September 12, 2005 - Passover Tortillas: God in Times of Crisis

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Passover Tortillas: God in Times of Crisis
By Courtney Ballestero
September 12, 2005

I recently ran into my old friend Maria at a ladies conference. She is a pastor’s wife in northern Michigan, but I remember her as a young woman in her early twenties who used to let me tag along on Saturdays to go visit her mom in Muskegon, MI. There I would sit and watch Mamma make tortillas from scratch, and then eat them when filled with grilled chicken and pork. Her hands moved so deftly, making nondescript balls of dough into warm carbo-licious delights. I never knew how much that lesson in tortilla-making would prove beneficial later in life.

Then Real Life Intervened
After 9/11, my husband’s company folded in Tampa, FL, not too far from Clearwater where we lived and worked in the youth department of a home missions church. This was, of course, devastating, and was coupled with the fact that we were already laden with debt, had a recently failed internet business looming over us (leave it to us to try the e-boom when tech stocks plummeted), two itty-bitty kids, two unreliable cars, and I was jobless (having opted to stay home with the kids to save on day care). When misery comes to visit, it always brings its cousins. We ended up having to sue to get unemployment from the folding company. During this time, we had an offer to move to Orlando making four times more money than what he had made in Tampa. Then an offer came from Atlanta making two times more. An offer in California arrived…well it goes on.

But we couldn’t leave Clearwater. Though the cost of living is high and the pay scale low, God had called us to this city. This home missions work was our life and breath. We taught Bible studies, counseled young people, and even let some slobber on our couch for extended periods of time. We poured our life into this gem of a church that fed us spiritually in a way neither of us had truly known. We were a part of an amazing story. And we were practically starving.

No, that’s not fair to say. God always took care of us. We always had food. That food just happened to be beans. Beans and tortillas—homemade tortillas. Beans were cheap. Tortillas were not cheap enough. I would never have enough pennies to break for those store-bought tortillas in the magnificent Aztec packaging. Nope, I would have to make the tortillas from scratch.

Remembering Mamma’s Recipe
Scratch meant using a baby bottle to roll them flat since I didn’t have a rolling pin, and—you guessed it—I didn’t have the money to buy one. I would add water and salt to the flour until it made a paste, flour my work surface, then pound and roll, pound and roll until somehow I made some semblance of tortillas. Then I would cook beans all day in the crock pot and we would have beans in tortillas for supper. The leftovers kept and we would repeat the next evening. This sounds pitiful, but at the time our plight was small in comparison to the many that had lost family and loved ones in the Twin Towers disaster and subsequent Afghanistan endeavor. People everywhere were suffering in one way or another, and we were just making do like the rest of the world—or so we thought.

I remember distinctly a relative telling me that for sure I would be eligible for food stamps. I didn’t want to go on food stamps. Nobody ever does. We do what we have to do to survive. Nowadays, they have made it much less insulting to present your coupons for food. You just slide your card through like an ATM. Knowing this somehow made it easier to consider applying. I drove my car down to the office and slid in nose-to-nose with a white van double-parked in the lot. I looked down at the vanity plates and written in hot pink letters were, “Jehovah Jireh, My Provider.” I stared at the plates and gulped a bone-dry swallow. A whisper, “Do you relieve believe that I AM your JEHOVAH JIREH?” I did. So with tears pouring down my face I put my car in reverse and headed home to make more beans and tortillas.

Years later, I live in the blessing that came from the brokenness of those years. I say years because it took three more years of clinging to faith and hope to get me to a better place. God kept us and has poured innumerable blessings upon us because we were steadfast. Not that there weren’t times when I thought my head would explode, but slowly and surely He proved His faithfulness to us in good measure. Once honey-poo and I (post-tortillaville) sat down and figured up all our bills, it totaled to about $500 more per month than what we actually brought in. We both put our heads in hands and thanked God for His favor.

A Personal Passover
Now I buy tortillas in the fancy packaging. Flour ones, corn ones, and those ostentatious garlic pesto and tomato basil things they call wraps. I still sometimes will put some beans in the crock pot and pull out my rolling pin (yeah, I broke down and got one) and make those tortillas again. Our family, now a little bit older with an addition, will sit down to eat and my husband and I will tell the kids our poverty tales. Through the years they have somehow become hilarious. It has become, in a way, like a Passover feast to us. As we eat the simple meal and reminisce on difficult times, we remember the promises of God. As we passed over on job offers that seemed like lifeboats, we felt God’s peace “pass over” us, letting us know that though difficult the journey we were on the right path.

ninetyandnine.com

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Courtney Ballestero spends most of her time writing songs in her moo-moo, checking out blogs on the net, and lighting endless candles trying to get the “adolescent” smell out of her house from youth sleepovers.