My week has been rather unpleasant. I’m calling it Sanctification Week - Boot Camp For Christians.

Not really. I am nowhere near what the Apostle Paul went through. I have not been flogged, persecuted, or shipwrecked.

However … the thorn in the flesh? I think maybe I can identify. Hard to tell, since Paul was kind of tight lipped about what his thorn exactly was. But I certainly have a thorn, and sometimes I feel like if someone doesn’t remove it, I’m going to scream bloody murder.

Except, I don’t scream. It’s very unlady like. Whining, while nibbling on some cheese is much more attractive and socially acceptable.

So I whine. And I do nibble, because cheese is one out of four things I can nibble on. The other three things? Meat, homemade yogurt, and honey to sweeten the yogurt. That’s it … my diet in a nutshell. Only not, because I can’t have nuts.

After years of eating those four items, I can honestly say it’s getting old. I’m hungry and have no desire to eat the only foods my stomach will accept. I’m getting seriously concerned that if I eat one more drop of honey, I’ll turn into my childhood nickname, and transform into Pooh Bear overnight. With all that honey consumption, is it any wonder that I keep getting massive cavities? I seem to have inhereted Pooh’s name, and dental problems, but I think he is more huggable than I am with that big rumbly tumbly of his. Whatever. I have bigger eyes, and longer eyelashes. So take that, ya’ big fat honey hog. I mean seriously … save some for the skinny folk.

I wonder if the my honey consumption has anything to do with the fact that bumble bees seem to hover around my head like flies on poop. I think they may suspect thievery on my part.

Speaking of Pooh Bear … did you know that my daughter is moving to Florida? While searching for a new place to live, her and her hubby ran across one in their price range … located on 100 Acre Wood Rd. A bit ironic for the daughter of Pooh Bear, wouldn’t you say?

Back to Paul’s experience of being shipwrecked. Do you think maybe he was ever lost? No, no. Not spiritually lost. We all know he was spiritually lost. I mean lost, like … powerful confused as to your geographical whereabouts. If so, then we have yet another thing in common. Because wandering around and around three consecutive neighborhood’s for an hour straight trying to find the family in our church with a new baby definitely qualifies as being lost. I’m going to pretend they didn’t mind that their taco casserole was ice cold, or that their lemon pie was warm. I’m also going to pretend that nursing mothers who just went through an unusually rough delivery do not get hungry just because it’s an hour past dinner time.

I could go into other sanctifying events of the past week, but I’ll save you from it. Suffice it to say that God is really quite interested in refining me. Getting lost, and other quirky trials definitely have their place in this process. But cooking/baking and never being able to partake is particularly sanctifying. And while I don’t let myself get caught up in the pity of all of it very often, working all day on a delighfully smelling meal can be especially trying, whether that meal is for my family or a different family.

 The sanctifying part of it comes when, in spite of all my afflictions, I remain pleasant. Remaining pleasant in all of the circumstances that disturb me (insert picture of Brenda saying, “I”m not a awitch, I’m your wife!”) is the goal. A goal that will only be reached with the help of a Savior.

I’m not tooting my own horn here. I’m simply relaying a very large part of what my life is like. Depending on your reaction, I either need to say “You’re welcome,” or “I’m sorry.”

So … you’re welcome. And I’m sorry.

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*Read more delightfully random, pleasantly disturbed posts here …. if you dare.