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.

A week of thanks {Monday}.

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



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.

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.

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. 

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?

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.

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?