But sometimes we can elevate these great quotes from the Puritans to the level of “super-law” in our minds. We get hit hard with an affliction, and try as we might, we can’t find the wine. All we are doing is fumbling around in the dark looking for the light switch. And so we begin to think that we are pretty pitiful Christians if we can’t do better than this. We conclude that we are being punished for our lack of faith if we are not laying hold of the vintage wine. And this can lead to introspection and self-condemnation which are the last things needed in the midst of a hard providence.

Yes, the Bible tells us we should rejoice always, that we should count it all joy when we meet various trials. And of course, this is right and true. But rejoicing doesn’t always involve balloons and confetti and popping the champagne. Rejoicing in the Lord in the midst of suffering means thanking God for all things, even when it is hard things. Rejoicing may mean singing a song when we don’t necessarily feel like it, reciting a psalm, counting our blessings, giving thanks, remembering God’s promises, waiting for God’s deliverance, or doing our duties as we wait for healing and help.

So as we read the Puritans, and other writers like them, we ought to keep from laying heavy burdens on our consciences that God did not mean for us to bear.In other words, don’t beat yourself up if you can’t find the wine bottles in the basement. Don’t assume that you are a lousy Christian if you are feeling weary, lonely, or sad. These feelings are not sinful in themselves. We are to steward these feelings by the grace of God, make the most of our afflictions, and turn a profit on them by faith. But one of the things that will hinder that process is imposing a false standard on ourselves and then grieving over our inability to attain to it.

This has to be one of my favorite memories of Rachel’s shop La Bella Vita….and who wouldn’t want a tub of flowers?

Ben had to go to Minneapolis for a couple days. He had to be at the airport in Spokane by 5:00 am this morning. Spokane is an hour and a half away. So, rather than me driving him up at 3:30 am, we decided to go up to Spokane last night, stay the night in a hotel near the airport, then I would drop him off at 5:00 and drive home – with plenty of time to get the kids ready and out the door to school. Are you with me on this? I don’t see anything outlandish in this plan. We weren’t really being reckless, or taking crazy risks. We were staying in the Ramada Inn in Spokane for heaven’s sakes, and Papa and Nana were babysitting the kids.

The first sign that things weren’t going to be wholly swell was when I went to turn back the crackly polyester bedspread and found a hair on my pillow. Pretty sick, but I told myself that I was feeling hyper-sensitive because of the noticeably weird smell in the room, that I was probably being ridiculous, and that it was most likely one of my own hairs that had somehow drifted down onto the pillow as I bent over. It was a possibility at any rate. I pushed the thought out of my mind, turned the pillow over, and climbed into bed.

Somewhere in the dark hours of the night, the fitted sheet began creeping off of the mattress. Off of all four corners. Unstoppably. Nothing would keep that thing on there. That’s aggravating enough at the best of times, but on a hotel mattress it’s pretty overwhelmingly bad. The mattress pad was rumpling up beneath us as well and curling into a wad, and am I right in saying that no one ever wants to have to come into contact with a bare hotel mattress under any circumstances whatsoever? You’re all with me on this I’m assuming. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it. Anyway, it was due to the shifty nature of the sheet that we discovered that the mattress was split open and the stuffing was coming out the side. Yep.

We had requested a wake-up call at 4:30 am, but just to be on the safe side we set the alarm also. The alarm went off as planned, but the wake-up call didn’t put in an appearance until 15 minutes later. And you know, for a hotel at the airport, they ought to realize that wake-up calls really shouldn’t be rounded off to the nearest quarter hour. Anyway, we had already hopped up and gotten ready to head out . . . and as we were doing the last run through the room Ben picked up the wet towel off the floor. Guess what he found on the wet towel. Ideas, anyone? Well I’ll tell you. Ants. Whole platoons of ants, swarming all over the towel. They were everywhere in the carpet – and in the course of the night they had managed to get all through (and I do mean all through) our luggage.

The really festive thing, was that as we were checking out, Ben mentioned to the woman at the desk that we had been afflicted with ants in our room. And you know what her response was? She said, and I kid you not, “Hhmm. Well . . . did you have food with you?” We hadn’t, as a matter of fact, and we told her so. But honestly! Can you believe? As if, had we been rash enough to have food in a hotel room, we clearly would have brought the ant plague down upon ourselves through our own reckless behavior! I enjoyed her ability to take the high road on the whole ant issue.

I came home in the wee hours this morning with my bag riddled with swarming ants, and I of course dumped everything into the washer in the hopes of drowning them all. The empty bag is still sitting on the front porch full of them. But then there’s Ben, poor guy. In Minneapolis. With a tight schedule, and all the clothes I so diligently ironed for him . . . all full of ants!

Seriously. You really need to enter for this one.

Well, I’m sure there are many reasons that have never occurred to me, but a couple have. Of course some men might just be lazy bums. So I’m not talking about them right now. But why don’t some of the other men who seem to be quite capable of leadership fail to pick up the reins at home?

I believe this is one of the primary reasons why men don’t lead: because they know full well that if they ever tried to lead, there would be a big show-down, and they are just not up to it. They would rather have relative peace in the home and be accused of being a poor leader than deal with the big fight that would ensue if they ever did try to lead.

Some men know that they should lead their families, but they also know that if they ever tried to initiate something, their wives would be quick to try to steer it, quick to criticize and compare, quick to make “helpful” suggestions, quick to be disappointed. So it is simply not worth the ordeal. And if they succeeded in telling their wives to pipe down, sit down, and be quiet, then they would feel like they were being poor leaders because they were insisting on their own way.

The irony of this situation is neither husband nor wife is happy in it. When the wife pushes her husband to take the reins, he is put in an impossible situation: if he takes them, he is actually following her; if he doesn’t take them, he is being obstinate. And though she is pushing, she hates it when her husband gives in to her. And she hates it even more when he starts leading her in a way that is not what she wanted. In spite of this, what she really wants (though she doesn’t perhaps understand this) is for him to be a rock. She wants a man who will tell her to quit pushing, a man who will love her enough to insist that she pipe down.

My opinion is that many of the women who desperately want masculine leadership in the home would hate it if they got any. So if you are one of those wives who wants your husband to start showing some spiritual leadership, start trying to follow him now. And go along quietly.

It is organized in a simple, helpful fashion, with tips on what beverages or side dishes to serve with the main dish (with the recipes for them), how far ahead to make it, what to do with the leftovers, and when to serve it. For example, a few weeks ago I made her recipe for a very simple stew, and it was delicious. Not your average stew at all, and it only bakes for an hour and fifteen minutes (at 450 degrees). Earlier this winter, I tried her recipe for Boneless Coq Au Vin, something I had never tried before. It’s more challenging and engaging to be in the kitchen when I’m trying out something new, especially when I have been leaning a little too heavily on the old tried-and-true.

So this week I flipped through the pages looking for inspiration, and this is what I found:  Grown-Up Sloppy Joes. And I made them! Of course I warned the family ahead of time, so that they would come prepared (and they all still came). And, it was actually quite a yummy dinner. Some of the grandkids loved it, and some were not as enthusiastic, but it was a general overall hit. The thing that particularly blessed me was that Sloppy Joes happened to be my childhood specialty, straight out of Betty Crocker’s Cookbook for Boys and Girls.