I find it difficult to dream these days. I wrestle to regain the hope and clarity I had as a child, and perhaps more importantly, the imagination. Sometimes I feel my spirit stir within me--perhaps a passing thought has provoked the sleeping something inside--but I squelch it quickly, afraid to get too caught up in desire, expectation, and passion. Yeah, it's difficult, sometimes, to dream.
What I really want is to dream correctly. I want to be assured that I will receive the object of my hopes and desires by having a righteous, a godly dream. Little do I realize that no matter how "righteous" the dream, I will reap suffering. My psychology still hinges on the thought that all things in life should be fair, and that justice should have the last word...
Why do I crave justice? Why do I crave justice? Why do I crave justice?
I still don't understand; and so I wrestle--wrestle to have dreams that will surely die and be replaced by new and better dreams...that might also die...and yet to cling to hope, and not be cynical, and not be fatalistic.
Oh Lord, help.
March 30, 2009
March 03, 2009
Chicken Soup & Brown Bread
I've discovered that one of my favorite things in the world is a good soup. This surprises me about myself. I've heard this type of satisfied response coming from my mother's lips, but I never thought I would be the one to say it. Partly this is because I was always kind of ho-hum about soup when I was younger. I mean, broth, meat, vegetables--all in one dish, nothing exciting, right? And what could be "plainer" than brown bread (though I ate it with relish as I did any meal she set before me, it was not something I found deep contentment from having consumed, and often felt hungry only a couple hours after...perhaps the consequence of a fast metabolism, perhaps something more).
I had no idea. I didn't slow down long enough to practice and master the art of baking (though mom said if I would only have patience and give it time, I could be a baker just like her). I didn't understand the value of concocting a brew, filling the pot, and as one children's author has put it "stirring away a bad day" (look up the title "Mean Soup" if you ever have the opportunity). Not that every day is bad--not that I need to stir it away exactly; rather, the slow nature of soup-making sets such a perfect rhythm. Merely the making of the chicken soup will do wonders for body and soul.
Mom has recently been thinking and writing a ton about what it truly means to be satisfied (in life, by food, etc.). It has been good to read her thoughts and consider them and how that applies in my own life. Part of what came out of this you see below in my "Rest or Toil" article....I have been learning to slow down and take my time about things--really connecting with deep rest. (Better words come out when my mind and heart have sifted them and mulled over them for a time instead of rushing them to the page). Another part of the result has been that in slowing down, I have finally achieved at least a dozen beautiful loaves of bread, both brown and white--not to mention my happy-children pizza crust (I'm naming it that because my daughters are ALWAYS delighted at the prospect of home-made pizza).
It makes me cry to think of the time I have spent in anxiety and frustration and feeling that I was just not cut out to be a baker--the lies I believed about myself and what I could and couldn't do. These lies came unraveled with a bit of rest, some time for contemplation, and a bit of steeping myself in the habits a baker needs to have in order to turn out wonderful, comforting, warm bread. I was able to bring these habits inside of myself, and wrap my head and heart around the actions until they became second nature. They just "happened" to coincide with a time in my life of internalizing the habits of contemplating Christ, steeping in his word and having integrity in my prayer (i.e. praying what my heart was wrestling with instead of what I thought I was supposed to pray). It is wonderful, comforting, warming to my soul....
But now for some practical application:
I make my soups (risottos, etc.) from homemade stock. I am not a "purist" when it comes to stock. In fact, I'm much more efficiency-minded since we are on a seminary budget. I tend to stockpile veggie parings in a ziplock bag in the freezer until I'm ready to make stock. These are things such as carrot, celery, and onion ends and peels, aging garlic (not too old, it tastes funky), parsley, rosemary & thyme stems/leftovers....and, of course, chicken bones & backs (or beef or lamb or shellfish shells, depending on the type of stock I'm making). I make chicken stock on a bi-weekly basis, minimum. We don't eat chicken more than twice a week, but even the bones leftover from one roast chicken are enough to make 3 quarts of flavorful stock! Here's my method:
Throw chicken bones (and backs, if you have some set aside from piecing a whole chicken) into your largest pot (in my home, this is my pasta pot). Next throw 3-4 handfuls of your veggie parings, including herb & leftovers mentioned above (should be at least 3 cloves of garlic) and a few black peppercorns, and fill the pot up with water (at least 2-3 quarts of water). Bring to a boil. Once it has boiled about 5-10 minutes, skim any foam off of the top, discarding it. Turn the stock down to a simmer, cooking at about a med-lo for a further hour. When the hour is up, turn it off, allow to cool until you can easily handle the pot. Strain out all the solids and toss (they are now flavorless). Voila: you have a flavorful, nutritional, comforting broth ready to be the base for your next comfort-potion.
My soup tonight? Well, let's just put it this way: Chip said he was looking for pieces of faucet (i.e. he felt like I even put the kitchen sink in there) as he ate.
Ingredients included:
celery
garlic
red onion
carrot
thyme
spinach
chicken sausage (with fontina and garlic)
tomatoes
olive oil
salt and fresh-ground black pepper
mushrooms
"o" shaped noodles
parsley & pecorino romano (for finishing--not cooked into it)
As for the bread, I'll have to attack that one another day. Suffice it to say that I finally understood my mother's satisfaction: she had crafted the soup (and bread) from its beginning to its end. She had smelled it, stirred it, gotten her hands into it nearly to the elbow, shaped it, coaxed it into its final form.
And THEN she got to eat it TOO!
(hmmm--now I see the Little Red Hen story from a whole new perspective).
I had no idea. I didn't slow down long enough to practice and master the art of baking (though mom said if I would only have patience and give it time, I could be a baker just like her). I didn't understand the value of concocting a brew, filling the pot, and as one children's author has put it "stirring away a bad day" (look up the title "Mean Soup" if you ever have the opportunity). Not that every day is bad--not that I need to stir it away exactly; rather, the slow nature of soup-making sets such a perfect rhythm. Merely the making of the chicken soup will do wonders for body and soul.
Mom has recently been thinking and writing a ton about what it truly means to be satisfied (in life, by food, etc.). It has been good to read her thoughts and consider them and how that applies in my own life. Part of what came out of this you see below in my "Rest or Toil" article....I have been learning to slow down and take my time about things--really connecting with deep rest. (Better words come out when my mind and heart have sifted them and mulled over them for a time instead of rushing them to the page). Another part of the result has been that in slowing down, I have finally achieved at least a dozen beautiful loaves of bread, both brown and white--not to mention my happy-children pizza crust (I'm naming it that because my daughters are ALWAYS delighted at the prospect of home-made pizza).
It makes me cry to think of the time I have spent in anxiety and frustration and feeling that I was just not cut out to be a baker--the lies I believed about myself and what I could and couldn't do. These lies came unraveled with a bit of rest, some time for contemplation, and a bit of steeping myself in the habits a baker needs to have in order to turn out wonderful, comforting, warm bread. I was able to bring these habits inside of myself, and wrap my head and heart around the actions until they became second nature. They just "happened" to coincide with a time in my life of internalizing the habits of contemplating Christ, steeping in his word and having integrity in my prayer (i.e. praying what my heart was wrestling with instead of what I thought I was supposed to pray). It is wonderful, comforting, warming to my soul....
But now for some practical application:
I make my soups (risottos, etc.) from homemade stock. I am not a "purist" when it comes to stock. In fact, I'm much more efficiency-minded since we are on a seminary budget. I tend to stockpile veggie parings in a ziplock bag in the freezer until I'm ready to make stock. These are things such as carrot, celery, and onion ends and peels, aging garlic (not too old, it tastes funky), parsley, rosemary & thyme stems/leftovers....and, of course, chicken bones & backs (or beef or lamb or shellfish shells, depending on the type of stock I'm making). I make chicken stock on a bi-weekly basis, minimum. We don't eat chicken more than twice a week, but even the bones leftover from one roast chicken are enough to make 3 quarts of flavorful stock! Here's my method:
Throw chicken bones (and backs, if you have some set aside from piecing a whole chicken) into your largest pot (in my home, this is my pasta pot). Next throw 3-4 handfuls of your veggie parings, including herb & leftovers mentioned above (should be at least 3 cloves of garlic) and a few black peppercorns, and fill the pot up with water (at least 2-3 quarts of water). Bring to a boil. Once it has boiled about 5-10 minutes, skim any foam off of the top, discarding it. Turn the stock down to a simmer, cooking at about a med-lo for a further hour. When the hour is up, turn it off, allow to cool until you can easily handle the pot. Strain out all the solids and toss (they are now flavorless). Voila: you have a flavorful, nutritional, comforting broth ready to be the base for your next comfort-potion.
My soup tonight? Well, let's just put it this way: Chip said he was looking for pieces of faucet (i.e. he felt like I even put the kitchen sink in there) as he ate.
Ingredients included:
celery
garlic
red onion
carrot
thyme
spinach
chicken sausage (with fontina and garlic)
tomatoes
olive oil
salt and fresh-ground black pepper
mushrooms
"o" shaped noodles
parsley & pecorino romano (for finishing--not cooked into it)
As for the bread, I'll have to attack that one another day. Suffice it to say that I finally understood my mother's satisfaction: she had crafted the soup (and bread) from its beginning to its end. She had smelled it, stirred it, gotten her hands into it nearly to the elbow, shaped it, coaxed it into its final form.
And THEN she got to eat it TOO!
(hmmm--now I see the Little Red Hen story from a whole new perspective).
March 02, 2009
The Bankruptcy of Busy-ness
The “busy” of life has had its grip on me for nearly two decades. Like Wayne Muller, “I have visited the large offices of wealthy donors, the crowded rooms of social service agencies, and the small houses of the poorest families. Remarkably, within this mosaic there is a universal refrain: I am so busy. It does not seem to matter if the people I speak with are doctors or day-care workers, shopkeepers or social workers, parents or teachers, nurses or lawyers, students or therapists, community activists or cooks...As their work all piles endlessly upon itself, the whole experience of being alive begins to melt into one enormous obligation. It becomes the standard greeting everywhere: I am so busy.” Probably you could echo his quoted observations from your own experiences. Certainly this standard greeting has escaped your own lips often.
Perhaps your story looks like mine: in leaving childhood to begin secondary school, duties increased, studies got longer, sleep hours grew shorter, and the idea of actually sitting down to quietly think or read or pray floated ever more distant into the recesses of my mind. Much quicker to retreat from me: the concept of play and joyful abandon. Now, with two young children and a seminary-eclipsed husband, I hurry about the house or campus, cleaning, cooking, working--buzzing with something at all times. Unable to stop or sit down or enter into the happy activities of my daughters (in spite of their sweet invitations and imploring tones), I define rest as something I must achieve. Devotions become another item on my checklist. (True) worship evaporates entirely. I can not stop until I am “done”.
I have been thinking of rest versus toil for weeks. Turning again and again to biblical poetry to satisfy my soul’s thirst for authenticity, I have found refreshing integrity in the authors’ descriptions of their struggle to know God and to understand his world. In Ecclesiastes, for example, Solomon reflects and repeats the rhythms of life, reminding us that everything has its season. If you are like me, you find yourself singing the Byrds’ tune to this “To everything, turn, turn, turn...”(see Ecclesiastes 3:1-8), and what a grace that popular music would be for us a way to remember the rhythm. God’s word teaches us how to dance through the experiences of life, whether joyous or pain-filled, instead of running, frenetic, “like chickens with our heads chopped off”.
Later on in the book, Solomon states: “Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind.” (Ecclesiastes 4:6). I was stunned by the vision that this verse conjured in my mind. I saw a man clinging to that which he has found in Christ with all of his might. I saw that he had only one hand-hold, one strong hand gripping the precious treasure of peace and rest, and it was enough to transform him. His countenance reflected the calm within, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining and expectant, his other strong arm ready to go about his Father’s business. I saw by contrast the dazed look of a man numbed by his toil and struggle: his eyes glazed-over, framed in fatigue’s black circles. In his pale face, with lined brow and sunken cheeks, lingered a look of resignation and despair. His hands, however, moved rapidly and unceasingly through an indecipherable stack of objects, removing them from one pile and placing them in another...where they were blown away by a fierce and constant wind. He has nothing to show for all his toil: he is, in all ways, bankrupt.
Of these two men, which are we? And if we respond “the latter”, as I assume the majority of us must honestly answer, how will we minister to this poor busy-crazed culture of ours? How will we be agents of redemption to a nation starved of rest, when we do not know how to stop ourselves? How can we invite the world into this amazing dance of ours if we have lost the rhythm and can not recall the steps?
I submit that this rest can be accessed as we experience the means of grace (the ways we engage in relationship with Christ). We must recognize the Father’s example to us--how he rested from his work on the seventh day (we must have Sabbath rest weekly). We must allow the gospel time to come to bear on our hearts and sit there and distill and transform us (we need to be exposed to his Word). We must come into God’s presence to hear from him and speak to him (prayer) and come into the presence of his people (fellowship). We must give him all praise, honor, and glory as we reflect on his beauty (worship); we must recognize the death he died and celebrate the life he lives for us (the Lord’s supper). Another list of things to do? No--rather, the cadence of our life should be measured by these, and not by our duties. It may take time, and tentative steps. It might take sweeping everything else off of the plate of our lives in order to create and start with those important moments. But If we do not, we will be seeking to give to the unbelieving world out of spiritual bankruptcy...and the world already has that.
Perhaps your story looks like mine: in leaving childhood to begin secondary school, duties increased, studies got longer, sleep hours grew shorter, and the idea of actually sitting down to quietly think or read or pray floated ever more distant into the recesses of my mind. Much quicker to retreat from me: the concept of play and joyful abandon. Now, with two young children and a seminary-eclipsed husband, I hurry about the house or campus, cleaning, cooking, working--buzzing with something at all times. Unable to stop or sit down or enter into the happy activities of my daughters (in spite of their sweet invitations and imploring tones), I define rest as something I must achieve. Devotions become another item on my checklist. (True) worship evaporates entirely. I can not stop until I am “done”.
I have been thinking of rest versus toil for weeks. Turning again and again to biblical poetry to satisfy my soul’s thirst for authenticity, I have found refreshing integrity in the authors’ descriptions of their struggle to know God and to understand his world. In Ecclesiastes, for example, Solomon reflects and repeats the rhythms of life, reminding us that everything has its season. If you are like me, you find yourself singing the Byrds’ tune to this “To everything, turn, turn, turn...”(see Ecclesiastes 3:1-8), and what a grace that popular music would be for us a way to remember the rhythm. God’s word teaches us how to dance through the experiences of life, whether joyous or pain-filled, instead of running, frenetic, “like chickens with our heads chopped off”.
Later on in the book, Solomon states: “Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind.” (Ecclesiastes 4:6). I was stunned by the vision that this verse conjured in my mind. I saw a man clinging to that which he has found in Christ with all of his might. I saw that he had only one hand-hold, one strong hand gripping the precious treasure of peace and rest, and it was enough to transform him. His countenance reflected the calm within, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining and expectant, his other strong arm ready to go about his Father’s business. I saw by contrast the dazed look of a man numbed by his toil and struggle: his eyes glazed-over, framed in fatigue’s black circles. In his pale face, with lined brow and sunken cheeks, lingered a look of resignation and despair. His hands, however, moved rapidly and unceasingly through an indecipherable stack of objects, removing them from one pile and placing them in another...where they were blown away by a fierce and constant wind. He has nothing to show for all his toil: he is, in all ways, bankrupt.
Of these two men, which are we? And if we respond “the latter”, as I assume the majority of us must honestly answer, how will we minister to this poor busy-crazed culture of ours? How will we be agents of redemption to a nation starved of rest, when we do not know how to stop ourselves? How can we invite the world into this amazing dance of ours if we have lost the rhythm and can not recall the steps?
I submit that this rest can be accessed as we experience the means of grace (the ways we engage in relationship with Christ). We must recognize the Father’s example to us--how he rested from his work on the seventh day (we must have Sabbath rest weekly). We must allow the gospel time to come to bear on our hearts and sit there and distill and transform us (we need to be exposed to his Word). We must come into God’s presence to hear from him and speak to him (prayer) and come into the presence of his people (fellowship). We must give him all praise, honor, and glory as we reflect on his beauty (worship); we must recognize the death he died and celebrate the life he lives for us (the Lord’s supper). Another list of things to do? No--rather, the cadence of our life should be measured by these, and not by our duties. It may take time, and tentative steps. It might take sweeping everything else off of the plate of our lives in order to create and start with those important moments. But If we do not, we will be seeking to give to the unbelieving world out of spiritual bankruptcy...and the world already has that.
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