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Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A season for anticipation.


Meet Caroline Mallory.

 

A beautiful soul. A dear friend. One of the most adorable people anyone will ever meet.  And the biggest Christmas lover I know. She agreed to share some of her words on Christmas with me. I hope you thrive off of her perspective as much as I have!

From Caroline:

I have always loved Christmas. I look forward to it the whole year and anyone who knows me knows that I go crazy about it. I am one of those people that start a countdown in August. I listen to Christmas music in July. I carry around my Christmas coffee mugs all year round, and I know every line to “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” The Christmas season has always brought carols, twinkling lights, sugar cookies, the smell of pine throughout my house, and family descending to fill my home with laughter and chatter. Over the last couple of years though, Christmas has begun to change me. The more I saw and experienced brokenness in me and around me, the more powerful Christmas became. The familiar carols that I had been singing my whole life finally captured my attention, the words sunk in and I stopped singing them out of habit.
            As my heart began to change, the season of Advent became very important to me. Advent is a season where I feel the presence of God more strongly in my life than any other time. I can feel it all around me, and it’s almost palpable.  Advent is about waiting, patience, and anticipation. Every year on Christmas Eve my mother used to say as she tucked me in, “the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it will be morning!” But it never worked and I would lay there for what seemed like hours, imagining what the next morning would hold. That kind of anticipation is the same anticipation and excitement that I have during this Advent season. Advent is about having hope and believing that this brokenness will one day end.  Advent is about celebrating what has come, and what is to come. It is about Jesus, the Creator of the universe coming in the weakness of an infant, and entering into the brokenness.  Advent is a reminder of the depth to which God loves and delights in me because He gave up the majesty of heaven to experience pain, betrayal, and humiliation, all to save me. Christmas is where the story of redemption and the defeat of sin and death begins.
 I know that we live in a fallen world and that not everyone has good connotations with Christmas. For some of you Christmas is filled with stressful family situations and you are relieved to come back to school. Or perhaps for some of you Christmas means a crammed calendar of endless Christmas parties full of forced merriment. Or maybe the thought of Christmas fills you with cynicism over the consumerism of America. Or maybe this year you have lost something or someone and everything will be different. My heart hurts for you, because Christmas isn’t supposed to be painful, it’s supposed to be filled with joy and peace. But the thing I love about Advent is that it offers something more than false cheer: it offers hope.  Advent says that the King has come, that he was “born that man no more may die, born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth” and he will come again to take away our pain. “Chains shall he break…and in his name all oppression shall cease.” This darkness will not last, because the Light has come. He is making all things new and Advent gives us a chance to step back and remember His promises, see His faithfulness in our lives, and anticipate the fulfillment of what is to come.
I’ve been clinging to these words:
 
 O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice!”
 I feel captive, and the pain of living in this broken world is sometimes too much to bear. But Advent stills my heart, letting me rejoice and see that there is so much good around me.  If you are facing a difficult Christmas, my prayer for you is that you would have hope in this season, that you would experience God’s presence in a powerful way, and that the Incarnation would break through the busyness of this season and give you joy. Be still, take time to rest, meditate on the Christmas story. Let the power of those words wash over you as you prepare to leave for home. Let the truths of this season refresh your soul. Immanuel has come, “Christ with Us” has come.
“For to us a child is born,
   to us a son is given,
   and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
   Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
 Of the greatness of his government and peace
   there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
   and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
   with justice and righteousness
   from that time on and forever.”

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Thoughts on the season.

December is a busy month. Hence my silence. I know you probably thought the lack of posts was thematic--an object lesson in waiting to honor the Advent season--but it isn't true.

I didn't celebrate Advent growing up. I picked up on the concept of Advent during college through books, church and friends. I have thrived off the reverence and focus of Advent as a framework for the time leading up to Christmas. It has given me lovely words to hold onto in the midst of the busyness: waiting, expectancy, stillness.

More importantly, this way of thinking about the season has helped focus my attention on the coming of Christ. It helps to restore the sense of wonder at the story of God becoming a human and at the implications of that story for the world in general and me in particular.

Over the week that remains between now and Christmas, I intend to post on the season. No promises on frequency (remember Thanksgiving?), but I can promise some beautiful words from the biggest Christmas lover I know. I believe they call it a guest post. Suspenseful, I know. So check back!

If you're looking for an Advent study for this year (no shame...it's that busy December thing), John Piper has a great free one out this year. You can find it here.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

A week of thanks {Tuesday}.

The rain came down steadily all day, and I spent it as I would love to spend every rainy day. My sister-in-law and I sat on the couch under layers of blankets with mugs of hot coffee in our hand. We watched Little Women. I snuggled the world's cutest baby. Could there be a sweeter way to rest?

I am grateful for breaks built into the rhythm of life. Whether it is the planned space of a holiday or compliance to the prompting of the weather, I give thanks for rest.

Monday, November 25, 2013

A week of thanks {Monday}.

 Pealing, ringing, belting, gasping. Chuckling, snickering, giggling, gut-busting.

http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnwdy43aKy1qf6jy9o1_400.jpg

Today, I am thankful for laughter. For the peculiar sense of freedom. For the abandonment of dignity. For the wholesome, contagious reaction.

When I really laugh, my eyes start streaming tears, my face crinkles uncontrollably and I lean forward until I am literally almost doubled over. Those are the moments where the ridiculous is impervious to self-consciousness. What a true, delightful, genuine way to connect with other human beings!

Let loose and laugh loud, friends.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

On failure.


I want desperately to be a gardener. I want to love the feel of dirt on my hands and the sight of budding life enough to work at cultivating and nurturing nature. But I am not a gardener. I love the idea of gardening enough to cultivate the dream, but not enough to pursue the action necessary. So my impossible to kill oregano and mint plants wither away beyond saving and my succulents barely survive despite and not because of my efforts.

I've been thinking often of failure, lately. I am a first year teacher, after all, and the hosts tell me that the first year is one of trial and error, heavy on the error. In my American Lit class, we are just getting into The Scarlet Letter. The story is one of failure and shame. The heroine's failure is flaunted before society as a warning against sin. The persistence of the public shaming may also be connected to the fear of being identified with the sinner. The society sees blatantly in Hester Prynne what they feel subtly in their own hearts. Punishing her openly for an extended period of time suppresses that sin for at least a little while and distracts anyone who may otherwise catch a glimpse.

So what's the connection between Hester and my dead herbs?

Both attest to the inevitable presence of failure. People mess up--either in big sin ways or in small forgetful ways. In my job I often feel I am trying balance armfuls of overflowing dishes while trying to scoot the one I just broke into the corner before anyone notices. I feel guilty when I mess up and reassess every move I made to try and figure out what went wrong. Then I throw together a list of goals with a to do list tacked on to get me to my next finish line flawlessly, glowing with success, staggering under the weight of admiration.

The issue here is that I believe I can eradicate failure from my life. More that that, I believe I should eradicate failure from my life. But when I put the pressure of perfection on myself I am denying reality.

Reality demands a finer line: accepting without settling for failure.

Acceptance of my failure past, present and even future is a good thing. Acceptance says, "Yes, you are here." Settling, on the other hand, says, "Yes, you are here and we deserve each other. Might as well get used to it."

Only one thing empowers this acceptance while preventing the seemingly natural progression into settling. In Christ, my failure is redeemed and my future is a promise. The fear of failure no longer needs to drive me to fear-filled shaming of myself or other people. In the amazing freedom of an identity entirely separate from my failure, I can actually start to learn and grow.

And just maybe I can push through all that failure and grow something in God's green earth while I'm at it.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Multitude Monday {11.4.13}

When the din of my complaining makes my brain hurt, I need the quiet of gratitude. So here is a sampling of the plenty I so often forget to remember:

A view of morning sunlight through my windshield.

The way buildings look against a bright blue sky. And pairing the view with good conversation and a cup of coffee. 

Emma Thompson's voice and John Donne's words. If you haven't seen the movie Wit, clear a day when you will have no need of emotional stability, grab a box of tissues, some cozy blankets, and a book of John Donne's poetry. You might want to be alone, unless the company of another will have no effect on your emotional vulnerability. Watch. Weep. Read. Weep.

Soup that actually has flavor. I made this white chicken chili with the addition of black beans and red salsa instead of green.

And finally, a whole month building to a crescendo of Thanksgiving. 


Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Mom and Robert Frost

I've had a number of false starts as I've tried to begin this blog post tonight. I began to write about perfectionism (that one will come when I get it just right), heroes and writer's block. Each time I felt listless before the end of the first sentence.

Then my mom called and asked what I was doing. When I told her I was trying to write a blog post, she said, "Oh! Then I'll let you go so you can concentrate."

My mom has always thought I am a smarter, better person than I really am. She also tells me how much she loves reading my blog. Her excitement for a new post is genuine and her support made me pause and think for a moment about the people in my life who do a good job of supporting me. The list is long and thinking through it reminded me of my favorite poem, "The Silken Tent" by Robert Frost.

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.


Tonight I'm thankful for the countless ties of love and thought that push me closer to the silken tent woman I want to be. 

Are there any poems that inspire or charm your soul?

Monday, October 21, 2013

Multitude Monday {10.21.13}


For Saturday yard sales, friends around a fire pit, good conversation and the best baby in the world: I give thanks.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Warmth on this rainy day.

I spent the day listening to seminars at a satellite conference hosted by my school. One of the conferences on technology talked about the fast-paced nature of our world. We are constantly overstimulated; numerous sources vie for our attention every day. I feel it when I check my phone first thing in the morning, bounce between tabs on my web browser and plan my lessons while listening to a seminar on educational technology. In the midst of distractions flashing like neon signs, I need moments to stop and breathe and think and wait.

That's when I make a big pot of soup.

Tonight I made sweet potato cauliflower soup. It is very simple and easy to make, but the process is slow and involves a lot of waiting. The waiting worked out for me, though. I read Chaucer and did some laundry as the soup did its thing.

If you're interested, you can find the recipe here. The simplicity of the soup was great (only 5 ingredients plus water), but it needed some spice.

Any tips on spicing up a sweet potato based soup?

Monday, October 14, 2013

Multitude Monday {10.14.13}

My multitude:

The way the sky looks when I'm laying in a hammock.



Breakfast for dinner and the way it makes me feel like I'm getting away with something. When I have a family to feed, we will treat breakfast for dinner like a grand, stealthy adventure. 



The end of quarter one at school. Hoorah for surviving my first 25%!

And a weekend at home within my reach.

Be energized by gratitude, friends.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Old truth, new arrangement.



Rock of Ages (When the Day Seems Long)


"Your promise holds just like an anchor to my soul."


Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Close from far away.

My friends have been scattered to the four corners of the earth.


Not to be histrionic or anything.
(Histrionic: (adj.) theatrical, artificial, melodramatic. Thank you, teaching job, for teaching me new vocab words.)

Back to the unexaggerated main point. This year is a a transition year for me and for many of my friends as well. Some have graduated and some have gotten married. We have taken new jobs and moved to new cities and countries. A few months ago my friends faces were five minutes away from me at any given moment. Now a phone call must close the distance between us. As grateful as I am for modern technology, the distance looks a lot like loss most days.

At the same time, losing the immediate presence of my close friends is teaching me some lessons. I say "is teaching" because these lessons are in process. I see them intermittently, like a picture coming through the filmy gray of a Polaroid.


I am first learning the treasure of true friends. My dear ones are ladies who know my heart because they have taken the time to prod and question. When I am with them, I am seen with deep acceptance. They see my sin--have suffered under the weight of it, in fact--yet press in closer. They value the quirks and facets of my personality which I feel free to show when I am with them. They believe I am smart and gifted, and their belief enables me to live boldly. Most importantly, they preach the Gospel to me daily in their words and actions.

Do you know this kind of friendship? I hope so.

I am secondly learning that love moves out. God's love is a gathering place and a sending source. This love brought my friends and I together for a sweet time. We defined friendship for one another, and now He has sent us far and wide with that experiential definition of friendship. In a world marked by wrecked relationships, a small battalion of women believe that the hard work of building friendships pays off. Wherever we live, we can testify to the way that He uses friendship.

A heart that aches for friends who are far away is a heart that has experienced immense blessing. What now? I hope the answer is a movement of gratitude and not bitterness.





Tuesday, October 1, 2013

A love letter

To October.


Here you are, once again one-upping August and September. Those two bring newness, and for that I am thankful. But they also cling to summer and seem to embody all of the hard parts of change.

And then you come along with cool weather, pumpkins, bonfires, boots and scarves. Every crunching leaf seems like a promise I can't quite identify but still trust wholeheartedly. The air, crisp and smoky, makes me stop just to breath long and slow.

You look to be a busy month, with packed weekdays and no vacation. It will be long and I feel worn and weary at the beginning. When these burdens feel heavy and my feet start to drag through the day-to-day, all I have to do is step outside. I look for new signs of Autumn--that air, that smell, those sounds and colors-- and rejoice because in the midst of the busyness, there will also be deep bursting color, an apple festival and maybe a fair.

Why does hope distinctly resemble the changing leaves this time of year? Maybe because death that leads to life speaks to the human soul. Maybe because the process unfurls at the hands of a Creator whose eye for beauty is ours as well, however faded our vision. Maybe because our felt need for change at the close of each season speaks to the cosmic need for change, a need that will one day be fully met. Maybe simply because He loves His own and loves to whisper hope.

In any case, here's to you, October. With love.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Have a listen.


      

Ben Howard is a new favorite of mine. If he is new to you, go find the album "Every Kingdom" and soak in his thoughtful lyrics and soul-satisfying sound.   

Monday, September 23, 2013

Multitude Monday {9.23.13}

Another weary Monday in need of some gratitude.

My multitude: 

The slow and steady coming of fall, and fresh pumpkin pie to hurry the process.


An ongoing group message with some of my long distance dear ones, thanks to my fancy phone.

The truth of Psalm 119:32. Obedience is a delight for a heart enlarged by freedom.

Leaving work at 7:30 means I didn't miss this sky.


Thanks for that, God.

May your weariness be turned to wonder.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Roast Stew, an original recipe.


Here's a secret: I don't know very much about meat. I only recently discovered how to stir fry chicken without drying it out. I sometimes forget what animal becomes pork. I am not entirely sure what red meat looks like when it has spoiled. And I do not know the difference between pot roast and stew meat.


I have been harboring stew meat for some time, waiting for just the right day to transform it into pot roast. With hints of fall in the brief moments of crisp air and sparse fallen leaves, that day arrived earlier this week. I tried to find a recipe for what I had in mind. Something that included potatoes and carrots, broth and beef. Something that would turn out a warm blend of savory flavor. Something that would be ready in less than two hours.

I couldn't find a recipe to fit my whim, so I made it up. It started as a stew and ended roasting in the oven. I would say this batch was a rough draft. Rough, but not too shabby.

My process:

First, simmer the meat in olive oil in a soup pot. Add two cups of water. Or more, if you feel like it.

Second, add some Better than Bouillon (from Costco) until your heart tells you to stop. My heart was happy with a little more than a tablespoon.

Third, cut up potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots and onion. Spoon the meat into a casserole dish and add the veggies. Add salt, pepper and a clove of fresh garlic. Pour the broth from the soup pot over the top.

Fourth, cover with foil and cook on 350 for about an hour/hour and a half.

Share and eat hearty.

Any tips to help me in my meat adventures?

Monday, September 16, 2013

Multitude Monday

Mondays really can drag. I usually sleep poorly on Sunday nights. Several times last night I sat up in bed and turned on my light, convinced it was morning and I needed to get out of bed. Then I would look at my clock and spend a minute convincing my sleepy self that I do not, in fact, need to get ready for the day at 2:30 a.m.

Because of my psychotic Sunday sleeping habits, a sick feeling that won't go away and the catch-up game at work, today dragged and left me weary.

And yet.

My tired Monday means a full weekend behind me and a full week ahead of me. Both are good; both propel me toward thanksgiving in spite of myself. Mondays are good days to use thankfulness as a discipline to train my heart to be satisfied.

Here's my multitude:

Chubby smiles from a baby who loves to eat. And a fancy new phone that lets me capture the moment.


Rooms overcrowded with people who love and laugh well.

Sweet friends who make food I can eat before I even ask: chocolate avocado mousse and fajita chicken with fresh salsa.

The security of a job and the immense blessing of loving it.

Spontaneous trips to a used book store with brother, sister-in-law and baby.

A home church full of people who ask questions because they care.

Sharing another season of life with a best friend, even as we live in different cities.


Dinner tonight. (Baked oatmeal...it's like dessert except healthy!)

P.S. I stole the title from somebody, but I don't remember who. If it's you, claim that credit!

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Dinner, with dirt on it.

In my last post I mentioned I visited the farmer's market last Saturday. Casually mentioning the farmer's market is just a little show-offy and pretentious in an earthy sort of way. I really just threw it in for cool points.

Nevertheless, the farmer's market was a defining experience for the week. It is a different way to do grocery shopping: outside, wandering from stall to stall, touching and tasting before you buy. The process of buying food becomes relational. You look a farmer in the eyes and ask questions, knowing that he or she has tended, handled and labored over the goods they sell to you. The market bustles, not hurried or frantic, but with a meandering commotion of real people moving with unrushed purpose.

And dogs. This place serves a dual purpose as a market for the hard working and a showcase for the adorable. People strut around, flaunting their happy relationship with their pup. My day will come.

Digression, I'm sorry. But not really. Dogs are worthy.

Back to the point. I am coming to value the idea of process in the context of food. The relational, unpredictable nature of buying what the farmers were able to bring to town that day, and the slow, exploratory process of cooking that food.

I wish I could show you what is on my plate tonight (I could, but life is too short for pictures when the food is steaming hot). I'm looking at boiled red potatoes tossed in olive oil, garlic salt, pepper and oregano. Kale sauteed in olive oil and garlic and splashed with fresh lemon. Slices of ham warmed up in the skillet.

This meal is beautiful, but not because it is perfect. The kale has too much lemon. The slices of ham are just sandwich meat from Kroger. Yet, this meal is beautiful, because it is real. It came from the earth. I know because I had to wash some of the earth off before I could cook it. The rough dirt and cool water, the sizzle and pop, the zest and salt are all a reminder of the richness of this real, physical world.

Tangible, flavorful grace.

If you want to give the flavor of grace from my kitchen a go, follow my very meticulous recipe. I think the technical term for this is wilted kale.

Pour some olive oil in a skillet.
Throw in a clove of garlic. The key to cutting up garlic is using an absurdly large knife. Smash it with the flat side of the blade and the skin will slide right off. Then chop, chop, chop. 
Tear up a bunch of kale and add it to the skillet.
Saute until it looks like something you want to eat.
Squeeze a little lemon juice over it, but not too much.

Eat and be thankful.


Saturday, September 7, 2013

Home, little by little.

Today was a victory. A significant win. A gap was filled, a wrong righted.

Today, I bought a couch.


I'll start at the beginning, because you don't skimp on the details of a story like this. I started my day meandering around the farmer's market with a friend, sipping coffee, chatting about life, stocking up on healthy stuff. As a side note, I bought kale and Asian eggplants. I've never cooked with either, and I told my friend that those were my daring experiments for the weeks.

Life's a thrill, out here on the edge.

After the farmer's market, we hit up some thrift stores. I have been wanting a couch for my sitting room since I moved in a little over a month ago. (Sitting room? Yes, that's what I call it. Because I am the same age as your grandma.) I guess what I found is technically a love seat, but I bought this gem for $30! That's roughly the amount I spent at the farmer's market and slightly less than what I spent on new pillows. I replaced the heinous gold-trimmed pillows that came with the love seat with new ones from T. J. Maxx. I'm in love.

Maybe not a huge win in the grand scheme of things, but this space feels more like my own. Our physical space matters and cultivating home within it is good, meaningful work.

Here's to gaps being filled, even if the gap was only in my sitting room.



Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Roll it on out.

After much time (crudely dubbed procrastination) and strenuous effort (all in my noggin), the blog has arrived. But, blogs about blogs are trite and, according to some reliable forgotten source, bad form. So I'll cut it short.

I am starting this blog as a creative space to stretch and grow.  And also because I am a twenty-something: it's what we do.

And here's my heart. I love my age and the people close to it. This is a time of newness, freedom, expression and adventure. At the same time, I see in others and feel in myself a tendency to allow disappointed expectations shrivel those lovely words. They become a fear-filled void, and we cope with cynicism. We speak in satire and attempt to bedazzle the gloom with lifestyles that fail to nurture.

I want more for myself and for the ones I love. I want to pursue the fresh, sweet, simple present. And I want to do so in a spirit of discovery.

My discoveries truly will be ordinary. I am focusing on life from one day to the next: working as a teacher, eating nourishing foods, reading good books, growing in friendship.

Care to join?