Cookies and Christ

A year ago I uncomfortably lay in a hospital bed. A slew of tests had been ordered and I was awaiting my results while receiving an IV. 
I was sick- very sick.  I understood completely what it felt like to know that death would be a welcome relief. Nevertheless, I made it out and was simply sent home with some meds as I was told to follow up with a specialist. 

I knew I’d probably live tomorrow and the next day-
But all of my symptoms (according to the internet…) proved rough waters were ahead. 

I have literally swam in rough waters…
It was during my first triathlon. The swim portion had been mis-marked and thus represented a significantly longer distance than specified in my race packet. I panicked as I hit the waves and felt my body thrashing within them. My options were to stop swimming and call for help from a kayaker, or to re-focus and trust the work and training I had done. My training partner swam by me and the mantra shouted by the race organizer, moments before I hit the water, calmed my mind and restored rhythmic breath…
“I am a swimmer…”
My race cadence was restored and I finished well. 

I’ve also swam in seeming calm waters that were actually exactly not what I was expecting…
Our first trip to Kauai, Hawaii was complete with snorkeling at a bay down the road from our rented condo. I was an inexperienced ocean goer… However, I was excited to explore this unknown (to me) world of water. 
We began with many other snorkelers that day near an incredible coral reef where we saw amazingly beautiful fish and ocean life. 
On the edge of the coral was a drop-off into a crystal clear deep ocean floor. 
My gaze to my right, shortly after I entered this area, left me in complete panic. 
There was a large shark swimming along the reef. 
I knew nothing about sharks of any kind, nor my likelihood of becoming their lunch. I feared the worst. 
I swam in nearly one breath, as fast as I could the distance to the beach. 

“Rough waters” had been redefined. 

Decades later-
Here’s what I know-

Life is hard.
Life is amazingly good. 
Life is filled with God’s perfect love for us. 
Jesus Christ will return to the earth. 
I believe, soon…

What we do and say each day in the meantime matters.
Repentance matters.
Sharing God’s love and light matters.
Spreading peace matters. 
Choosing connection matters.
Choosing God’s ways matters. 
Choosing Christ to help us matters.

Living tomorrow isn’t promised. 
But if it becomes a gift-
What we think and do, who we see, what we say, how we show up…
It all matters. 
It all draws us closer to or farther away from God. 
Our closeness to God affects any and all within our circle. God’s light emanating through us is either shone or dimmed depending on our choices. 
They all matter. 

We are not here by chance-
Rather by choice. 
And choosing God-
Choosing discipleship in Christ-
It all matters. 

I’ve learned that my tomorrows will include mountains to climb. 
Wisdom is the utilization of God’s grace and teaming up with the Savior to not rely on my own strength. 
I am weak on my own. 

2025 has been hard- really hard…
The hardest so far of the 55 I’ve navigated. 
My mountains needed the strength of my Savior to aid me in all ways -physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually- in my climb. 
My resolve to do so has been coupled with absolute peace and the lens of God’s mercy and miracles. 
Thus, in many ways, 2025 has been the most blessed of my 55 years…

Throughout the hard-
I am not expected to journey alone. 
I choose not to. 
I know that I am a daughter of God. As such, I continue to work to more fully understand the power and truth that statement holds. 
I also know to pray to look through a different lens- the one where God will allow me to see more-
More of His love, miracles, and light. 
The lens, in which I can see beyond the physical and better comprehend the truths of the eternal. 

Bring on the rough waters that will no doubt accompany 2026!
I’m committing to deepen my study and understanding of my Savior, Jesus Christ. I’m praying to be ready to face the storms and climb the mountains to come to better understand God and His ways as I cling to the truths:

He is mine. 
I am His. 

Thank you for journeying with me for Cookies and Christ 2025. 

-JC

(The Best Ever) Rice Krispy Treats

6 Tablespoons butter
10 ½ cups (16 oz.) mini marshmallows
½ teaspoon salt
7 oz. marshmallow creme
9 ½ cups Rice Krispies (Or ½ fruity pebbles)
1 ½ cups (additional) mini marshmallows

In a large microwave safe bowl, melt butter, mini marshmallows and salt in the microwave for 1 minute.  Stir in marshmallow creme. Stir until smooth. Add krispy cereal and additional mini marshmallows.  Fold over thoroughly until combined. Spoon into a greased 9 x 13 pan. Spray hands with non-stick cooking spray. Use your hands to gently flatten and even out treats.
Let set. Share!

As I entered my freshman year of high school-
I was undersized. My team issued basketball tube socks hung freely and piled down by my shoelaces. 
Kids at school made fun of me, my name (Littlefield), and everything I did. 
I hated being little. 
I didn’t fit in.

As I began to grow…
I got a quick growth spurt. 
It made going to school somewhat easier, but then I looked so different than the petite women who were my mom and sisters. 
I hated being big. 
I didn’t fit in. 

These are tales as old as time. 
It’s not a unique coming-of-age story to have been uncomfortable in my own skin. 
It’s the
“Then what-“
That determined who I became. 

As I continue to ponder strength—
The idea-
To “stand tall” hits the forefront of my thinking-
To avoid shrinking when what I think makes others feel uncomfortable…

So—
How do I gather the strength to avoid hiding from what I believe I’m hearing God tell me- 
And then grapple with the courage to act on it?

As a mom of a young daughter, I knew teaching her to “stand tall” was the work God needed me to do. 
It was sometimes (and continues to be) hard to watch how people treat her.  

I hated witnessing it. 

The accompanying difficulty was God cautioning me against rescuing her. 
The emotions stirred me to have an open conversation with her about it. 
Sometimes…
Many times, actually, I felt that God was asking too much of her. 

We had followed a seemingly crazy prompting from God to move her from our hometown at the beginning of her Freshman year of high school. 
Again, two years later, just as she was finding her stride, we listened to God, and moved again. 
I struggled with the way the new round of “people” worked to break her down. 
However, after our first move, she had learned about God’s angels. She had done the work to gain a belief and understanding of their ability to help her. 
And so they did….
And she let them. 

She battled. 
She learned to stand tall. 
She learned to defend truth. 

I circle back to one of my favorite sayings…
Specifically, read this as a roadmap to stand tall–

“Sometimes you need to change your playmates…
Sometimes you need to change your playground…
And sometimes you need to change both.” 

I’ve experienced the need to pivot from ideas and plans that seemed brilliant…
When God knew a better path for me. 

I’ve had to stand in opposition to ideas presented to me by people who love me…
Oftentimes, the courage to hear what God is telling me to do over all of the other voices is difficult. 
It’s hard. 
It’s emotional.
It’s breathless. 
But above all else-
It’s worth it. 

When I was 9, Jamie Glenn released a song. I would often sing the chorus, tears streaming down my face, feeling weak. 
It was the right message then to remind me of my source of strength as I grappled with literal and figurative growing pains.  I still lean on its message over 40 years later-
And it’s still the same message I hope my daughter and every woman can choose to hear and believe-

“Walk tall, you’re a daughter, a child of God.
Be strong—please remember who you are.
Try to understand, you’re part of His great plan.
He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”

To the women in my life, and my growing granddaughter–
Here’s my message of faith-filled truths for each of us—

God knows our paths will take us down bumpy roads.
They are often the very roads He leads us down. 
He doesn’t need our path to be clearly mapped, and void of pitfalls-
Quite the opposite. 

God needs us to never tire of relying on Him for strength and fortitude to fight for truth and the courage to act. 
He needs us to trust and believe that in and through Him, and the atoning sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, happiness may look different than we think…
The strength to do what we are asked of by God, will always tell the most- right -beautiful story of our life. 

Peace becomes part of it-
Not just the destination-
But through every turn of the course. 

“Walk tall, you’re a daughter, a child of God.
Be strong—please remember who you are.”

-JC

(No-Bake) Oreo Fudge Bars

Oreo Crust:
16 Oreos, finely crushed
3T (1.5 oz.) softened cream cheese
Dash of salt
Use a food chopper or processor to finely crush Oreos. Mix in cream cheese and salt until well combined. Press into the bottom of a parchment lined 8″x8″ square baking pan.

Oreo Fudge:
48 Oreos, finely crushed
6 oz. Softened cream cheese
⅛ teaspoon salt
Use a food chopper or processor to finely crush Oreos. Mix in cream cheese and salt until well combined. Layer onto Oreo Crust into prepared pan.

Fudge Topping:
¾ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
2 Tablespoons whole milk
Dash of salt
½ teaspoon vanilla extract 
Melt chocolate chips into milk and salt in a microwave safe bowl. (Begin with 30 seconds, stir, and add 10 second intervals until melted.) Stir in vanilla extract. Spread onto the top of the Oreo Fudge layer.
Refrigerate until serving. (2+ hours) Remove bars from baking pan and cut into 36 squares. Garnish with 2 oz. melted white candy discs and mini Oreos, as desired.
Share!

A couple of years ago I lost my voice— three times within a year. 
The worst stretch lasted almost four weeks. 
I didn’t have a sore throat or a seemingly accompanying virus. 
I joked around in a whisper that God had silenced me and I was trying to pay attention and listen to the voices around me that mattered most. 

Maybe I wasn’t joking-
The few times I would speak, 
I worked to make what I used my energy and effort in flexing ailing vocal cords- to be deliberate communication. 

Growing up in a large family of girls-
Our house was noisy. 
Sometimes it was simple, cheerful chatter. But as the years drew on-
There was plenty of drama and tears. 
I added to it in unhelpful ways. 

My senior year of high school-
Our school offered a class called “Speech”, taught by the very popular Mr. Bergstrom. 
It filled an “English” requirement. 
The alternative was a class designed to read lots and lots of books and then write lots and lots of papers about them. 
Perhaps there was a class choice for introverts and another for the extroverts. 

I was a bit intimidated by the Speech class, but I easily chose it over the alternative. 
Throughout the semester, Mr. Bergstrom assigned topics and we were instructed to write and present our oral speeches to the class.
We all took turns.
Some classmates stuttered, turned red, and fumbled over their words. 
Others stood straight, shoulders back, and eloquently delivered their messages. 

I was in between. 

My presentation skills improved throughout the semester.
However, my least favorite class policy was when Mr. Bergstrom gave us verbal feedback in front of the entire class. 
The idea was that we could all learn from each other-
A good idea in theory-
But potentially humiliating in practice.
Here I was in a vulnerable position to stand before my class to share-
And then be verbally corrected and graded in front of my peers. 
I did not delight in this extra way to “learn” more verbal communication skills. 

Towards the end of the semester, we had been assigned our final speeches. 
I allotted more effort in this class and specifically this assignment than my typical haphazard (I’ve already been admitted to college) efforts.
We were to have our Speech memorized, speak with clarity and confidence, and stand with good posture. It was a lot…

Our final grade would encompass the critique of all of it. We were encouraged to dress our best. I hated wearing dresses—
Nevertheless, the rest of the class donned their best and I followed suit. On the day that I was scheduled to present, my mid-heeled pumps and accompanying attire added an uncomfortable awkwardness to my already strained nerves. 

My name was announced and I took the position at the front of the classroom.
“I stood amongst my teammates, at our last home volleyball game of the season.
The National Anthem blared through the staticky speakers…”
I strongly said, as I began my speech, scanning my classmates looking for a safe place for my eyes to land. 

The next few minutes were a blur. 
I finished and stood in silence waiting for Mr. Bergstrom to deliver feedback. 
He paused-
Called me by name-
“Jackie” 

I shifted my eyes upward from the scuffed-up pumps I had worn with my best dress…
“You have important words to say. Don’t be afraid to say them.”

“What on earth does that mean?!?!?!?!” were my silent racing thoughts. 
I sheepishly looked at him, said nothing, and waited, before he motioned for me to sit down.  

I desperately waited for what his feedback meant for my grade but after a few days, I was delighted to receive an “A” on my written submission. I sighed a relief, but throughout the years, I have worked to try and understand (what felt like) his cryptic message. 
I didn’t feel like I had much importance to share. I was mostly content to sit silently in all formal learning situations. 

Throughout the following years, as I sought clarity in thought and deed in my spiritual conversion process, I was often asked to teach a simple class to children or teenagers at church. 
I began to understand the power of my voice as I sought truth and then shared my convictions. 

This has proved to be of pivotal importance in understanding what it means to be a strong woman. 
I needed to first—
Do the work to identify truth. 
Who was speaking it?
Who was not?

There were times throughout the years when I would strongly disagree with another and would boldly defend truth. 
I was becoming valiant in my belief in God, and His perfect love for all of His children. 
In turn—
I was understanding the importance of a strong voice for truth.  I was learning to find my God-given voice and the strength to share what I had done the work to come to know…

This strength carried God-enhanced power to motivate and compel others to find out truth for themselves. As I improved in my teaching—
I usually felt like God gave me the words to speak as I was speaking them. The messages came from Him. I often had no recollection of the things I said. 
I did not need to be an expert on anything I taught about…

What I came to understand, was that when God blessed me with a mantle—
His most important message was delivered to me, for me, to share. 
In so doing—
I came to know and understand more deeply that God did not need me to be strong and wise in all things.

In truth- 
I was weak.
The most important truth I’ve learned about strength-
Is that-
In my mortal state-

I alone am not strong.

God, my Heavenly Father, is. 
Jesus Christ, my Savior, is. 
My strength is amplified through them to do the work they call me to do-
To be the daughter, mom and disciple they need me to be… 

-JC

Biscoff Molasses Cookies

1 cup soft butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup molasses
2 eggs
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon nutmeg
—
4 oz. crushed Biscoff cookies

Cream butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Mix in molasses. Hand stir in eggs; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Scoop out approximately 24+ 2” balls of dough. Gently roll each dough ball after scooping and immediately roll into crushed Biscoff cookies. (Dough balls will dry out quickly and Biscoff crumbs will not stick if you don’t immediately roll the dough and then place into crumbs. I do one cookie at a time.) Gently flatten dough balls. Place cookies on a greased or parchment paper lined aluminum cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 12+ min. Drizzle with melted Biscoff cookie butter (pre-made, jarred).
Let set. Share.

I don’t know Erika Kirk. I’ve never met her. I’ve come to know of her in the past few months as I’ve watched videos and clips of what she stands for. 
I don’t know Erika Kirk —
But I stand with her. 

In the emergence of her unimaginable heartache, following her husband‘s assassination, she is bold with her beliefs. She understands perfectly that her strength does not come from, nor is it amplified by, hate, anger, or revenge. She knows the answer is Christ. 

I’ve let hate, anger, and revenge power me to act — compete even, letting it become the narrative of how I worked to become my “best”…

In November of my senior year, a few weeks into my senior basketball season, I was in weekly contact with a few recruiting coaches. The mailbox had letters and pamphlets working to “sell” me on their universities. I had individual goals regarding my play and recruiting status. I was excitedly anticipating climbing the ladder rungs of a productive season.
My teammates were my “ride or die”. No one could come between them and them. I would defend them, protect them, and unite with them…
The competitors from other schools were the clear enemies. What I lacked in skills or strength—
I made up for it in sharp words. Some might chalk it up to just a competitive nature, but I never wanted them to do their best. I worked to break them down— one rough play, hard foul, or trash word at a time…
It was extremely effective. Coach paired me against their top player every game. I loved it. My mission was to do whatever it took to stop her—
Whatever that would come to mean as the four quarters progressed… 

A few weeks into the season, I was sitting in math class. My math teacher was also my basketball coach. Over the school loudspeaker, I heard my name, followed by “Please report to the math office “.
This was so confusing. I was in math class. I was an A student. I loved math. I looked up as my coach/teacher nodded toward the door and the hallway. 

My heart raced with concern, confusion, and consternation as I wondered what I had done wrong. This situation had “that” tone.
I knew it well. Unfortunately, at home – it’s who I was. I was a troublemaker amongst a family of nice and conforming girls. I learned to get comfortable being in trouble – and then I would double down as I took punishments with smirks and sarcastic verbal swings at my mom. (Sorry, mom!!❤️)

As I took the few steps to the math office down the hall from my classroom, another math teacher was waiting for me. He was not my teacher, nor had I ever taken a class from him. He closed the door behind us as he asked me to sit down.
“I was in a meeting last night…“ he began.
I was puzzled… (He noted such.)
“You know I’m a high school girls basketball referee?”
“Yes –“ I quietly mumbled.
He told me that they had discussed number 32 from Eisenhower High School in their meeting the previous evening.  (That was me.) 

I was stunned and in disbelief. I sat in silence as he sternly warned me to clean up my play and my mouth or I’d see a lot more bench time because fair or not, the referees were all told to watch me closely and call “everything” until I cleaned up my game. 

I sheepishly returned to math class. I was caught in uncharted emotional territory. 
Was I mad? 
Was I worried?
I didn’t know. 
I also didn’t know how to navigate my “next “.

I felt stuck. How did I play this game differently? How was I supposed to play lockdown defense, while keeping my mouth shut and my hands, elbows, and body checks clean…?
I had lost the privilege to be treated fairly… I now had to play within the rules and the high standards that the referees were told to keep me to.

Challenge accepted… 

It turns out you can still be strong, fierce, and competitive, without being mean, disrespectful, or filled with spite.
I changed. 
And in so doing, I became a far better basketball player. 

I can’t say, whether God was in these details of a November basketball referee meeting – 
But He was in the details of my life. I was beginning to let God in…
I was working more to turn to Him- to connect to Him.
I was beginning to lean into the curiosity of a spiritual realm and any truth associated with God‘s light and power. 

And in time, like Erika Kirk, I knew that true strength does not come from hate, anger, or revenge.
True strength comes from aligning my will with God’s. It comes from uniting in prayer and purpose in my discipleship. 

Erika Kirk closed her remarks at her husband’s memorial service with the following invitations – 
“Choose prayer – 
Choose courage – 
Choose beauty – 
Choose adventure – 
Choose family – 
Choose a life of faith – 
And most importantly, choose Christ. “

These choices feed my strength—
A strength that is amplified by God as he meets me where I am and compounds my efforts. He always has, and will continue to, make more out of my life than I can on my own.

Try this thought on-
Strong women and men through Christ are not who we need to work to become – 
It is absolutely how we are created. 
We simply need to choose – and work to remember. 

-JC

Chocolate Fudge Cookies

1 cup melted butter
2 cups dark chocolate chips
—
1 ¼ cups brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
4 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
½ cup dark cocoa powder
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

Melt butter in a microwave safe bowl. Stir in dark chocolate chips. Let sit until melted.
Mix sugars and eggs on medium-high speed of an electric mixer for 7 minutes. Stir in butter and chocolate mixture, and vanilla extract. Stir in cocoa powder, flour, baking powder, and salt, just until combined. Add chocolate chips and stir until combined. Let the dough sit for 10 minutes.
Spoon out 24 cookies. Gently roll. (If the dough is still too sticky to gently roll, let sit for 10 more minutes.) Chill for 30+ minutes. Bake at 375 degrees for 12 minutes. Top with sea salt or grated chocolate as desired.
Let set. Share!

During my six-hour drive home and the weeks that followed, I felt compelled (by God) to contemplate strength….
Where it comes from-
How to acquire it- 
How I feel about my own–

As I thought about how I first began to identify the importance of inner strength–
A seemingly inconsequential memory from 6th grade surfaced…

My mom is an artist- through and through.  Some of my siblings inherited this talent.
I 
Did
Not!

As part of our elementary school curriculum, we had a required art class.  I liked it when I was younger, but in 6th grade, skill set mattered more. Late into the school year, we were required to pick an animal to draw.  
I hated art and hated my teacher—
Mostly because I was terrible at it and she never had an encouraging word to share. (Subconsciously, I likely felt discouraged because it drew a deeper division between who I felt like I was within my own family.)
Nevertheless, I quit trying to please my teacher and strangely worked tirelessly to irritate her. 
Somehow-
I was good at that. 😉

I used sarcasm as a defensive tool to survive art class. 
The day we were to begin our pen and ink of an “animal”–
I chose a rodent-like creature. 

The teacher had the class go around the room and name the animal we each intended to draw. 
There were typical circus, barn, and zoo animals-
Animals that were known for strength, courage, kindness, and companionship. 
And then she came to me–
And I reported– 
“A shrew.”
“A what?” She asked, assuming she had heard it wrong. 
“A shrew” I repeated, this time, a bit louder, with confidence. 

She rolled her eyes at me and moved on to the next classmate. She was clearly disappointed in me–
But I was used to that and oddly took a bit of satisfaction that “this” stunt was next level. 
I’m not sure what made me so innately rough around the edges, but I feel like I was. 
It’s a decent skillset in athletics…
Not so much in family life, and certainly not in a popularity contest that I had quit competing in months prior with my art teacher. 

In the coming weeks–
We worked on our project in class. 
Our teacher instructed us on composition, the use of varying thickness of lines, dots, and cross-hatches to create depth in our drawings. 
I showed up and silently worked on my project each week. 
I didn’t like my teacher…
But I liked good grades. They kept me outta trouble at home–
(At least in one way.)

Weeks passed and our final class period to finish our drawings had arrived. 
I had drawn a shrew. 
I was actually proud of my work. It was undoubtedly my best project of the school year. And yet, it wasn’t good. It was never going to be featured on the wall of our elementary school during the art fair week. 
Those works were borrowed and collected from my classmates, by the art teacher, throughout the year, and then put on display at the end of the year for our families to come and see. 
There were ribbons for excellence in each category. It was a big deal– for some kids… 
My art was sent home with me. 
Nothing was ever held out for the art fair. 

Perhaps my art teacher was not the villain in my memory. Perhaps she was a kind-hearted middle-aged woman in rural Iowa who loved God and volunteered within her community…
So then why does this memory matter?
Why did it come to mind as I pondered the origin of gaining my strength?

Because-
It helped me learn and understand my worth. 

Somehow-
I innately knew not to give my art teacher the key to my self-esteem. 
God had put people in my life to teach me of His ways. And (perhaps more importantly) God blessed me with agency and a keen mind to decipher how and who to believe. 
Lessons at home and church echoed this idea. 

I learned that I was a daughter of God. 

If there was someone in my life that seemingly couldn’t identify my worth…
Then clearly they must be wrong. 😉
Or at least-
That’s how my brain sorted out the truths. 
No doubt- I was still learning and growing in faith and otherwise. But I am so grateful to 12-year-old me for choosing that.

Identifying worth is a choice.
Believing a narrative about yourself shown to you by someone else is also a choice. 

It circles back to God. 
What would He teach me?
What has He taught me?
What might He teach me?
God has given me His spirit to work to understand. 
God has given me His Son to atone for my mistakes and take the burdens I choose to give to Him. 

A lesson taught to me at a young age was that I was a child of God.
Truly understanding that sense of belonging continues to be a lifetime pursuit-
And likewise, a pursuit of understanding my strength BECAUSE I am a child of God

The knowledge that I am a daughter of God is one of my superpowers. 
I’ve worked to gain this belief. And I continue to work to understand how God’s love remains constant from childhood to adulthood. 
Embracing it, not only staves off the loneliness and weakness of not feeling “enough”…
But when I truly show up as a daughter of God–
I work to do so with a degree of His wisdom and grace. 
That’s a bit harder than the default of sarcasm to protect myself…
And yet-
Its power is absolutely unstoppable.
It is a forefront force of my strength. 

I am strong because–
I am a daughter of God…
And thus-
I am enough…

-JC

Coconut Lime Cupcakes

Cupcakes:
⅓ cup vegetable oil
⅓ cup milk
1 cup sour cream
4 eggs
1 teaspoon coconut extract
A white or vanilla cake mix (approx. 13 oz.)

Add ingredients in order and mix together for 30 seconds on medium speed with an electric mixer. Increase speed to medium-high and beat for two minutes until thicker and smooth.  Spoon ¼ cup of batter into 18 regular sized muffin tin cups. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean. Let cool completely.
Cut a tiny hole in the Ziploc of Lime Icing. Drizzle in a circular motion to cover the tops of cooled cupcakes. Let set until dry to the touch. 
Pipe Coconut Frosting onto cupcakes. Immediately cover each cupcake with 2 tablespoons of sweetened coconut flakes. Garnish with lime zest.
Let set. Share!

Lime Icing
3 Tablespoons lime juice 
1 ½ cups powdered sugar
Zest of one lime
Dash of salt
Blend all ingredients at once in a food chopper or food processor. Spoon into a quart size freezer strength Ziploc until ready to use.

Coconut Cream Frosting
8 oz. softened cream cheese
¼ cup soft butter
¼ cup cream of coconut (Coco Re’al brand works great)
½ teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon coconut extract
2 cups powdered sugar
Dash of salt
Mix cream cheese, butter and cream of coconut until smooth. Add vanilla and coconut extracts, powdered sugar, and salt. Mix until fluffy– 2-3 minutes on medium-high speed with an electric mixer. Spoon into a gallon size Ziploc until ready to use.

Our time in the Las Vegas area had come to an end. 
The mix of emotions felt big. 
My SUV was packed and I was preparing to head out on my six-hour drive north. 
Seeing the grandkids again gave me energy to get packed, but my heart felt heavy leaving behind my son and his warrior wife in this zip code. 

I was grateful that we had felt the nudge from God to help them out. 
Recovery from brain surgery is expected to take a year. Jodi is doing the work to heal. Most of her work moving forward is invisible to the naked eye. Her cervical collar no longer needs to be worn. Her scar is covered by her beautiful thick reddish-brown hair. 
Her eyes hold the wisdom of where she’s been-
The mountains she has climbed-
The storms she has endured-
And-
The paths that lay ahead. 

These two were no doubt chosen by God, and I believe -agreed- to travel this difficult path as part of their mortal experiences.They have done so with grace, love, and light. 
I’m grateful to have been blessed to ride along in this chapter of their lives to witness God’s love, miracles, and my kids’ unwavering commitment to each other, and to Him. 

My son works for the Las Vegas Aces, a women’s professional basketball team. We have become super-fans and never miss a game. While living in Vegas, we’ve been blessed with season tickets. 
My daughter-in-law is amazing at navigating her way through this big ‘ol city. I’m a small town girl and the bright lights and busy streets seem very big-town!
She has a way about her- to break it all down- to just living a deliberate life. And on this particular day- guided my husband, who was driving, through the city, a tricky cone-filled parking lot, and then through a large casino/convention center to the arena. 

We settled into our seats at our first home game of the season. I was distracted and in awe over all that there was to take in. 
However, before the starters were announced-
After the national anthem was beautifully belted throughout the arena-
While the hype music blared that could not just be heard, but also (literally) felt-
There was a message. 
It was quick
And fleeting. 

From across a nearly packed arena filled with distractions measured in pomp and circumstance and affecting all of my senses –
My daughter-in-law received a gesture of love- a quick wave- from my son as he entered from the tunnel across the arena. 
It was sweet and meaningful…

The way these two have navigated choppy waters of less than ideal health troubles, praying for help and healing-
And then waiting…
Living true, meaningful, God directed lives while waiting….
Living in faith, trust, and hope while waiting…
It’s truly remarkable to see.

I felt blessed to share a small portion of this journey with them. 
But the time had come to close this incredible chapter.

I embarked on a drive “away”-
Again, with gratitude for a season marked by a few numbers and a street name. 
It was a place to serve, learn, and grow in ways only possible by the sacrifices made to be there. 

I returned to the town, six hours north, where all of my grandkids live. 
This season too- felt fleeting- and I prayed for energy to enjoy it.

I also prayed for direction…
To do the “next” right by God…

And to be all-in–
All-in in loving my people…
All-in in working to remember what I’ve learned about what it takes to hear God speak to me…
All-in in my hope that I live a life where God can use me to share His light…
All-in in getting a bit better with my discipleship in Christ…
All-in in creating a legacy of loving God and continuing to seek to do His will.

I know this means mountains are still to be climbed.
My energy and commitment to God will be tested. 
The adversary will work to help me forget every miracle I witnessed.
It won’t be easy and i pray for the faith to know that the continued effort will be worth it.

I arrived “home”. 
My resolve was in motion. 
So much of the story of “next” is now being written…

-JC

Reece’s Peanut Butter Cookies

1 cup soft butter
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 cup peanut butter
1 ¾  cups packed brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups chopped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
1 cup milk chocolate chips
3 oz. chopped milk chocolate bar

Cream butter, oil, peanut butter and brown sugar with an electric mixer on medium high for 1 minute or until fluffy. Hand stir in eggs and vanilla extract; don’t overmix. Add dry ingredients all at once and mix until fully incorporated. Stir in Butterfinger pieces, chocolate chips and chopped chocolate. Scoop out approximately 32 2” balls of dough. Gently roll. For a richer flavor and smoother texture, form cookie dough balls, flatten slightly, and refrigerate or freeze until ready to bake. Place on greased or parchment paper on an aluminum cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 12+ min. Drizzle with Peanut Butter Fudge. Garnish with crumbled Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Let set. Share! 

Peanut Butter Fudge 
½ cup semi sweet chocolate chips
¼ cup creamy peanut butter
2 Tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Dash of salt

Melt together chocolate chips, peanut butter, and butter.  Stir in vanilla extract and salt. Spoon into freezer strength Ziploc until ready to use. (Use while still warm or gently reheat in the microwave before drizzling.)

I tucked myself into the guest room at my daughter-in-law’s home while my son was away on a work trip. 
My job there was undefined and potentially unnecessary. However, we were all unsure if this would be the case until hindsight became part of the equation. 

So I settled into the comfy king-sized bed with my door cracked open in case Jodi called for assistance as she was still healing from her brain surgery. 
She went to bed early and I had followed suit as early morning pickleball had become part of my routine.  I uttered a quick prayer-
Expressing gratitude for Jodi’s healing and of course – my eclectic group of unlikely friends that I gathered with on courts 15 and 21 at Sunset Park each morning in Las Vegas. 
We were each soooo different from one another. I loved it! And even more- each story I coaxed out the people I met there. 😉I adored them and told God how blessed I felt to have met Donna (the group’s organizer) a few days after moving to Las. Vegas.  

I had quickly fallen asleep post or perhaps even mid-prayer.😳
I’m not sure how much time had passed- but I awoke to someone calling for me. 
I assumed it was Jodi —
But she wasn’t at the door–
She hadn’t texted for help and there was no sign of distress. 

I wondered if God or one of His angels had awakened me–
I listened for a message, a directive, or something–
Anything to explain who was seemingly talking to me. 

My search was returned with silence. I told God that He had a captive audience and that if there was anything I should know about —
Any kind of work that He needed me to do-
I was now wide awake in the pitch black of night ready to listen. 

I had just reconciled myself…
Professing I was willing to give Him my time…
And yet…
Silence… 

Until all of a sudden–
I heard the same voice, again. 
The one that had awakened me from deep sleep. 
I recognized it…

Her message wasn’t really for me. Perhaps more of a general message for the household–
I just happened to be the only one listening. 

She’s beloved for her helpfulness in keeping the floors of the home clean…
She’s the household robotic vacuum and mopper. 
She had completed her tasks and was signing off and returning to her charging station for the night. 

There was no message from God that night- despite my belief that there could be. 
No angel was waking me up to help anyone- as no one needed my help. 
It’s caused me to ponder why God chooses when He sends us messages. 

I was ready to receive it. 
Willing to go and do it. 
Losing sleep anyway–
And yet, God was silent. 

The next thought that I believe originated from Him came the next day-
While I was busy–
Distracted even. 

God had to fight through my internal monologue of somewhat chaotic homeless thoughts to prompt me to journal some ideas. 
And I had to fight through the same to receive it. 

That’s His timing. 
God was teaching me about Him and how He works. 

In so doing–
I can better identify what messages are from Him. 
Maybe it’s not always supposed to be easy to hear Him. 
Perhaps the greater growth I need is in learning to listen…

-JC

No Bake Peanut Butter Bars

6 tablespoons melted butter
1 ¼ cups peanut butter
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
2 cups powdered sugar
¼ teaspoon salt

Stir butter and peanut butter together until smooth.
Mix together graham cracker crumbs, powdered sugar, and salt.
Combine peanut butter mixture with graham mixture. Spoon into a greased or parchment lined 8” x 8” square pan. Pat gently to level top. Frost with Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge.
Let set. Cut into squares. Share!

Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge 
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
½ cup creamy peanut butter
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
Dash of salt

Melt chocolate chips, peanut butter, and butter in the microwave for 30 seconds or until the mixture can be stirred smooth. Stir in vanilla and salt. Spread onto bars while Fudge is warm.

Sometimes “time” as a resource feels fleeting. And sometimes…
It feels like a test–
Of how well I use it, and what I might have to “show” for it at any future crossroads. 

Our third, and final, Airbnb in the Vegas area became my temporary home the day after the advertisement was posted. We toured the home and instantly asked to sign a contract to move in the next day.  Our landlady mentioned moving out in a hurry, potentially leaving behind some of her things, including the tortoises in the courtyard…

Wait…
The what?

I had unknowingly walked right past their home on my way to the front door. 
She mentioned that she or her kids would come take care of them until she could move them. 
I would come to learn that desert tortoises burrow to create shelter. There were three of them. They had lived in their burrow since they were 4” in diameter. They were now close to 16”. 

We moved into our new rental the next day. The three tortoises seemed to mind their own business–
But I became increasingly curious about them. 
I messaged the landlord and asked her if I could feed and water them for her. She was a busy lady and I struggled to meaningfully fill my abundance of extra time.

So it was settled-
I was now the designated household tortoise caretaker.

It was fun to FaceTime the grandkids showing them the turtles as they slowly moved around their enclosure. 
I’d research what I could complement their pellet food with…
One early afternoon, on a day with very little to do, I garnished the plate of moistened pellets with raspberries and then I waited…
And waited…
And waited. 

After what felt like an excessive amount of wasted time waiting, I went back inside and finished a few tasks I had begun pre-raspberry obsession…

A few hours later, I returned to turtle watching delighted to see one lying on the plate of food-
Soaking in all of the raspberry and rabbit pellet glory. 

I was momentarily delighted, and then remembered the saying- 
“God can’t steer a parked car.”

I had felt a bit parked lately in my waiting to be asked to help.
I was grateful for the circumstances around my daughter-in-law’s post-surgery rebound and that she did not require nearly the amount of help that any of us were imagining—
But I knew I needed to do more in my days to be productive. Specifically, I felt stalled in my discipleship and working to spread God’s light and love. 

I vowed to spend less time garnishing the tortoises’ meals with raspberries and then waiting….
And more time engaged in anything else God could use me for, as His hands, to accomplish any portion of His work. 

The ideas and thoughts that followed were simple, seemingly non-consequential work.
I would text a friend, read scripture-based stories and talks, or take a walk with a goal to spread smiles and light to anyone on the neighborhood walking path. I felt a bit invisible in this work, yet committed to staying with the idea that any effort in discipleship matters.

On a warm summer Vegas day, I took a wrong turn trying to get home from the pickleball courts where I spent most mornings. A U-turn put me in a prime position to roll through a McDonald’s drive-through for a cold filtered crisp Diet Coke. (IYKYK)
There was no line. I counted myself pretty lucky and quickly made it to the speaker to place my order. Once I got to the first window, I gave the nice lady my credit card. We had a short conversation. There was no one behind me and no one in front of me. We chatted ever so briefly, choosing connection…
She paused, looked into my eyes as she held my credit card to return it to me, and said “Thank you for chatting with me.” 

It was simple. 
Seemingly inconsequential. 

But there was an opportunity to connect mother to mother, grandma to grandma, daughter of God to daughter of God…. And it mattered.

Did my resolve to spread God’s light put me in the McDonald’s drive-through at that exact moment in time?
I don’t truly know…
I would likely guess not…
But what I did there seemed to matter…

So much of God’s work is between Him and His children. We rarely see the impact we make through the light we attempt to share. 
But I can say-
The simple efforts feel “right”. 

I’m not at a place in my life where I stand with a microphone on a platform in my discipleship. 
Yet in the exact place I was—
God was telling me- that not all of his children are gathered to hear the pastor preaching…
Some need to feel His light and love-
One on one-
And that simple work is what I felt called to do with my time…

-JC

Browned Butter Caramel Krispy Treats

6 Tablespoons butter, browned (Melt on medium heat until butter melts, then foams)
6 oz. caramels
10 ½ cups (16 oz.) mini marshmallows
½ teaspoon salt
7 oz. marshmallow creme
10 cups Rice Krispies 
2 cups (additional) mini marshmallows

Immediately pull the browned butter from saucepan and stir in the 6 oz. of caramels to melt the caramels. Microwave in ten second intervals as needed. Heat mini marshmallows and salt in the microwave for 1 minute.  Stir in marshmallow creme and browned butter/caramel mixture. Stir until smooth. Add krispy cereal and additional mini marshmallows.  Fold over thoroughly until combined. Spoon into a greased 9 x 13 pan. Spray hands with non-stick cooking spray. Use your hands to gently flatten and even out treats.
Let set. Share!

The thing about hope in a fallen world, complete with sickness and pain…
Is that some days are still going to be hard days. 

Bry and Jodi returned home to the Las Vegas area of Nevada where her family helped them get settled. 
My husband and I were a few days behind them.

We managed affairs in Utah and then headed to Arizona to pack up the house.  We were under contract for the sale and this would be our final days available to pack before we needed to be in the Vegas area to help the kids.

A few days later we left Arizona. 
Our SUV and truck were over-stuffed with personal belongings. As I backed down the driveway a final time, I paused.
I looked at the marker in the yard- a number and a street name-
And yet this home felt like so much more…

The people we met during our time here. It’s the best part about what God has done with our lives over the past several years.  In working to follow His will for us- we’ve moved a lot. The amazing people I’ve come to know through my time in Mesa, Arizona are one of the greatest sustaining blessings.

Driving away, I took a final glimpse in the rear-view mirror. Immense gratitude filled my heart and soul as I headed towards our Las Vegas Airbnb. 
I arrived in Vegas a couple of hours ahead of my husband. I was hungry and tired but decided to drop off a few things at the rental before I went to get dinner and a few groceries. 
I walked into the house. Stale smoke coupled with perfumed air fresheners filled my lungs. Outside, the hot tub was broken and drained, and patio furniture was damaged and scattered in the yard. 
I went to my car. 
I wished I could cry and feel better- but I’m not much of a crier. 

The next few weeks encompassed two different hotels, another sub-par/sub-promised Airbnb BnB, and Jodi’s first post-surgery health episode. 

I was shook. 

One afternoon I was going through some boxes that I had packed up from the Arizona house. 
I came across a watercolor verse my daughter had given me. 
It was a scripture and a message that I had used as a mantra in times past-
Reading the words felt like a borrowed belief from before that I no longer knew…
Perhaps from-
-Times when life seemed easier. 
-Times when blessings flowed and I felt great gratitude. 
-Times when I felt strong and my belief in a God of perfect love was unwavering. 

But today-
I was weak. 
My heart broke for the kids and the accompanying stress I felt as my presence in their zip code seemed useless. 

The truth is-
It didn’t matter what I could do to try and be there for them. I couldn’t do everything. I couldn’t control anything. I felt helpless and worn down. 

I stared at the message…
“I could not be shaken.
Jacob 7:5”

And yet-
I was shook…

A few short weeks prior, I stood witness to God’s miracles. 
I felt the presence of angels. It was big. I was grateful that it was easy to see. The adversary had felt so far in the distance. 
I was drenched in and felt incredibly close to God’s perfect love and an outpouring of His blessings. 

So-
How did I get HERE…?
(Shook!)
And how could I free myself of this hopeless mindset?

I left the open moving box at my feet and fell back on my bed with my phone in hand. 
The notifications page was full. 
I began sorting through and deleting the nonsense that filled the screen. 
And then I saw my “scripture of the day” notification with a sobering number attached to it. 

I had signed up for an app that sends me a scripture each morning at 7 am. It’s the first scripture I read- and sometimes the only one-
But I feel like doing so sets the stage for my day…
For the past 6 days, I had let the hard win. 

I felt shaken-
Why?

Because-
I’m not strong on my own. 
My strength comes from Christ. 
He is the reason I have hope. 
He is the reason I can work through the hard. 
He is the reason I know God. 
He is the reason I can see the miracles. 
And when I forget to turn to Him-
When I choose to be too busy to begin my day learning of Him…

Feeling “shook” and losing hope is a natural cause and effect. 

I needed to get back on track…
The path was simple-
A consistent and disciplined approach for just a few minutes of my day, to read the word of God, is all I needed to do. 
Laying back on a borrowed bed, feeling tired, empty, and shook…I “caught up” and recommitted.

-JC

Pumpkin Cupcakes

1 cup vegetable oil
½  cup sour cream
1 ¾ cups dark brown sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
15 oz. pumpkin puree
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon cloves
½ teaspoon allspice

Mix together vegetable oil, sour cream, and brown sugar until well combined. Add one egg at a time, mixing well after each one. Stir in vanilla extract and pumpkin puree. Add all dry ingredients and mix until combined. Spoon out into 24 prepared cupcake tins. Bake at 350 degrees for 24 minutes or until done. Let cool completely. Frost with Browned Butter Spiced Cream Cheese Frosting.
Let set. Share!

Browned Butter Spiced Cream Cheese Frosting
8 ounces softened cream cheese
6 tablespoons butter, browned (Melt on medium heat until butter melts, then foams)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 Tablespoons whipping cream
3 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Dash of salt

Mix cream cheese and butter until smooth. Stir in cinnamon. Add vanilla extract, whipping cream, powdered sugar, and salt. Mix until fluffy.