I watched a war movie yesterday and I dropped a picaken.  

For the second time.

Two weeks ago as I was taking a picaken from the oven the whole @#$% bottom of my spring form pan fell out.  Ugh.  Picaken guts all over my oven door, oven bottom, and kitchen floor.  So, we scooped it up, plopped it in a bowl and called it 'trifle'.  

Yesterday, during the making of the picaken, I boldly declared that there would be only one dropped picaken in the history of my picaken making and that had already happened so this picaken was safe.

Famous last words.

Everything was going swimmingly.  I successfully removed the picaken from the oven, cooled it on a cooling rack, removed the spring form pan sides, and placed the delicious looking cake on a cake stand.  I slathered it in caramel icing and started cutting pieces and serving them.  The cake stand was in my space so I gave it a little push.  Which caused the temperamental picaken to slide off the stand, careen over the side of the island, and splat upside down on my brand new bar stool.

For the love of everything holy, I JUST WANT TO MAKE A PRETTY PICAKEN.  Altho, picaken trifle is just as tasty.

But back to the war movie.  It's not the kind of movie I usually watch.  In all honesty, I don't watch many movies.  Except maybe kids movies.  Not gonna lie, I think I enjoy them more than my kids do.

This particular war movie was based on a true story.  It sounded...intense, for lack of a better word.

And it was.  I watched with a pillow covering half my face.  I closed my eyes for some of it.  I cried.  And when it was over I couldn't talk about it.

I think knowing that it was based on a true story made it that much more powerful for me.  Seeing the bond those Navy SEALs had with each other was incredible.  Watching them fight the enemy was intense.  Seeing them blood splattered, gashed, and broken was difficult.  Watching them die was heartbreaking.

And it hit home for me in a new way.  There are men and women who are doing these things for me.  Fighting, bleeding, dying so that I can live in a free country.  I felt so humbled.  And thankful.  And undeserving.

Which led my thoughts to another Man.  Who also fought for me. Who was also bloodied for me.  Who also died for me.  I felt so humbled.  And thankful.  And undeserving.

But Jesus thought my life was worth it.  He thinks the same about yours.  

Worth fighting for. 

Worth dying for.  

Worth crushing death for.

So I offer my life back to Him. 

Jesus, would you use me?