a half after my First Fateful Lopsided Creation, I still have the same joy when I bring my coworkers something like this:

 Baking is a hobby, it's a haven, it's a part of my life that is not work.  And I am determined to keep it that way.

grandmothers.

If God had intended us to follow recipes,                                   

                                  He wouldn't have given us grandmothers.

~Linda Henley

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Yesterday evening, I found myself pinned on my couch in between my two grandmothers.  They have both always occupied very special, yet somehow very separate places in my life, so this moment felt like an extraordinary culmination of the ultimate familial experience.  Here's how this particular scene played out:

Grandma V to Grandmom C, "This is my dear sweet Lydia!"

Grandmom C to Grandma V, "That's funny!  I thought this was my dear sweet Lydia!"

Then Grandma V and Grandmom C chuckled at each other.  And I sat there snuggling and smiling and realized how blessed I am to be loved so much by two such special women.

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The aforementioned Grandma V has taught me everything I know about not following recipes.  Many times I've asked her how she makes her mouth-watering and soul-feeding southern dishes (Grandma's Biscuits, Pecan Pie, Grandma's Cookies, Scrambled Eggs, Pork Chops... only to name a few).  Sometimes her answer is a vague "some of this, some of that."  Other times she has walked me through some of the Grandma specialties, such as the biscuits and the cookies:

  Her measurements: A box of this. Two bags of this. A container of that.  A "little" of this.

  Her instructions: "Until it feels right."

  Her cooling rack: A large bath towel.

  Her key ingredient:  Why, butter, of course.

From her to my mother, and from my mother to me, such a philosophy of cooking has been passed along.  Yes, most of the time we have to be health and weight-conscious, and we've got many a magazine article and made many a healthy meal to show for that.  But when we are cooking for people, we cook to make them happy.  And Grandma V's cooking has produced thousands and thousands of happy people.

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My dear, spunky Grandmom C is where I've received most of my appreciation for sparkle, the arts, a good time, and a chic cafe.  She's where I got my city girl.  My love for cats.  My appreciation of photography and symphony orchestras.  My taste for fresh crusty bread or pastry and a fragrant cup of coffee.  My love for glamorous earrings, shoes, and dresses.

My Grandmom moved to Austin from Manhattan a few years ago, and within a week of being on Texas soil, ventured downtown to run an errand and see what she could see.  She returned home with a new bank account and an invitation to a cocktail party at a downtown art museum opening that evening (which obviously she accepted with delight). That's my grandmother.  She's sassy, she's glamorous, and she's got gumption.

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                            Grandmothers, 

Thank you for my heritage.  

           Love, your "dear sweet Lydia"               

next chapter.

August, as defined by Google, means "respected and impressive", synonymous with "stately; grand; majestic."

For me, this August has yet again demanded its due honor by bringing with it a new and fresh chapter of my life.  Honestly, I thought I'd grow out of it when I stopped going to school and got a real job.  I expected my new beginnings to start on January 1st like they are supposed to, or in June when I turn another year older.  But no; those days have come and gone - with festivity, no doubt, but yet without the feeling of a particularly fresh start.

This August, I will be leaving behind my old house, old neighbors, and old rats (that earlier this evening sounded like they were playing soccer with debris in the attic...eccchh), and moving into a new house, with new roommate, new kitchen, new room, new dog.  In my relationships -- some close friends have moved to new stages of their lives, causing me spontaneously to reshape my own routines.  And even though my job will be the same and my day-to-day activities will likely remain the same, they too will have fresh beginnings this August.

The sweetest part is that a fresh consecration to the Lord Jesus has come up in my being.  I have a new start, not just for the sake of life not growing dull, but I have been given a new period of my life to serve Him and love Him with a fresh love.  This simple children's song expresses what is on my heart tonight:

"I love Jesus, I love Jesus, Lord I just love You.

I love Jesus, Oh Lord Jesus, what else can I do?

I'll love You my whole life through, and even though I may be small,

Lord I love You best of all."