The post where I literally die in the middle of writing it. Seriously. I am dead.

If your life is anything like mine, Friday is a good thing. Not necessarily because things slow down, because they don't. Sometimes, the weekends feel just as busy as the weekdays. Without having to pack lunches. Which that right there my friends, if you are lunch packing challenged as I am, you understand the blessing of that. Seriously, by Friday? By Friday, I got nothing. I tell my kids to fast for lunch, and that they can eat when they get home. Maybe. Because then, there is that whole "what's for dinner" thing...quite possibly the worst and most loaded question a person can ask me. If you want me to cut you out of my life forever, go ahead and ask me, "what's for dinner?"

Last night for dinner I made frozen garlic bread.

That was it.

If you would like my recipes and weekly meal plans for inspiration, email me.

My cookbook comes out in the Fall.

It's called, "Frozen garlic bread".

And speaking of food, yesterday I decided to try the Whole30 diet. For real. I'm doing it, people. And I feel great. Only as soon as I decided to do this, I also happened to buy a bag of those pumpkin candy corns. I'm not sure, but I think they count as a vegetable. I'll have to look into this diet more carefully. I also started working out again. Well, sort of...I need to start slow, you know, to avoid injury. So, I get in my work out clothes, I stretch out, and then I watch videos of Melissa Hartwig doing crazy moves that in my head, I am so sure I can do. And then I try it.

I might be writing this post from my wheel chair right now.

So clearly, meal planning? Serving up homemade nutritious dinners? Taking care of my body and what I feed it? Not my spiritual gift. And that is ok. For years, I thought I wanted to cook. In theory, I loved it. I mean, cookbooks with pictures are so lovely, aren't they? I think I blame the Pioneer Woman...with her horses, and pretty bowls, and visually appetizing blog...she made me believe that I too, could have horses, and pretty bowls and a pretty blog....and, still have the time to cook dinner. And I love the idea of feeding others, and chopping colorful vegetables, barefoot in my kitchen, wearing my Anthropologie apron, while classical music plays in the background. And between stirring and simmering I sip a glass of chardonnay while being photographed for my blog, and I think to myself, "Wow...cooking this delicious, labor intensive, five course meal, for a family who will probably hate it and ask if there is anything else to eat, is soooo rewarding. Thank you, Jesus."

In a texting conversation with my friend, Amy, a couple of weeks ago, I learned that her job is....ready for it?.....wait for it, wait for it.....MEAL PLANNING. IT IS HER JOB. SHE CHOOSES TO DO THIS. FOR OTHER PEOPLE.

(I need a moment of silence to compose myself)

So, get this. She will come to your house, and look in your fridge and pantry. (Anyone else read that and immediately feel horrified? Or am I the only person with a fridge full of smelly kale, old ravioli, that if it hit you in the head might seriously wound you, and five jars of opened salsa, two of which are empty, but put back in the fridge because, I don't know...recycling is just too much work?) And after she goes through your kitchen, she willingly goes to the grocery store and shops for you. She comes back to your house, and MAKES YOU DINNER....but she does not stop there! After she makes you dinner, she preps a full weeks worth of meals for you, packages it, labels it, and CLEANS YOUR KITCHEN before she leaves.

I AM DEAD.

Seriously. I just died.

Someone needs to come over and finish writing this for me.

When Amy shared the flyer for her business with me, I honestly read it, and texted back, "YOUR GIFT IS MY BIGGEST NIGHTMARE." But you know, this is the thing....your gift? My gift? They are not the same. I think I spent so much of my life looking at everybody else's gift. Wanting to do or be or have what they had, what they could do. And I'll tell ya, I don't enjoy the fact that I am going gray and my body is mushy and I am growing a full on beard. But I do recognize, now that I am old and look like Moses, the individual and specifically chosen gifts that God gives each of us. No gift is too small, and no gift is meaningless, and no gift is better than the other....and that is hard for us to believe, because let's be honest...if you could choose the gift of singing like Lauren Daigle or the gift of cleaning toilets really well, you'd choose the singing, right? But this took me time to understand. This took me years to see the big picture that God is painting. He has given each of us a very specific gift, with intentional purpose. And folks, when we all use our gifts to the fullest, for HIS glory...together, with our gifts, we are building up the Kingdom of God, right here, on this beautiful and messy earth.

And Amy's gift? So NOT my gift. Her gift makes me break out in hives. But because she loves and has listened to the Lord, and has responded by doing what she truly enjoys, she is blessing others in return; Other sad, pathetic, bearded women like me, who think that frozen garlic bread is an acceptable meal for a family of six, and that candy corn, if shaped like a pumpkin, counts as a vegetable.

Stop looking at the gifts God has given to others, and today, seek out your own.

And if your gift happens to be cleaning toilets really well, please come over. I have four seriously neglected bathrooms that are in need of your gift. (I have no time to clean toilets. I am too busy trying to pry apart the loaf of frozen garlic bread. The struggle is real, folks)

And if you, like me, hate to shop, prep, cook, or do anything related to feeding your family, check out Amy Taylor's business.

Then invite me over for dinner.

I'll bring the frozen garlic bread.

*wondering why I posted pictures of children at church for this post? Two of these beautiful babes belong to Amy. Totally demolishing my theory that it is impossible to shop, cook, keep a clean kitchen, and serve others well, when you have small people to care for. But who knows. I have never been to her home. Maybe her own kitchen is a mess, and these really aren't her children. Maybe they are not even real children, but robots....I will need to take a closer look next time I see them.