pizza pizza

The hard frost came and leaves withered to black despite the willing readiness of its fruit to stay. So I harvested a bounty of green tomatoes; far more than the totality of red tomatoes this summer. They look beautiful but are tart instead of sweet and the idea of frying all those tomatoes nauseate me. Our local farmer timely received a hormone/chemical free pig and luscious bacon was available. Cue recipe. Paring homemade wheat bread dough with blended tomato for sauce, onions, mushrooms, bacon and green tomatoes for topping and the result was culinary bliss. I wish I had a picture of the finished product. Hearty, warm, nutritious, filling, everything a winter meal should be. For better or for worse, I still have a whole bowl of green tomatoes left. I wonder how many pizzas I can eat this winter?

Spend your giving wisely

I haven’t blogged much lately. Please chalk it up to basic lack of energy brought on by constant coughing, general sleeplessness and persistent feeling bad-itis. :}

I love good gift-giving (if I can be so trite: it’s one of my love languages). To me, good gift-giving is about the thought. When someone takes the time to think of me and get me something to bring me pleasure, that thoughtfulness is meaningful to me. I have felt the love of God expressed to me through the gifts of others. If someone just chucks a gift my way out of obligation, I’d rather not even have it. Or if someone spends lavish amounts of money to get me something they think is cool without considering my personality, again, I would rather not receive it. But often during this month on the calendar, good and bad gift-giving abound.

So what can I do? How can I show the love of God to others through gift-giving and not lose the meaning of Christmas to obligations, materialism, and bad financial decisions? I think a purposeful commitment to enjoy giving is a good start. Apart from the important, obvious, and necessary focus on the birth of Christ, I can keep in that Spirit by consciously giving how I ought to and refrain from giving how I ought not to (this last part is especially hard). Not giving some trinket to co-workers just because I feel obligated but sending care packages to orphans in Ukraine. Not mailing expensive gifts to family members just because they expect it but donating two chickens to rural families in India (for only $11, see gospelforasia.org). Not getting upset when someone gives me a thoughtless gift but giving thoughtful gifts I can afford to those I love. Not purchasing a Christmas tree when I’ll only be home to enjoy it for a week but sponsoring two angel tree kids.

In other words, I’m trying to be purposeful in how I ‘spend my giving’. This requires slowing down and thinking as opposed to rushing busyness. It takes commitment to express my values though they may be misunderstood. It take grace to receive and grace to give and let-go (instead of stressing over the “perfect” gift). I’m finding that gift-giving can supplement the true meaning of Christmas instead of replace it. And that’s something to be merry about :D

christmas

Little boys love trains and little kids love Christmas and I love little kids. These kids are amazing! I'm glad I have friends who procreate :D

Thanksgiving

Now that I grow a garden, purposely for the sake of sustenance, I read the Bible in a new way. Much of the language and analogies are agrarian. We often thank God for our existence in terms of the breath we wake up having but rarely in terms of the nourishment He provides for the continual working of our inner parts. Or for the nourishment of our souls through the friendships in which we partake. The Biblical authors were constantly praising God for they were aware of His constant grace toward them in sustaining their lives.

I feel that humans are very removed from the process of grace in every moment. Their thankfulness is only for the end result and I can understand how one would tire of thanking God for the same thing all the time. Salvation, shelter, food, friends: check, thank, and repeat.

When we look beyond the end result, suddenly the potential for our thankfulness explodes. The homeless man was able to get a bus ride to church and now we know him. He blesses our lives with songs of grace and joins in our feasts and we give him a ride back to the shelter and pray for the ability to see him soon. The rain that came yesterday kept the broccoli from wilting: we’ll have fresh veggies to aid our health. The delay of frost yielded an extra two lbs. of tomatoes: I will not have the worry of famine this winter. (Of course, I speak in Western terms. Elsewhere, many do have the burden of famine this winter because the rain didn’t come or the frost came early, etc.).

We exert an effort for very little. Is it any wonder then that we place very little credit at the feet of our Creator, and recognize Him even less? From food to friendships, our lives are so mechanized, there is not much real-ness remaining for which to be joyful or thankful.

Let me share something for which I will truly and deeply be thankful: the enabling of God to grow my food in a healthy way and eat it to maintain a healthy body and a healthy family. If S.510 passes Congress today, the ability to produce a living from growing that food will be greatly hindered and I may end up in jail if I try to do so (if you think this is crazy, I completely agree with you. Unfortunately, it’s already happening with frightening frequency thanks to the FDA’s massive abuse of power). So I am thankful today for this ability and freedom which may soon be gone. And I recognize that the only One who could save it is the One who has the power to change the hearts and minds of men. With the recognition that my life and my future is completely in His hands comes the recognition of true thanksgiving: a position of glad surrender at His feet: for what is, what has been and what will be.

sewing

I’ve managed curtains, table runners, buttons, hems, and the occasional skirt. But bodices have eluded my sewing ability. Recently, I read in a book that Asians are better at math than Americans because they stick with a problem longer. They spend an average of 20 minutes more solving a mathematical problem than their US counterparts. In other words, they don’t give up easily and eventually get it. So I’ve determined to be more determined :}. I spent six hours working on a bodice this weekend and it still didn’t fit. Finally, I asked for help. An extra set of hands to pull extra fabric into the right place was telling – the pattern was simply too big. This whole time, the fit was poor because of a simple error. Distressingly, I looked at my stash of pretty patterns and discovered that they are ALL too big. So I’ve started from scratch. I took a ruler and drew new pattern lines an inch in from the original pattern lines (since I don’t want to throw out all my patterns). I believe I can get it – I can unlock the secret to getting a pattern to fit if I just stick with it. I hope I’m right because I’m sure spending a lot of time!

spur

I’ve been feeling the creative bug lately. I just want to sit down and sew for hours or remodel my kitchen or paint something. I love these pictures, the traditional color and style of the wood with the modernity of simplicity. And of course, I love the copious amount of natural light.

Economics circa 1920

“The health of the family, its education, its pleasures, its savings, are determined, not by the amount of that income, but by the distribution, or the spending of that income. Many families who today may complain of their low income are suffering frequently, not from a low income, but from mis-spending of that income. The whole standard of family living depends only on the apportionment or speding of what the family earns. Two families may, as often happens, have identical incomes; yet one manages to own its own home and send its children to college, while the other will be always on the brink of debt and unable to afford its children advantages. To save, to dimish the expenditure, is just the same as having an increase in income.”

Household Engineering, c. 1920

If only there was such wisdom in the masses of our current time.

pie in the sky

My first ever apple pie. The crust was a pain to roll out so I thought for sure it would bomb but it tasted amazing! Best of all, it was made with local organic apples. Yumm!!

soup!

Fall is the season for soups. I always ran into the problem of disliking soups and was left with little alternative this time of year. But now, with fresh organic veggies, food tastes SO different and my body can’t get enough soup! Full of nutrients, warm, easy to make and store, we’ve been souping it up like nobody’s business. I discovered multi-grain saltine crackers at the store. I had never seen them before and they are a revelation! They’re the same price as regular saltines, but tastier, with no ingredient change other than the addition of whole wheat flour. Hurray!

comfort food

When the weather turns cold, one of my favorite comfort foods is quiche. And since I’m not a big potato eater (can you say starchy non-complex carbohydrates?), I turn to in-season zucchini. A little trick I’ve learned is that 1 cup of bisquick pancake mix will self-crust if you don’t have time to make your own crust. For the picture, I used Martha Stewart’s classic pate brisee. I have to admit that I don’t measure much with this recipe. It takes about two cups of shredded zucchini (after squeezing water from it), roughly 1 and a half zucchini, and the left-over zucchini I slice and place on top. About 2 cups shredded cheese, 3 eggs, and 1/2 cup milk, with spices all thrown in and cinnamon sprinkled on top. I took this to a baby shower this morning and it was a big hit, with not even a crumb left. Yumm!!

sneaky

In the city where I used to live, there is a coffee shop called Sneaky Beans. I wondered about the name. It’s catchy but never made sense to me. Now, I have several bean stalks and I suddenly get it. Beans are very sneaky! I also understand Jack-and-the-Bean-Stalk in a way I never did before. Can you spot the sneaky bean below? I made it easy for you. :}

I love fresh green beans. I’ve been eating them raw, steamed, and steamed with extras (like onions, butter, and parmesan). Next year, I want double the plants so I have enough to give away. Our pastor is interested in gardening but didn’t have a good turn out with his own this year. So I tease him that I'm going to bring him our first fruits to eat as the tithe. :}

This last picture is pretty old but newly discovered on the camera. I spent a couple hours harvesting the compost from the worm bin. Wormies eat all our food scraps and give good fertilizer in the form of poo. Awesome huh? All it requires is a little digging now and again. It turns out worms are pretty sneaky too. :D

kitchen envy

I wish my house had much more color. Renting has few drawbacks, in my opinion, but no painting is one of them.

Coming soon – a look at what I’ve been eating (which, surprisingly, my readers seem to like). Last week was full of soups made from fresh veggies of the season. This week, I made several huge meat dishes: perhaps unconsciously storing up fat in my body for a cold winter? :} Most likely, though, just taking advantage of some meaty sale prices.

club

I wish I had a letter writing club. You would all be invited :}

The theology of God as Creator is an important one. The implications are far-reaching and I keep bumping into them. Ancient scrolls of Hebrew historians trace lineage all the way back to the first man or, at least, the earliest man recorded in history (recorded as opposed to theorized on the basis of fossils). In these ancient documents, the first man is a created person not an evolved thing.

Think of any created thing. The creator has a purpose for it, a usage determined, a way to organize, store, clean, display, assemble, and a method to destroy. These boundaries for its existence can be followed or ignored. While a human is much more than a thing, our own awareness can sabotage us from the reality that our existence and the boundaries for it are set by someone other than ourselves.

What am I feeling? What am I doing in life? How am I to treat myself and others? How am I to live before I die? When Someone else has made you, submission is natural. You are not your own. When Someone else has made you, questions of who you are and what your purpose is have a definitive answer. They don’t get lost in the cosmos. They are personal questions asked by one person of the Ultimate Person.

If Creator God made everything, this sheds light on the utter arrogance it is to deny His existence. Did any of us form ourselves or decide when and where and to whom we would be born? No. Fallen humanity is rift with terrifying amounts of pride.

Political implications are here also. If one subscribes to God as Creator, than God’s descriptions of how His creation will act (self-govern) are guideposts for our expectations of how they will interact with laws, etc., (other-governed).

What can we expect out of life, out of ourselves? What can we control, what should we control, how should we attempt to control/not control? God as Creator has significant impact on all of these struggles. This framework has steered me clear of so many subtle influences about who I am or who I should be or how I should operate in the world. And not just who I am here and now but who I am for eternity as I exist forever. I’m still learning from it.

I don’t have a good end, some snazzy way to wrap it all up. The more the theology of God as Creator is applied to what I face in my life or in the world around me, the more I get why the Bible starts with Creation as it’s opening statement. It’s slowly becoming the opening statement for my life as well.

harvest

You’ve heard me mention before that root vegetables are in season: squash, potatoes, carrots. Well, I either didn’t plant any or our plants didn’t make it through the Texas summer with my less than perfect care :] so I don’t have much of a harvest at the moment.

My shinning star is the anaheim pepper plant. The snap-beans are just starting to produce and a small cherry tomato plant gives me a couple here and there. I did go on a cold-weather planting blitz today, despite lingering illness. Hopefully in November, right before the first frost, I’ll have lots of yumminess. In other news, here’s my wonderful clothesline at work :] The clothes smell SO fresh.

waiting

I sat on the bed, struggling to think through the implications of a decision before me. I picked up my journal and wrote all my thoughts out, a stream of conscious sorting method that rarely fails me.

I know I’m derelict with pictures of life. I promise a remedy soon. Until then, the light in this picture reminds me of the setting sun on a bright winter afternoon. My friends have been nostalgic, and wistful, so I’ve got ephemeral company even though it’s sunny outside, hot and humid with heat index’s over 100 degrees; which is ironic considering my last post. :]

Do all good things come to those who wait? Does fall? Because I'm waiting...

windy gray

Milky gray clouds cover the sky, the wind whips my hair into my eyes, I feel chilly goosebumps and a promise that summer is finally gone. I wish I could cozy up at home while open windows refresh. Or ride a bike and bake a cake and sew a beautiful shift from all that gorgeous fabric I’ve saved up. But I’m weak and lulled into tiredness. My body is recovering from violent recoiling and dehydration and fever. My stomach sends messages like “somehow shards of glass are in here” and I try to quell it with gatorade and apologies for eating the eggs. I long for tea. This is Sufjan weather and at least my ears are happy. :]

bookshelf envy

I know I’ve been a little dried up lately. I just don’t have much to say. The thoughts I think have to do with gardening, menu’s, wishing my home was nicer, thankfulness that I don’t have to vacuum today, wondering if sewing is really worth the hassle or if I should just drop $40 bucks on a dress for work (though it irks me that I could probably reproduce it for $8 if only sewing prowess was magically imparted upon me). Daily things, insignificant things, things that take energy. Things that are pretty boring to write about.

I never realized how much I charged forward when I was younger. How, if I was feeling restless or wanted a change, I would simply grab it. I don’t think I practiced much forbearance during those free-falling years. Occasionally, it’s still hard to transition. It’s funny how thin the line is between being inspired by something you see or read (as I plow through Bryson’s travel narrative) and being depressed by it :}

Eat!

I have a new Mediterranean cookbook with which I have since been experimenting. I’m not sure how it happened, but I at least five basil plants so linguine pesto was a natural choice for the inaugural recipe.

2 cups fresh basil leaves
2 cloves garlic crushed
1/4 cup pine nuts toasted (we used almonds instead)
1/2 cup grated Parmesan (PLEASE don’t use that cheap stuff in a plastic green container that is typically and irreverently tossed on spaghetti)
1 lb. Linguine (if it’s whole wheat, all the better!)
1/4th of a purple onion (I added this)
Shaved Parmesan for serving

I cooked the pasta al dente as directed but instead of a food processor (which I don’t own, and frankly, I’m fine with one less appliance) used the blender. The result was fantastic. As an aside, guess what I used as my backdrop for this picture? It’s probably not that hard to guess.

Don't you think the cookbook gets along nicely with it's new family? :]

The Other Side

I know that the “grass-is-greener” tendency is a glaring fault of mine. I also know that perspectives born from this tendency are often skewed and unrealistic. But, in this case, if this lovely space was mine, I would definitely write more letters! :]

Happy Friday!

my nephew!

Little David is so chill!

He was sucking on my arm in hungry shortly after this picture. Apparently, he was disappointed in me for not having any milk to give him :]

reading

In between helping my friend move this past weekend and my brother move last weekend (can you say: tiring!), I’ve been coasting through my library stash. Issac’s Storm is fantastic! It is a compelling look at the hurricane which struck Galveston in 1900, to this day the most deadliest hurricane to hit the U.S., and how man’s ego, human error, national identity and historical meteorology all played a role. The book is not based on a true story – it IS the story, meticulously research and grippingly told. It’s All Too Much is a rare self-help book that’s actually interesting to read. Peter Walsh’s great personality comes through in his writting. I’ve kicked off a purging bin whereby I’m organizing, donating, and cleaning out the house! Couplehood was funny 10 years ago when I read it, but a second glance makes me realize most of the humor isn’t relevant (unfortunately). It would probably be funny to someone reading it for the first time, even with the age factor. Apartment Therapy is eye candy, pure and simple! My Bible Study group is reading a commentary on Romans (though, in the interest of full disclosure, this book is not from the library. I own it). And sewing couture was really boring. That’s all I’ve got for you until I get pictures of my nephew, garden, or latest cooking experiments.

forgive

Sometimes, you come to a point when you realize your struggle is not with circumstance, need, or relationship but with sin. And when you come to know this, the battle is no longer a matter of the head but of the heart. When you know and you still struggle with the feeling or the act or the want, you don’t need someone to tell you it’s wrong. You don’t need correction, you need forgiveness. You need the grace and the kindness of God (Romans 2) to be shown to you by someone stronger than yourself.

I had a time of confession last night, first to other believers and then to God. Today, He demonstrated kindness toward me in a very tangible, mind-blowing way. And it’s not a reward for admitting to Him my sin. No, it’s His answer to my cry for help.

Praise be to God.

I'm having a little case of kitchen envy today. :] I especially love the floors!

inspiration found: a love story

For those of you who don’t know:

I don’t remember how I met him, only that we became fast friends. In those heady days of collegiate social craziness, I loved my sister tagging along. I was pretty self-absorbed so it was several years later that I stopped long enough to listen and realize she liked him. As one of my best pals, he’d been coming over for family Christmas’, game night, and just about every social function of which she and I were a part. We all went on road trips together. Summer things. Youthful things. Carefree things.

But she had a care, a deep care and I decided to do something about it. Sure, he could be my best bud and my stout boy-crazy heart wasn’t the least tempted, distracted instead with a series of entertaining boyfriends. My sister’s heart, on the other hand, was sheltered, wary, loyal, and didn’t heal as quickly (perhaps it was, in fact, more open than my own and thus capable of being broken in the first place). I asked him straight up if he liked her. He said no. I told him to stop being best buds with her. His niceness was fuel for unrequited feelings.

In all frankness, he didn’t listen to me and proceeded to be a jerk for the next five years (disguised as her best friend). I know she wouldn’t have had it any other way – that’s the one fault of her unending loyalty. They lived near each other, served the same youth-group together, had parties together and sat content in their deep abiding friendship. At least, he was content, and she was content for his benefit (because she’s a heck of alot more giving and a heck of alot less selfish than I am). And all the time, people saw and wondered and then fumed and finally, gave up.

I had been urging her to find another object of affection. She had, for a while, convinced me she was over him (I accepted this persuasion hoping to make it more true). He often fluctuated between niceness and absence; her friendship a steady rock he could reach for, unless he didn’t need it.

Finally, she gave up too.

Then he realized he loved her. He professed. But was it too late?

Too many stupid books and stupid movies have influenced us. Would she, like so many characters, let her damaged pride dictate her response? Would she make him wait, wonder, pay for nine years of easy singleness while she stood quiet and supportive, by him? Was her heart too broken, too hard, too bitter, too closed?

As much as we’d like to think movies like Pride and Prejudice are the ultimate love story – they are not. She lost and then loved but did not throw conditions upon a human love to feed the need of her own self (pity and pride). No. Humble acceptance with gratitude of the thing, with tainted past and imperfection, for which she had so longed: him.

At last.

that kind of day

Some days, your only accomplishment is getting food on the table. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

• Chicken Breasts cooked (slowly!) in olive oil, sprinkled with Lowery’s seasoning, basil, and garlic powder, then chopped.
• Bell peppers and mushrooms stir-fried in the left over chicken grease (is that gross?)
• Pad Thai Noodles from a box with sauce from the same box (hey, boxes are handy sometimes)

oh july...

I languish in July. The heat, the slowness of academia in my office, the weariness of being still and hot. By July, I’ve lost the dreamy ideals of summertime and yet find no promise of fall – August holds that promise – not July.

It’s the same way with February. I find myself dreary of the cold and rain and the optimism of coziness has vanished. Yet March holds the promise of spring, not February.

These are the months in which I consistently find myself void of energy and despairing of goals, hopes, and dreams. The hottest month and the coldest month are the last big hurdles, after a series of hurdles, to spring and fall. I’m running up to them on inspirational empty. It’s no wonder I stumble.

I’ve never been good at pacing myself and perseverance is not my strongest virtue.

“so let me tell the truth
let me come alive
let me build bridges
into your life
I’m sick of being born
again and again
i don’t need conditions to
let you in”
-aereogramme: barriers

last week's menu

Creamy Chicken with Spinach

Pasta with Chicken, Tomatoes, and Feta

Roasted Carrot and Avocado Salad

Garbanzo Bean Burrito

I dream of having my garden to a place where, instead of the grocery store, I simply step outside :D

get away

I long to get away, from the cold slabs of metal and the click click of the hospital hallway that I've been frequenting so much this summer. I remember this canyon, how beautifully lonely it was. How the wind was so fierce you could never tell if it was your friend or not. The same with the sun. No beeping, no monitors, no death, just lots of aliveness in the form of scrubby little trees and grasshoppers and beetles. Small things.

transit

I struggle with the mass of strangers I pass by each day. To assume most need kindness is right. To ignore the evilness of man is foolish. Who among them means me harm? The first moment is not enough to tell. Would I cast pearls to swine to meet all strangers with kindness? Would naivity make me their victim? But I cannot be harsh to all – this world is harsh and to be harsh is to be of this world.

So I struggle.

And you, how do you respond to strangers? Cold & defensive, kind & open, suspicious, ignoring and dehumanizing? If it is with kindness and openness, how do you react to the ice-water shock when your openness is met with harshness?

In other words – how does one be in the world and not of the world? And why doesn’t anyone have a satisfactory answer to this question? It begs, as do most questions, a simple reliance on the Holy Spirit. But my controlling flesh really hates that answer. :]

How the garden grows

Growing vegetables in the early morning light. Just beyond the tomatoes you can see Skyler (my trusty squirrel deterrent).

Growing outside is zucchini, watermelon, tomatoes, corn, basil, a pumpkin, some mini bell peppers, and amaranth – a leafy green that loves the heat and resembles spinach in taste. Pretty good for a rental yard, eh? Maybe one day I'll own some land...sigh...

It's Thursday

I made this curry rice dish last night and it was really tasty. I used brown rice instead of white and should've cooked it in chicken stock (it was a little bland) but I'll do that next time. I cooked the brown rice in a separate pot and then about 10 minutes before it was done, threw it in the skillet with 1.5 cups of extra water. This was an easy way to use left-over shrimp in the freezer and utilize the prolific basil plant on my porch.

Along with the desire and determination to live more lady-like and enjoy my femininity to its fullest, I've also decided to be more vocal about my perspective on life (spiritually, politically, emotionally). I have a strange feeling that, in an effort to offend no one, we have lost our voice and the consequent ability to learn from each other. You're probably thinking, 'but SJ, you're vocal already.' Well, I know how many times I ponder certain aspects of life and never have the courage to address or discuss them. But I feel I'm missing out - and the women of my generation are missing out - on the powerful ability to help each other find clarity in the confusion around us and then encourage each other to act upon what we've learned: from God, friends, and life in general. Have we stopped sharing, stopped teaching, stopped learning? Maybe not... but some days, it sure feels like it.

I think perhaps the world envies me my womanhood.

Isn't this one of the most beautiful dresses you've ever seen (though wearing it might be a bit too revealing, it is stunningly beautiful!)?

I have recently pondered femininity and its seeming resurgence. Activities like cooking, sewing, child-rearing, gardening, and decorating seem to have more subscribers than I remember. Fashions like vintage dresses are booming. The joy of being a girl and a woman is bursting forth onto many different secular scenes, appearing to be uncontainable.

I believe there is freedom in being a 'keeper of the home'. Much like an artist finds freedom of self-expression in a certain medium, women can find freedom by expressing their identity and values on the canvas of their home. I long for the satisfaction of organizing and keeping the home. Giving 10 hours of my day to a commute and office work is becoming harder and harder. Being a prolific blog reader, I now encounter the longing for this joy where once there was the flexing of the strong female arm in keeping up with Mr. Jones.

I'm not saying every woman is called to the home. But I have to wonder when the secular masses (and the products they buy) start expressing a longing for home economics & femininity. Is it a reaction to discovering the career-driven generation ahead of us are tired, burned out, and joyless? This brings me to a post I wrote over three years ago that still appears to ring true:

'My roommate and I were discussing themes we discovered in the writings of three females from the generation of women's rights (two were Christian). Two particular themes were taking care of yourself and despair. The last one surprised me in it's intensity. When the feminist movement took place, it was built on an already philosophical shift to modern thought which focused first on self. Such philosophy is reflected notably in Nora Ephron's book: I feel bad about my neck.

Thus, women started investing in their careers, divorcing their husbands, and making an amazing art out of parenting so that those who did stay home could justify child rearing by turning it into a veritable profession (Nora speaks of this in her book). They were "free" to listen to their wants and act on them. In fact, it was "right" to do this. Modern woman grew up saying and living by this mantra: 'listen to your body and do what it says'.

Sadly, that generation is getting old and facing death and what they communicate through books, movies, etc. is despair and denial. The natural outcome of their approach is a huge weight of responsibility on the individual for meaning in life. They spent their days listening to themselves and look back to find nothing and they can't even bear to look forward because they find nothing there either. It's depressing. Nora ends her book going from a paragraph on death to using her favorite bath oil. She comes right up to death but can't bear to go beyond it.

Christianity is shocking in comparison. We die to ourselves. We have hope instead of despair. We look beyond death. Even if our answers don't make sense to a non-Christian, at least they can see we're brave enough to ask. Nora's use of denial is unmistakable and glaring. And so I'm glad - glad that Christianity is shockingly upside down from modernism. "

God created the woman to 'help' and there we find a concentration on others instead of self. He created us with curves and beauty and not the strong arm of the male. We are not to keep up with Mr. Jones, we are reveling in being Ms. or Mrs. Jones (with all her womanly intelligence and strength). Importantly, we find the weight of meaning for life carried by the One who designed us. By acting according to His instructions we can live joyfully and die joyfully. This is shocking to the world and may be just the thing for which they truly long and deeply search.

picnic

Summertime is here and to celebrate this with a picnic is very appropriate. Don’t worry about your Sunday nap – it can be had in the sun. Don’t worry about your Sunday brunch – it can be prepared on Saturday and chilled (is this not most biblical? :-) Don’t worry about your weekend dating, a picnic is sated with romance, alone or accompanied. Don’t worry about the dishes – nature will take back its own fiber plates soon enough. Don’t worry for time – leisure is your aim. Conversation is the order of the day. Don’t worry about your lack of red hair or basketed bicycle for I have neither and still fasten to the dream of picnicking. Ah – but I romanticize. Enough of that – where’s the bug spray??

waxing eloquent about...the weather

What is it about weather that makes it a common bond of discourse among all men? The stranger on the bus, with which I share so few interests, can instantly be made a friend by remarking on the weather. “It would be a beautiful day if it weren’t so hot!” “At least there is a breeze!” “Yes, thank God for the breeze.”

When rain meant food on the table, the weather gave men a deeper connection: survival. This connection was spiritual, unprejudiced, and uncontrollable. Rain falls on the good and the evil, the poor and the rich. Weather was a leveler of men by the hand of God. Since we’ve killed God (according to Nietche) weather is only a leveler of men. Yet, by that very fact, we hear whispers of a gap - the uncontrollable Origin denied.

I love the weather. It’s not the enthusiastic predictions by my father in the early years and the anticipation he created, nor those moments clinging to the mast of our oak while a thunderstorm tossed me with the breath of cool mist, it is that recognition of a force totally unaffected by any of man’s scheming. We can only react and never resist.

Despite those early encounters, I was never aware that weather was a profession until my course was set toward other work. But I am not tempted to meteorology. I don’t want to understand everything materially possible about the weather. I know satellites and radars help prevent deaths so I’m grateful for their place, but prediction feels like a hollow attempt to control what is not ours. Like a dance off beat, man’s movement with the weather minus God, is odd and somewhat sad.

I have a garden and it is dry. My rain barrels are empty and I pray for them to be filled. My vegetables are sparse, small, and bitter. And I know now, in a way that I did not before, that God feeds me everyday. The weather is the movement of His living hand sustaining the world, undimmed by men, ever witnessed yet never acknowledged. The mystery of it draws me.

politics

Yes, it's that time again - for sj to go all political in her post :].

I have been sympathetic to the plight of Palestinians much as I am toward Afghans and Iraqis and all civilians caught in the middle of wars decided by their leaders. When I listened to NPR on the way home from backpacking Sunday, May 30, I heard Greta Berlin, organizer of the flotilla describe her organization's unwavering goal to break the blockade. When asked by the interviewer why she did not accept Israel's offer to deliver the supplies after inspection at a port designated for humanitarian aid into Gaza, she responded that her goal was to not simply transport supplies but to break the blockade.

I think Israel poorly executed the raid on the flotilla. However, they were within their legal right to stop the ships. A blockade is a viable military alternative that American has employed against Japan and Cuba and the international law which governs conflicts at sea was not violated. If a vessel ignores all warnings and willingly sails into an existing blockade, it is an offensive action, and defensive actions by the blockading country should not come as a shock to anyone.

The blockading nation, under international law, can request an approaching vessel to stop for inspection. If the vessel does not comply, it can be subject to capture. International law does not allow for the boat to be sunk, but it can be attacked if it resists capturing.

I'm really sorry for the Palestinian people. I believe they are probably living in poverty but I'm also sure that the truth is not as easy as blaming Israel. Hamas is considered to be a terrorist organization and could very well be responsible for most of the poverty in the country it controls. But let's cut the hypocritical talk about war crimes and the sense of indignation that a country had the balls to defend it's own border. We would have done no less (in fact, we probably would've done much more) if someone tried to break a blockade we set up or if a neighboring country declared itself our enemy and lobbed rockets at us.

love

My sister marries this Saturday. My brother arrives today. My parents arrive Wednesday. The calendar is filled so the blog will be sparse.

I am reading The Kings English (1908) and am challenged to brevity in my writing. This challenge may be difficult to meet since I’m prone to loquaciousness. The English language is ever mutating and I don’t want to contribute to the proliferation of meaningless, unclear, or wasteful words. But I probably do and probably will continue. Still, I like reading the book and I like the challenge it gives me.

I took more pictures of Megan. Some nurses make comments about my attachment to her, rightly insinuating that it will be difficult for me when she goes home. I will be very glad when she goes home but also sad to not hold her or sing to her everyday. I may be projecting but I wonder if there isn’t also an insinuation, wrongly, that I should guard against developing a strong attachment to her. I can’t help but think of John 3:16 paraphrased: for God was so attached to us that He gave the life of His Son so He could be attached to us forever [even though most of humanity willingly rejects the attachment]. That little girl needs to be held and loved and I am in the honored position of doing both for a little while. So will I do, without regard to the painful ending (for me) that is sure to come. And I will be deeply thankful for the honor.

Maybe I'm bored but this was so FUNNY to me:

salad

Fresh greens from my garden = yummy salad with spinach, lettuce, beet leaves, carrots, and beets.

faith

I said a few words at a memorial Wednesday. The last time I did that was 2002 for Becca G. I visited Connie's home and we talked of Elizabeth's death. The last time I visited her was 2005 and we were speaking of Nancy's death.

There is no comparison. When you live through an event so different, so full, it takes awhile to find words that fit. I can't comprehend the loss of a spouse.

I didn't have a four year old look up at me and say, "My mommy died" and struggle to choke out the words "I know, honey."

He taught me something, that little boy. We talked of sadness and missing her in short sentences before things like playing and drinking distracted him. His life is shattered by the loss much more than mine but he doesn't cry. He doesn't blink. He solemnly addresses the matter and with all faith that life will be okay, he gets up and moves forward. It's not naivety, it's simplicity because he's right. His life will be drastically different but it will still continue. We adults can't stop the chaos inside that constantly screams - how can things go on? He taught me to remember the faith I once had. Though it comes harder now, it can be simple again. It needs to be simple again.

In the face of death, faith is the only way to keep living.

bye-bye

I'll fly away
Oh glory
I'll fly away
When I die
Hallelujah by-and-by
I'll fly away.

Elizabeth passed away this morning. I don't have much to say. The peace which passes all understanding still doesn't negate the pain.

Please Pray!

My friend Elizabeth, wife and mother of three, goes into surgery at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow (Thursday) to remove a carcinoid (cancer) tumor for her lung. The doctor's were originally hoping to delay the surgery because she's six months pregnant with her fourth and her baby's lungs aren't quite developed. But after testing, they've determined the tumor needs to come out as soon as possible (spots on her liver have been discovered). She's on steroids to help the baby's lungs develop in case she goes into labor during the surgery. Please pray for safety for both Elizabeth and her baby Megan. I was able to visit her briefly in ICU a couple of days ago and she was in good spirits but this is probably very scary for her family.

Thank you my friends!

canoe

Since Texas doesn't have much topography, but we have a lot of lakes (all man made, admittedly) canoeing is our substitute for hiking. ;} The view from where I sit:

I have good friends.

Mulligatawny what?

Soup, to be precise. I arrived home Friday, after a very long day at work, and enjoyed a simple, tasty, nutritious meal. Mulligatawny soup was brought back by the English from India in the 18th century. It boasts of curry, lentils, cloves, chicken, raisins, and rutabaga. From scratch it is, in a word, fabulous!

random update

Super busy times at work recently. Lots of dissertations from graduating students to ferry around – from students living in New Zealand to readers at Duke in North Carolina, there is much to keep up with! My lower back has been bothering me for three days now. I’m ready for some relief but I have not the faintest clue what’s causing the pain.

As I type, e-mail, file, call, sign, and print, a steady stream of these people keep me company. Happy Thursday! Graduation is just around the corner…

reading

The train is where I write most of my posts: in my head while the scenery whizzes. Recently I haven’t been thinking or looking out the window and consequently no new posts have been constructed. I have been reading. Leaving the current world behind, I enter one far away in time, space, and essence.

Long ago, in response to a catalyst I can’t remember, I bought and read East of New York, West of Kabul which remains one of the best books I’ve ever known. A seed was planted, one of interest and wonder about the subject. I’m watering the seed now with borrowed books from the library (I love the library!) I finished Kabul Beauty School and am currently midway through An Unexpected Light. I’m pretty sure they’re both overdue :] The first takes place in 2003 after the Taliban were dethroned and the thick verbose Unexpected Light takes place before the Taliban but after the Russians withdrew. The two books present an interesting contrast with snapshots of one country in different times. But they also provide a gender contrast. The book written by a woman gives us the world of women and the book written by a man gives us the world of men. Aside from the family unit, these worlds do not collide. Two different authors, two different decades but the divide remains the same.

As I discover the history of this land rich in beauty, culture, and struggle, I’m fascinated by a legacy that never reached the future. The ethnic and gender divide was not so sharp as it is now. [though there is always struggle in every land between tradition and non-tradition] In the 1960’s, before the Russians ravaged the land girls could wear nail polish, be educated, interact (veiled not burqa’d) with men, etc. People helped each out regardless of ethnicity. There was a unity and progression from the grassroots that existed…until Russian trampled the hell out of it and we left them high and dry. Idealogy was lost when several generations were killed, unable to pass along to their children the legacy of their heritage.

What have you been reading lately?

sewing

I might as well come clean: I have a sewing complex.

I troll the sewing blogs and internet stores for fabric and patterns. A pile slowly grows next to my desk with each new little purchase. I read tips about making a muslin and sewing an invisible zipper. I wonder if I should purchase a serger; I eye my scissors knowing they need sharpening and my machine knowing it needs cleaning. I hand-stitch a stray button here and a ripped hem there. For a Christmas present, I sewed my a table runner that required, oh, four seams.

But I rarely actually sew.

I could argue that my kitchen table is too small and my coffee table too low. But the truth is that I’m paralyzed by the thought of all that effort resulting in a crappy product. Right now, there’s unrealized potential instead of disappointing failure. And it’s so tempting to reside in the potential zone rather than the failure zone.

Yet, when I gaze at a beautiful $78.00 dress online, I know that I could probably attempt at least 12 dresses for that same price and certainly, the twelfth time is bound to be good right?

Oh! fear of failure, will you never leave me?

a bit of everything

So my notebook is filled with pages of thoughts and notes on healthcare, scribbled in the moments on the train when I actually have time to think. I’m too tired, though, to organize and present it thoughtfully. Maybe soon. In the meantime, the economist magazine had a good write-up on the bill. They stated succinctly that the bill’s strength is its coverage (eliminating difficulty for those with pre-existing conditions to get insurance and creating subsidies for those who can’t afford insurance) but its weakness is cost control (premiums will go up, higher taxes, etc.) My thoughts on the matter have more to do with the nature of government. It is not a non-personal entity with money to spend. Government is one man governing another man (a biblical concept). Most of my questions come in to play with the “how” man governs another man who has ceased to govern himself (poor spending, working, exercising, and eating habits).

There you have most of the concepts and thoughts I’m working through. Even though I haven’t written much about it, I’ve been thinking much about it and so feel the need for a break and for some inspiration.

I went to a bookstore yesterday and read some fun books on sewing and baking. Then I wrote out a “not-my-hobby” list. This may seem silly but I get distracted by things for a while, immerse myself in them, eventually get bored, and then return to my real hobbies, sad that they’ve been neglected. So to keep myself on track and less wasteful with my time, I had to create a reminder of what wasn’t my hobby. :] Besides wishing for more time and more sleep, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. Mostly for trees. That seems random, I know. But I practically lived my whole childhood in a tree. Perhaps it’s all those complex thoughts on government which leaves me longing for simplicity.

That’s my scattered post for the day.