caroline holzberger

Pancakes, Eggs, and Crow

That was my breakfast this morning. Minus the pancakes and eggs.

I have absolutely no idea where the phrase ‘eating crow’ came from. (Please don’t google it and send it to me. I honestly don’t care. but, i love you!)

I have heard that it basically means when someone not me has said something rashly, without much prior thought, clearly, again, not me and then later is proven to be wrong now we know it ain’t me! – that other person is said to be ‘eating crow’.

Sounds pretty disgusting, really. I mean, why crow? Why not pheasant? Or quail? Or poppycock? Shoot, is that a bird?

Regardless, it is usually meant for people who are embarrassingly proven wrong by exactly something they said would be one way and turned out the exact opposite. A friend told me about it once.

So I’m not sure if you heard the other day, but apparently there were a lot of people talking about McDonald’s. No wait…Burger King? Shoot, that’s not right.

Sigh.

“Hello pot! I’m kettle. You’re looking mighty black today!”

Yes, I got caught up in all the hullabaloo.

Yes, I just sucked in.

Yes, I drank the Kool-aid.

It had quite a quite bitter aftertaste, if I do say so myself.

I can’t help but wonder if God knows my head/thoughts/temper/judgmental heart/general Christian walk can’t handle that debating madness so He continually convicts me NOT to watch the news or read the newspaper. Sure, that makes sense. I’ll go with that.

Anyway…I am, in no way recounting my belief in most of what I said. Seriously…God gave me the idea to feed chicken to those less fortunate. God spoke directly to the guys who wrote down in the Bible what His desire was for one man and one woman in marriage. And yes, although my face is still stinging from some of the backlash, I still firmly believe that every single person deserves respect, love, and freedom to have their own opinion. Even me.

But…I haven’t changed mine.

Except on one ginormous small thing – Jen Hatmaker.

I led you a link to her blog about going with her down into ‘the basement’. Which, by the way, she has beautifully and eloquently expanded upon.

About this…hear me people, ok, listening ears on??

I

WAS

FREAKING

WRONG!!

My pride makes me so very ill sometimes. If only you knew. I am so glad you don’t.

Although I don’t know Jen personally please be my friend, Jen! I promise I’m fun at parties! but I honestly feel like I know her much more now through reading one of her books.

Interrupted has rocked. my. world.

No, not in a backstage-pass-NKOTB-reunion-concert kind of rocked my world.

But, more like the I-just witnessed-a-child-give-their-most-favorite-shoes-to-a-homeless-child kind of rocked my world. Times about a million and a half.

Sweet Ryan is reading it next. I’m watching him now, poor thing, lying next to me, all sleeping and ignorant – he don’t know his whole world is about to be turned upside down. Again. (After all, he married me )

The depth astowhich (yes I made that up) I was wrong is akin to the following:

Me picking up a vintage Fender Stratocaster for the very first time and asking Jimi Hendrix to scoot his scrawny butt over while I rocj this joint.

Ok, he is dead…let me try again.

More like me grabbing my blue box of Kraft mac-n-cheese and taking it to Paula Deen’s house for supper, insisting she should just try it…then throwing hers in yon trash can.

And even though I don’t know her personally, I already ‘know’ Jen Hatmaker well enough to know this is exactly where she’d insist I clarify she is not a super great person. You’re welcome, Jen. She isn’t an amazing, super-spiritual, good-luck-trying-to-be-like-me kind of Christian. It isn’t that at all.

It’s not really that she is much better than me.

It’s that the Jesus inside (and out!) of her that’s so much bigger, more alive, more evident, more shiny (as in ‘this little light of mine…’) than in me.

For now, at least.

I am fairly certain He’d love to be that way in all of us.

So, be prepared, people.

The storms, they are a comin’.

From hither on out, I ain’t gonna be the same. Simple as that.

I’m not saying Team Holzberger is gonna sell our every possession, give it all to the poor and live in a cardboard box. Please Lord. Please?

But, you will see more of Him because I’m going to discipline myself to be more like Him. Read more about Him. Sing more about Him. Think more like Him. And so on and so forth.

I figure if I submerse myself in Him, surely, it’s bound to rub off on me more.

Wanna join me??

Order this book. Seriously, it’s less than ten bucks. Do it.

In fact, read it with me.

Let’s chat, comment back and forth, hold each others’ hands when God’s perfect (and long overdue) conviction of our sin makes us want to throw up in our mouths.

Misery, er, I mean, joy loves company.

I gotta read the whole thing over again anyway. Stupid me, I borrowed my friend’s copy. I shoulda known better. It’s literally taken every blessed ounce of restraint in me as in, I have none left at all to leave it bare. I generally must write, highlight, circle, and make notes in margins…and of course be able to snot all over it when Holy conviction comes again. And again. And again.

Just an appetizer…

“If we’ve learned anything from the rebellious nature of Israel, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the meager offerings of the poor in Scripture, it’s this; God is supremely concerned with our motives. And our works count only when they match our motives.”

“We cannot think our way into a new kind of living. We must live our way into a new kind of thinking.”

Whoa. Stings more second time around.

So, my dear friend.

Join me

Basement with Jen Hatmaker.

Beach with my other Jen

Or anywhere in between.

We will lollygag no more.

Let’s do this thing.

Crow today. Grace tomorrow.

Jen Hatmaker, thank you.

Anyone on board?? Comment and let me know. I’ll announce official reading launch date soon… stay tuned.

That is all.

(Ps. I hope my vocab gave you giggles, my sunshine. Fortoo, I love you deeply.)