Don't cry over spilled milk

...even when it's precious raw milk.

Well, internet world, it is Labor Day, and being that it is only the second week of college, I have a respite from homework. While I have more posts in "drafts" than I care to see, I thought I might take the chance to write one I've been pondering today.

However, I feel little motivation to write here anymore, because I simply wonder if anyone reads this.  What, indeed, is the point of jettisoning one's thoughts into the atmosphere if no kindred spirit will be edified, amused, or at least have the pleasure of recognizing mutual feelings? Why not simply journal? (Especially if I'm writing a soul-searching post like this one; I'm a blog reader, too. I know the witty reviews get more reads.)

And yet, a part of me feels guilty for abandoning this corner of cyberspace (does anyone use that word anymore?).

In fact, guilt drives more of my behavior than I'd like to admit, or that I am always conscious of. I read about the keto diet, which restricts carbs so severely that bananas (which are obviously very high in sugars) can not be consumed. For a few months I stop buying bananas in preparation for this diet. Then, even when I'm not following the rules of the diet, I only reluctantly and guiltily start buying them again. To make green smoothies. And feel an inward shame that I'm destroying my health by doing so.

Another example: Today I made yogurt. I started buying raw milk over the past couple months to make my own yogurt, because grass fed yogurt is basically liquid gold. Well, I recently found a grass-fed, organic raw milk source, and that stuff is liquid silver (or maybe copper; the point is, it's not cheap). I believe it's worth it, but I'm pretty conscious of what I'm using it for and making sure I get the right amount. Well, in the process of making yogurt, I spilled rather a large amount on the counter, because our large glass measuring cup doesn't pour the best when it's very full. Now, this is a frustrating thing, because every bit of milk becomes delicious yogurt, and I hate waste. It's natural to be a bit annoyed or distressed. But I didn't just feel a bit put out; my feelings quickly escalated to anger and taking offense at everything around me. All glory to God, the Holy Spirit was quick to point out the shift in my attitude, and I was able to reorient myself, in his strength.

Later on in the day, I was making a big batch of hummus, and realized I had less than 1/2 cup of tahini, an essential ingredient. Again, I felt more than a little frustration, beyond what was reasonable about having to make a quick trip to the store (about a 5 minute drive).

As I analyzed my reaction to these two situations, I realized that it wasn't about the wasted time or money — at least, only at a superficial level. Friends, I'm sure I spilled less than 1/4 cup of milk. At $8/gallon, this comes to the equivalent of about $0.13 wasted. So, yeah, I think our budget will be able to handle it. Ha.

The point is, both of these situations jabbed at my false self, my worldly identity. I desire to be an efficient, capable housewife, and in many ways I'm fairly good at this. Thus, it's easy to mistake my human confidence and positivity for the secure identity that is only possible when rooted in the unchanging love of the Father. Because everything else is changing, friends. It doesn't matter if I made a great batch of brownies, homemade yogurt, and cleaned the bathroom, if I can't even pour out of a measuring cup. It doesn't matter if my last several grocery trips were well planned and I got the best deals if I forgot to buy tahini. The authors of a popular book on budget meal planning say that the one best practice is reducing your grocery trips — if you don't have an ingredient, it's better to change your plan than to make a trip just to get that one item. Thus, in the rules-driven, guilt-ridden mind of a Katie, it doesn't matter if I planned to make hummus weeks ahead so that there would be lunches for the week; it doesn't matter that I soaked the beans from dry instead of using cans; it doesn't matter that I live five minutes away from a grocery store: I failed in planning, and thus in housewife-ing, and thus as a person, because I forgot tahini.

Writing this out, I can't decide if it sounds pathetic or like a subtle form of comedy. I suppose it's a little of both. Sometimes, I have to actually write out my fears to recognize their foolishness; I have to tell myself "I'm practically on the shelf," in order to laugh myself out of insecurity about lack of a suitor.

But while it may be funny (because really? no one in my house cares a pin whether I have to go to the grocery store twice in a week or twice in a day. get over yourself, girl) it is built on an insidious lie, that my identity is based on what I can do, that I'm only worth what I'm able to accomplish, cook, clean, earn, write, or prove.

These words remind me that, yes, who am I, compared to the Living God? All my good deeds, my attempts to prove myself, are like filthy rags. Yet, in the glorious riches of his love, I can sing that I am who he says I am. 

P.S. College is busy. Long posts are hard. So if I maintain any kind of presence here over the next nine months, I'm thinking about doing mini-posts. I can't do a full fledged review of a movie with thirty pictures (that was probably too long in the first place), but I could do a ten-bullet-point comparison with my three favorite costumes. Etc. So look for that. Maybe. Haha.