“There is something new every day if you look for it.” –Hannah Hurnard
“Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out. Don’t you see it?” –Isaiah 43:19a
Finally I could stand my confinement no longer. After a full Saturday of writing, housecleaning, and catch-up with longstanding projects, I flung open the front door, breathed in the uncharacteristically cool-for-late-August St. Louis air, and proclaimed to my family, “Stop what you’re doing and grab a jacket. We’re going apple knocking!” I had received notification several days earlier from my favorite Illinois orchard that the Jonathans were ready to pick. And I was ready to pick them! Ripe for adventure, I deserted my duties and bolted for the car with my family.
The ride was lovely. The pastoral river road followed the mammoth Mississippi which unfurled like sliding silk. Occasional small waves ruffled by motorboats splintered the water into shards of dancing diamonds. Our spirits danced as we anticipated the joyful camaraderie we’d celebrate, as together we plucked great globes of ruby fruit, crisp and succulent—taking those first luscious bites, sweet juice drizzling down our chins. We would fill our bags to overflowing and cart home our crimson cache, soon to be transformed by deft hands into pies, crisps, cakes, and cobblers.
But anticipation turned to disappointment when we discovered that the apple orchard was closed. The worker explained that I had misread the notice and that the orchard would open the following weekend. “But,” he added with a grin, “if you travel down the road a little farther, you’ll see signs leading to our competitor.”
Ah, what a difference a few miles can make. We had no idea that this “new” orchard existed. We had never looked beyond the old one. Not only did we pick our beloved Jonathans, but mouthwatering Honey Crisp and Golden Delicious, as well, along with plump peaches and bulging blackberries. Our bags did indeed burgeon. As an extra surprise, this orchard boasted a market stocked with homemade apple butter, apple cider, caramel apples, honey, sauces, and a host of other taste-tempting treats.
On the way home we encountered another surprise. As was our custom, we stopped at a restaurant in a small river town just before crossing over the Mississippi back into Missouri, to purchase a big pan of “blonde” brownies, the moistest, chewiest, densest sweet imaginable. Sheridan and I ran from the car and were crestfallen to find a “closed” sign on the cafe window. Undeterred, however, I tried the door and was thrilled to find it unlocked. Even though the cashier was counting the day’s earnings, Sheridan and I begged to buy some brownies. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she relayed. “I sold the last batch about a half hour ago.”
With that, my usually shy daughter asked to speak to the owner. I was a bit embarrassed, but wasn’t quick enough to stop her. Within seconds the owner appeared, and Sheridan pled, “Could we please, please have your recipe for blonde brownies?” Much to our amazement, the gracious woman asked us to draw up chairs to a table and recited the entire recipe from memory as I scrambled to take dictation. She even divulged two important secrets: “You must bake the brownies for exactly twenty minutes, no more, no less, and they’ll turn out best baked in a ‘granite’ pan.” One could tell this was not a pitch to sell her wares, but the meticulous attention of a master baker to her tools. I told Sheridan to run outside where her father was waiting in the car, to ask him if we could buy a pan for $19.
Within minutes, she ran breathlessly back into the restaurant. “Sure, Daddy will take it.” The compliant restaurateur rang up the sale and we ran out, pan in hand. As Michael pulled out of the parking lot with his left hand on the steering wheel, he held out his upturned, empty right hand to me.
”What’s up?” I queried.
“Give me a brownie, please.”
“What brownie?” I inquired.
“You bought a whole pan of brownies. I’d like one now, please.”
“No I bought a brownie pan.”
“What?!”
“A granite brownie pan.”
“Are you kidding? I thought you were buying a pan of brownies!”
“No, I asked Sheridan to ask you if we could buy a brownie pan.”
“We paid $19 for an empty pan? I figured with the going rate of individual brownies that $19 was a great deal for a whole pan of them. But a pan? You have to be kidding!”
“Well, Mike, I did ask; and you are missing the point. Not only do we have a special brownie pan, but the owner gave me the original recipe, so we can fill the pan as often as we like!”
Ah, expectations. That day, we expected only Jonathans and got a cornucopia of sumptuous fruit. We anticipated baked brownies, and got an empty pan . . . but we’ll look forward to making the world’s best brownies ourselves as often as we dare to indulge in them.
On the ride home, as I mulled over the day’s events, they flowed like a river of journal-writing metaphors. which I hoped to explore when I got home. I began to ponder . . . How often do I pin my hopes on specific expectations, only to be disappointed because they’re not met in the precise ways that I desire or anticipate? Despite my disappointment, am I alert and “present” to look for something brand-new, something bursting out of the ordinary, that God has prepared for my delight, just around the corner, just around the next bend in life’s road? Will I stop to appreciate it or just speed by? Am I constantly putting out my upturned palm or empty brownie pan expecting God to fill it with His abundant blessings, or am I asking Him what my part is in baking blessings that please Him and delight others? Faith without works is dead, and I need to ask God how to use the ingredients He’s given me to create a life that nourishes others and sweetens their hearts. I determined then and there not to put God in a box or all my brownies in one pan. I submitted to my master Creator-Chef, realizing that when I have eyes to see–to really look for Him and His ways and a willingness to relinquish my disappointments to Him–He will lead me to new things, wonderful things, far beyond my wildest expectations. And how thankful I am for my journal, the perfect place to consider and capture God’s blessings.
Your Invitation . . . Explore these questions in depth in your journal: What are times when God has not fulfilled your deepest expectations and dreams? What was the result? How did you feel? How did you respond? What difference has it made in your life? As you look back, what new things, better things did God do in your life despite that He hadn’t met these old expectations? How did He “work your disappointments together for good”? (Rom. 8:28) Will you consider emptying your heart of biased or personal expectations? Will you let God be God and do what He does best by fulfilling your heart’s desires with His dreams for your life? Will you allow Him to fulfill your life far beyond your limited expectations, nourishing and satisfying your soul with indescribably sweet blessings? Draw an empty “brownie pan” in your journal to symbolize your heart, emptied of your willfulness and preconceived, limited expectations. Also write about ways God is showing you to do your part in “baking” a life of faith and blessing to others.
© Lynn D. Morrissey. Permission to reprint any or all of this material is required.
Rich Dixon, Author/Speaker
What’s the point of Christmas?
Yesterday I asked a question: 
What’s your personal theology?
How much does it cost?
At one point I noticed a small cluster of lights, obviously a small town isolated in a sea of blackness. I thought about the people in that town. Each light represented an individual life focused on its own pain, joy, struggle, and triumph. I imagined conversations and arguments, urgent tasks and quiet evenings.z
Have you ever thought you were too weak to help?
How much do we limit ourselves with a misguided sense of obligation? 