Monday Musings

Borrowing the format from my friend, Lisa, because I like it so much. Thanks, Lisa! 

***

Sitting . . . in my comfy writing chair.

Drinking . . . water, in hopes that it might kick the dull ache in my head off to the curb.

Feeling . . . physically tired from a busy weekend, but excited to be finished with classes and officially on summer break!

Cooking . . . salads and burgers and dessert for a group of Kate's friends who are coming over tonight. One last bash before they leave for the summer (although some are sticking around this year). I really love these kids and will be really sad next year when it's time for them to graduate.

Reflecting . . . on the past semester. Things I could have done differently, some things I could have done better, and some I'm glad I did the way I did. Teaching, I have found, is a constant evaluation of myself and my students.

Looking ahead . . . to summer. Oh boy, is it going to be a busy one! All three of my girls will be home for most of the summer, which is awesome to me because it very well could be the last time all five of us live under the same roof. Not going to cry about that . . . yet.

Devising . . . a scheme to fix up the town home that B and I bought this year as a rental for college students. My summer involves painting, fixing up, decorating (on a very limited budget!), and furnishing (again, the budget) that place. If you need to get ahold of me this summer, chances are very good I'll be over there.

Enjoying . . . warmer temperatures. Finally!

Getting excited about . . . a trip I'm taking with my mom and sisters this summer. More on that later. (Just to keep you in suspense.)

Thanking God . . . for the way He has grown and changed all of us this year. The school year was not without its challenges for each one of us, but God has been so faithful to use each experience as a way to draw us to Him. It really is a wonder that He loves us so much.

Musing . . . about the blog . . . again. Some changes are coming that I'm really excited about! Hoping that will motivate me to keep going. More on that soon.

So tell me, what's on YOUR mind?

Paying Attention

A friend shared the most wonderful quote from Anne Lamott the other day. Anne said, 

"That's all you have to do today: Pay attention--being a writer is about paying attention."

So, in honor of Anne, here’s what I noticed today.

This morning I had a doctor’s appointment, and as I sat in the waiting room—just for a minute, it didn’t take long—I reached for my phone in the pocket of my bag. It wasn’t there. I knew exactly where it was--beside my bed where I left it this morning.

I surprised myself by noticing even the slightest feeling of anxiety that I had forgotten my phone. As if I had become one of “those people” who cannot be without their phone even for a few hours.

I thought about going home to get my phone immediately after my appointment, even though I had planned to run a few errands after the doctor and my house was completely on the other side of town, which would mean that I would probably waste a good 30 minutes in a fairly busy day.

My slight anxiety rose as I wondered if I had any emails. I wondered if my girls would need to get ahold of me. I wondered if B would need me. I wondered what I would do while I waited for the doctor, a certainty, if I didn’t have my phone with me.

And then, just as quickly, I sat back and chastised myself. Good grief! I couldn’t make it even a couple of hours without communication? That’s ridiculous. What happened just a few years ago, before the iPhone, when we didn’t have constant access to the internet, and we went to the doctor and read magazines for an hour?

What happened when my girls were little and I left them with a babysitter for a few hours while I happily trotted out the door with NO PHONE AT ALL? Back then, I just had to trust (!) that they would be fine.

And they were.

So here’s what I noticed today. I’m tethered. And I don’t like what that has done to me. Not that having a phone has made me a bad person, but inwardly, I wonder what it has done. 

It has made me more available. All the time. Do I want that?

It has caused me to be less “in the moment.” My thoughts turn from what I'm doing presently, concretely, to what I might need to do virtually. I hate that.

It has made me just a little less trusting that God would take care of things. Like I said, there was a day when I just had to "trust" that all would be well when I walked out the door. That my children could cope without me for a while. They did.

And it has made me restless, bored without something to look at all the time. This almost bothers me the most. Why am I anxious without something to DO? What ever happened to down time?

You know what turned out great, though? After my exam, the doctor left for a bit, but needed to come back to talk to me about a few things. While I sat in the room waiting, that’s all I did. 

I just sat there. 

There were no magazines available--only children’s books (another interesting thing I noticed!)--so without my phone I just sat. 

I leaned my head back against the wall, and I thought about things. I let my mind wander, and my thoughts took me to my husband and my kids. I took a quiet minute to pray for them. I thought about my parents. I thought about the fact that tomorrow is the last day of class.

I just thought. In the peace and quiet of the doctor’s office.

Without my phone.

So tell me, how do you feel when you forget your phone? Untethered? Or free?

Staying Put

I read a post this week by Sarah Bessey titled, "The Place that Shapes Me," that prompted this post from me. Sarah wonders if there is something to be said for staying put. I agree.

***

I only slept in two different rooms of the same house before I went to college.

I grew up with grandparents a half mile from me, in the house my great-grandparents lived in when my dad was a boy.

There was a secret road—we called it “the field road”—that ran between my house and my cousins’ house that only our two families used.

The road I grew up on still holds memories of the bike riding, tennis playing, and summertime wanderings of my childhood.

When I left that place, I didn’t look back.

I didn’t appreciate. I didn’t savor. I simply headed for the big city, much like George Bailey, shaking the dust of that crummy little town. . . .

***

What I didn’t realize until many years later—too many years—was that that town, that road, that house, held not just my memories, but a part of me. My roots were there, deep.

What I didn’t know was that I couldn’t escape the memories, mostly happy, some sad, nor did I need to.

What I didn’t understand was just how much that place, that one single place, had shaped me.

My dad was a farmer, tied to the land that his grandfather had farmed, maybe even his grandfather before that, and because of that, I was tied too. What I didn’t know was the blessing of being tied to a place.

I grew up restless, as if my home and my town and my life there couldn’t contain me. I wanted out, and I ran as fast as I could as soon as I was able.

I didn’t go far. I didn’t even leave the state. Still haven’t.

The girl who wanted to shake the dust from one place still hasn’t been able to shake it from another.

Years ago my husband and I decided that we would stay put, intentionally. That we would raise our daughters in the same town, the same schools, the same church, the same community so that they, too, would know the blessing of staying put, of laying down roots.

Today, our girls are on the precipice, just spreading those wings for takeoff. The purpose of putting down roots wasn’t to keep them here, but to give them the freedom to fly.

Putting down roots in order to fly . . . an oxymoron if I ever heard one, and yet, there it is. Truth.

Kind of like losing your life so you can gain it.

Truth.

***

So tell me . . . have you put down roots for your kids? Or are you the restless adventurer? Or are you both, like me? What do you think about staying put?

The Last Birthday Post--I Promise!

I've been trying to write about my birthday all week, but every time I try to form feeling into words, they all seem so utterly inadequate.

For all those weeks when my husband asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday?" and all the times I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Ignore it,"which was really what I wanted to do, and for all the hours I spent truly agonizing over turning 50, I have been duly humbled.

Frankly, I'm ashamed.

When it finally dawned on me that what I wanted most was to spend the weekend in my favorite place with my favorite people, I could never have imagined how RIGHT that decision would turn out to be. For once, putting my foot down (about the party) actually paid off.

My people were all I needed.

They spoiled me, folks. Truly spoiled me.

Here, take a look.

From the swankity-swank of the hotel . . .

to the walks along the beach . . .

to a night at the theater . . .

to the amazing food we encountered all weekend . . .

. . . every minute was perfect.

Our three beauties joined us for dinner on Saturday night.

Wait. Did I say beauties? "Goofballs" is more like it.

Even the restaurant made me feel special!

By the time B and I packed up to go home on Sunday, I told him that I felt like I had been gone for a week, so relaxing was our time in the city. 

The definition of spoiled? Me.

Definitely me.

When I got home this week, I got this wonderful note from a dear friend, and it boosted my spirits even more:

"Well . . . was turning 50 as horrific as you thought? As I approach the next decade marker, I realize that the 50s have been a particularly sweet time of life--marriages of children, grandchildren's arrivals, time to give to others, richness in marriage. All in all, I would say the 50s rock."

See? Spoiled! To have friends like that who take the time to encourage me in that way makes me feel so blessed. 

I think she's right, and I'm ready to experience this sweet time of life, thanks to the love of so many friends and family. You have all cheered me to this milestone, and for that I am so grateful.

May I spend the next 50 years cheering you on as you have cheered me.

Let the Year of Jubilee begin!

P.S. Lest you think I'm crazy to even think I'd be able to spend the next 50 years cheering on my friends, let me remind you that my grandma almost made it to 100 (she was just three months shy). I realized this week that I'm only halfway there--something more to celebrate!

Some Favorite Quotes About Aging

It's Not Really a Birthday Until Someone Starts to Cry

They say to pay attention to what makes you cry. Because what makes you cry is probably something you’re most passionate about.

Well.

I’ve got to tell you something embarrassing.

I almost cried in front of my class yesterday.

And it surprised the heck out of me. Seriously.

Most mornings (not every day, because I’m not super-consistent about anything in my life, but most) I start class with a short devotional thought. Sometimes I’ll read a psalm or some Frederick Buechner, but toward the end of the semester, when we've gotten to know each other better, I like to read portions of a little book by Anna Quindlen called “A Short Guide to a Happy Life.” In the book, Quindlen encourages her readers to look around at the gift that life really is, and that's what I want my students to remember when they leave my classroom. I read a small section of the book and follow it up with some Scripture that seems to correspond to what she’s saying.

I like it. It works for me. (Hopefully it works for my students.)

Anyway, yesterday I was reading a section and totally had to stop for a second to let my throat catch up with my brain. It could be that I hadn’t slept the night before (I woke up at 3:30, my brain on fire) or it could be that I’m turning 50 this week. I don’t know. I was feeling a little emotional going into class in the first place, but then when I read this, I almost lost it.

In front of 18 college students.

What a dork.

Anyway, here’s what Anna Quindlen said in the portion of her little book that I read yesterday:

          “I learned to live many years ago. Something really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had had a choice, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, sometimes seems to be the hardest lesson of all.
            I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that this is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get.”

I had to stop reading for a minute as my throat started to close. Yes, I could relate to having something really bad happen to me. The lessons I’ve learned from that are too many to count.

But it was “this is not a dress rehearsal, and . . . today is the only guarantee you get” that really got to me.

Pay attention to what makes you cry.

Why would this truth, on this day, make me choke up?

I think it's because I’ve spent too many days rehearsing for this big birthday, playing it over and over in my mind, griping and complaining about getting older, when what I should have been doing is celebrating the fact that I’m here, I’m healthy, I’m whole.

I’m here. I’m healthy. I’m whole.

God is good.

Most mornings when my alarm goes off, I stumble across the room toward the shower. This morning, however, I woke up a couple of minutes before my alarm with a song ringing in my head. It’s not even a song I’ve ever paid much attention to, but there it was.

“I want to live

like there’s no tomorrow.

Love like I’m on borrowed time.

It’s good to be alive.”

Coincidence? Probably not.

Just God’s way of showing me that He’s here and that He knows what this week, this searching, this celebrating, means to me.

Oh, yes, God is good.

***

If you want to hear the whole song (the video is kinda goofy, but the song is good), click here.

Now tell me, what makes you choke up?

No Two Ways Around It--I'm Turning 50 This Week

I brushed my hair from my face this morning, tucking it behind my ear, and noticed the silver at my temples. Rather than thinking the usual “time to get my hair colored,” I took a good, long look and smiled.

And I turned slightly to see the gray reflected from a different angle.

A wonder, aging.

Something I’ve given a lot of thought in recent weeks.

I’m aging. A birthday is coming. One I cannot hold back, even though I would certainly like to. One I have tried to ignore, but one that is knocking, knocking, knocking.

Last week, during lunch with a student, I confessed that my birthday was coming and that, despite all my protestations, it was coming fast. She just laughed and told me that her aunt always said that getting older is sure better than the alternative.

She’s a wise one, that student.

***

My husband has been asking me for weeks what I’d like to do to celebrate. Since I haven’t considered this much of an event to be celebrated, I just replied, “Ignore it.”

It’s the closest thing to how I feel.

And yet, I can’t. Ignore it.

It’s coming whether I like it or not.

In fact, it’s here.

On Saturday, I will be 50.

***

I remember turning 20—so much fun, a lifetime of surprises ahead of me.

And at 30, standing in front of the mirror, one child on my hip. Wondering how I had gotten there, and observing how much I had changed in a decade.

I barely remember 40. Three kids by then. Crazy life. Reflecting on the chaos of my 30s and thinking that the 40s had to be better.

They were.

***

And now, 50. I’ve been standing in front of the mirror for weeks now, amazed at how my life has changed.

Feeling so. incredibly. grateful.

And when I look at it that way, with a heart filled with gratitude, I have to think that the 50s will hold good, good things.

***

For months I’ve been dreading my birthday, but if I’m really honest, that’s just vanity talking. It’s been me focusing on graying hair, flabby arms, extra weight.

My friend, Robin, turned 50 a couple of weeks ago (lots and lots of friends will turn 50 this year!), and she did something I have not been able to do: she embraced it. She celebrated. She dressed up and danced and found the grace to face a new decade and say, “Bring it.”

And she encouraged me with these words from Scripture:

“This fiftieth year is sacred—it is a time of freedom and celebration . . .” (Leviticus 25:10 CEV)

Isn’t that awesome?!

Sacred. Freedom. Celebration.

This week I’m going to reflect. I’m going to write. I’m going to try to reconcile myself to the fact that I’m 50 and to try to figure out what that means for me.

And at the end of the week, we'll celebrate.

Will you join me? If you’re already 50, will you tell me it’s not so bad? If you’re turning 50 soon, will you tell me how you’re handling it? If you’re not even close, go put on your skinny jeans and dance in the rain.

What I've Learned from Student Evaluations

Students ask the darndest questions sometimes. Like the sophomore guy—a guy!—who asked me last week how old I was when I got married and how long my husband and I waited to have kids. Hilarious.

(I answered him, by the way. No need to keep my students in the dark about my personal life.)

Another student, also a guy but not in my class, asked me recently about how I felt about student evaluations. Did I even read them? Did I learn anything from them?

I had to hesitate before I answered because I have some serious past baggage with student evaluations.

***

After taking a five-year hiatus from teaching, I returned to the classroom in August of 2011. I’ll admit, I was nervous. Throughout the entire semester I wondered what my students thought of me.

O.K., I obsessed.

I was well aware that I was five years older than the last time I had taught. Would they just see me as a mother figure? Would they think I was dumb? Out of touch? Not on top of my teaching game?

Heck, I wondered the same things about myself.

I had a whole lot of doubts that followed me around like a lost puppy that first semester.

So when evaluations came back to me after the semester had ended, I was devastated to read that a couple of students really hated me. Devastated.

O.K., I cried.

I just stared at the comments, wondering if I would ever be able to put myself in front of a group of overly-critical, picky, self-absorbed, entitled students again. If my office had a window in it, I probably would have climbed out of it and fled, never to return.

I called my husband and said, “I should never have come back.”

He very wisely asked, “Shelly, did you get any good evaluations?”

“Well, yes.”

“What did those say?” he asked.

I don’t really remember much about those evaluations any more, but I do remember one thing: my students, pretty much across the board, felt like I cared about them as individuals and that I wanted to see them succeed.

What more could I ask for?

Apparently, a lot more.

Because the next semester, I couldn’t even look at my evaluations. They came to me in an email, and I deleted it before even looking at them.

What can I say? I’m weak.

And prideful.

And seriously uninformed.

Last fall, I decided to take a new approach to student evaluations. After giving myself a mental pep talk and a virtual kick in the pants, I decided that 1) I needed to grow up, 2) that I would read the evaluations but that 3) I wouldn’t take them too seriously.

I knew by then which students loved me and would give me a glowing evaluation no matter what. And as much as I’d love to stay in Neverland and read only those remarks about me, I knew they weren’t that helpful.

I also knew which students pretty much hated me. These were the students who didn’t work hard enough to get the grade they felt they deserved (remember the entitled ones?) or who felt it really wasn’t that rude to consider class time their personal nap time or (my personal favorite) to knit while I was talking. (Oh yes she did!) I knew what would be coming from those students, and I braced myself.

That semester I read every evaluation, every comment, no matter how much they skewered my pride, and did this: I threw out the really glowing reports at the top of the scale along with the really nasty reports at the bottom. I focused on the evaluations that fell somewhere in the middle—those that had some good things to say along with some constructive criticisms.

And that’s where I really started to learn what worked and what didn’t in my class. I’ve made changes based on the evaluations that landed somewhere in the middle.

Honestly? I wish my students didn’t have to evaluate me every semester. Because I pretty much know what’s coming. I know that some days I drone on and on like Charlie Brown’s teacher and that on some days my classes seem like a never-ending glut of boring, regurgitated information. (I’m working on that.) I know I don’t always start every class with an inspiring word from the Lord (I teach at a Christian college), but I’ve come to grips with that too.

Hey, you can’t always be inspiring at 8:00 in the morning.

And I know that I’m not the best professor they’ve ever had. A lot of factors come into play here, not the least of these is the subject matter. (Who knew that some kids just don’t like writing?!) But I’m O.K. with that. I work very hard to present the information to my students in the best way I can, and I feel good about the work I do.

What I also know is that I am a teacher who cares very much about her students and who wants to see them succeed, and my evaluations consistently bear that out. If a student doesn’t ever get the importance of the Oxford comma but knows that I cared enough to meet with her outside of the classroom for thirty minutes each week, I’m good with that.

***

So my response to the student who asked me how I felt about evaluations? I told him I’ve learned that some people will love you and some people will hate you. It’s important to not waste energy obsessing over it.

I’ve learned, instead, to look at how the people in the middle evaluate me—the people who take the time to see me for who I am, to listen to what I'm really saying, to care enough to respond with thoughtful comments—those are the ones that really matter.

Good advice for life? I think so.

Book Review: Bread and Wine AND Fabulous Friday Food: Cassoulet

You guys know I love food, right?

And you know I love to travel, right?

Find me a book that combines a love for both, and you’ve got me at hello.

Hello, Shauna Niequist!

Shauna has just this week released her third book, Bread and Wine, and I was lucky enough to receive an advance copy to review. Let me tell you, I devoured this book. As in, I was so hungry to read it and to keep reading it that I had a hard time putting it down.

This is a memoir, as are all of Shauna’s books. (Her others, which I have also read, are Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet—both very good.) But this one’s a memoir that involves food and cooking and a little bit of travel.

Right up my alley. 

Here’s one of my favorite passages from the book. It’s a little long, so hold on for a minute:

“I hold all these places and flavors with me, like a fistful of shiny coins, like a charm bracelet. I want to be everywhere at once. I want a full English breakfast at a pub in London, and hot buttery naan in New Delhi for lunch. I want conch fritters at a beach bar in the Bahamas, and an ice-cold Fanta overlooking Lake Victoria. I want Cowgirl Creamery’s Triple Crème Brie at the Ferry Market in San Francisco, and the gingerbread pancakes from Magnolia Café in Austin. I want it all—all the tastes, all the smells, all the stories and memories and traditions, all the textures and flavors and experiences, all running down my chin, all over my fingers.

            Sometimes people ask me why I travel so much, and specifically why we travel with Henry so often. I think they think it’s easier to keep the kids at home, in their routines, surrounded by their stuff. It is. But we travel because it’s there. . . . We travel because I want my kids to learn, as I learned, that there are a million ways to live, a million ways to eat, a million ways to dress and speak and view the world. . . .

            I want my kids to learn firsthand and up close that different isn’t bad, but instead that different is exciting and wonderful and worth taking the time to understand.” (page 87)

There. She has fully articulated one of the wonders of travel with kids. I love that!

Besides interesting, thought-provoking stories about her life and faith, Shauna fills her book with amazing recipes. I can’t wait to try her recipe for Sweet Potato Fries with Sriracha Dipping Sauce or Esquites/Mexican Grilled Corn which is taken from one of my absolutely, positively, MOST FAVORITE Mexican restaurant: Bien Trucha in Geneva, IL. (I was pretty excited when she mentioned that one.)

And if all that hasn’t convinced you to get the book and read it, I’ve got a bonus for you: a Fabulous Friday Food post featuring one of Shauna’s recipes.

Today we’re making Real Simple Cassoulet from Bread and Wine.

I’ve wanted to try making cassoulet since my husband had it at his very special birthday dinner back in January. He raved about this simple, classic French dish made with meat and beans. Wouldn’t you know, just a couple of weeks after that dinner, I’d be reading Shauna’s book. And wouldn’t you know that she would actually give me a recipe for cassoulet that didn’t seem too intimidating or difficult.

In fact, it was EASY! Not only that, it was delicious. My husband absolutely loved it and commented on it for a long time after that meal. In fact, I think he put it in his top-five-of-all-time favorite recipes. That’s how much he liked it.

After dinner he said, “That one’s a keeper.”

So here we go, making a “keeper.” Hopefully you’ll try this one and put it in your top five list too.

First, assemble your ingredients. You'll need olive oil, Italian sausage (here's where I deviated just a little from Shauna's original recipe--she used turkey sausage, but I used the real thing), chicken broth, onion, carrots, parsnips, tomato, cannellini beans, thyme, garlic, bread crumbs, parsley, and butter. It seems like a lot of ingredients, and it is, but if you do all of your chopping ahead of time, this baby will come together really quickly.

Side note: I had never cooked with parsnips before. Never even bought one. But, I've gotta say, I will definitely be using them in the future. They are kind of sweet, very interesting, and yummy. 

Brown the sausage in the olive oil in a large Dutch oven until it's almost crispy on the outside. You need some of the brown drippings in the bottom of the pan to give the cassoulet its rich flavor.

Remove the sausage from the pan and add the onion, carrots, and parsnips. Brown these for a few minutes to soften the vegetables and add flavor. (Oh, O.K., I deviated from her recipe here too. Shauna said to add the chicken stock here, but I sauteed the vegetables first. Sorry!)

Now go ahead and add the stock, tomato, beans, garlic, thyme, and the sausage. Salt and pepper too. 

Bring all of this to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover the pot, and allow to simmer for about one hour. Your cassoulet should be thickened and the vegetables nice and tender.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In a small bowl, combine bread crumbs, parsley, and butter and sprinkle over the cassoulet. Bake, uncovered, until the crust is golden brown, about 10-15 minutes.

And voila! You have a delicious, comforting dish to warm the hearts of your friends and family.

I served this with a green salad and some French bread. Yum! And now I want more. 

I hope you'll try this one. It was so delicious. And, as my husband says, it's a keeper.

Thanks, Shauna! 

Now tell me, have you read Shauna Niequist's book yet? Do you think you'll try to make cassoulet? What are you cooking this weekend?

***

For a printable version of this recipe, click here.

To purchase Shauna's book on Amazon, click here.

To subscribe to my blog (oh, how I wish you would!), sign up over there ------>

***

Disclaimer: I received a copy of Bread and Wine in exchange for this blog post. All the views expressed here are entirely my own.

On My Mind

Thinking all day about starting a blog post, but there are so many things swimming around in my head that I just need to blurt out the mess to make room for the rest.

Today will not be one of those deep-post days.

Today will be more like a here-sit-down-and-have-a-cup-of-coffee day. It's just one of those days that I need to get my thoughts out so I can move on and write other stuff.

I've realized that I don't let you in too much. As in, into my life. And I don't like that. I really want you to know me and to know what's going on in my life. I flatter myself to think that maybe you read here because you're interested. I don't know.

Or maybe you just like my recipes--who knows?

Anyway, maybe this post is a way of letting you know some things about me. It's not like my life is some huge secret or anything. There are, however, people in my life who would prefer that I keep some things to myself. I get that. And I try to.

Sometimes.

So here we go. Some things that I want you to know about me.

** You know I teach, right? Thinking about teaching and actually going into work three days a week are probably what consume most of my thoughts these days. It shouldn't feel as busy as it does, and that frustrates me sometimes. Here's what my Monday/Wednesday/Fridays look like:

5:30 a.m. - wake up, stumble to the shower, get ready for my day

7:00 a.m. - take Julia to school, then head into my office

9:15 a.m. - teach my class

10:30-? - read, grade papers, prep for next class

I usually try to finish up around 12:30 when I either head home or meet my friends for lunch (a regular Wednesday thing). Afternoons are my time to run errands, walk the dog, write (oh, the ongoing angst about THAT), make dinner.

Right now I only teach one class, but in the fall I'll have two. Which will make my thoughts even more swirly and discombobulated.

But it's all good because I love my job and get to teach the most amazing group of college students ever. I'm confident that God has called me to it for now, and that makes it all worthwhile.

** One bummer about my job is that my spring break doesn't line up with Julia's, so every year we have to figure out what to do about that. This year we decided to pull her out of school for three days and high tail it out of here. (She's still making up the work she missed!)

But it was so great to be in the Florida sunshine, even for a short while.

Here's my honey and me. Twenty-eight years--totally worth it.

** In other thought-consuming news, B and I purchased a rental home near the college this year. We haven't done much with it yet since we still have renters, but the townhome is in need of, shall we say, a leeettle bit of work. This summer my job will be to completely restore that house, including replacing all of the flooring on the first floor (don't worry, it's not that big) and painting the entire place. And, yes, I plan to do much of the work myself in order to save money.

Call me crazy.

Just do. Because I think I am.

And I'm spending way too many hours thinking about paint colors.

** My sister had a baby! Amazing and delicious all rolled into one. And so sublime because we haven't had a new baby on my side of the family in, oh, 15 years. It's all very exciting.

I'm especially excited because this weekend I'm flying to Dallas to meet my newest niece, Gracie (do you not just LOVE that name?!). I'm not sure you'll be able to pry her out of my arms for the 48 hours I'll be there.

** I spend a lot of time thinking about and praying for my kids. Both of my college girls came home for Easter weekend and we all had a great time together. It gave me a glimpse into what our summer will be like since, for the first time in about four years, everyone will be home. Just a hunch, but it's going to be loud, boisterous, talkative, and full of laughter.

Here's our little Easter brunch right before church.

Easter was a little different for us this year because it was also Kate's 21st birthday.

Happy birthday, lovie!

So we said we'd celebrate Easter in the morning and that after noon it would be all about Kate's birthday. It worked for us.

** Speaking of birthdays, I have the next birthday in our family which is something that consumes way too much of my thought life. I don't have time to write about right now--this birthday is going to take a post of its own because it's a big one and I have thoughts.

** As I write I'm listening to Julia practice piano. Difficult strains of an unfamiliar Debussy piece are floating through our house. She's struggled with one line for weeks now, and last night, after her piano lesson, she cried out in frustration that she didn't think she would EVER get it right. I told her to hang in there, to not give up, and that one day it would just click and she'd get it.

Just now, over the music she shouted, "That's it!"

These are the moments I love being a parent the most.

**Last thing: be sure to come back on Friday because if you're one of those don't-care-about-your-life-but-you-give-me-good-recipes people you are really going to be happy. AND it involves a book review. Bonus!

There. Brain dump is completed. Maybe now I can move on and actually write something.

That's what's on my mind, what's on YOURS?

Good Friday {reprise}

Earlier today, as I was perusing posts from last year, I came across this post from Good Friday 2012. I had forgotten about that post, but as I read it through, I decided (for myself) that this is one of my best posts. Maybe you can relate to how I felt that day.

*****

We had had a bad week.

Well, I can’t speak for him, but I had had a bad week, and it culminated, as it usually does, in us taking it all out on each other.

The busyness. The frustrations. The obstacles. The fears.

They all came crashing to a head, and I broke under the weight of it.

I’m not pleased nor proud that this is my pattern, but it is. The pattern of the everyday. The pattern of the worn out, the weary. The pattern of the sinner.

I stumbled, feeling every frayed edge of the day, into the Good Friday service, not feeling it, not wanting it, and not expecting it. It was supposed to be a time of reflection.

Oh, I had reflected alright. Reflected on hurt. Reflected on anger. Reflected on injustice.

Reflected on me rather than Him.

So I stumbled from the car—did that door close a little too hard?—and up the stairs—Why, hello! How was your day?—and straight into Him.

Only He was wearing a dress. And had thinning hair. And was sitting in a wheelchair. And was reaching out to me with a shaking hand, eyes locked on mine.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand, and His husband was standing behind the chair, eyes pleading too, begging.

I grabbed His hand, trying to be kind.

“Will you help us, please?” His husband asked, gently. “My wife really needs to use the bathroom.”

The worn and weary became fear and I-can’t-do-this-but-what-choice-do-I-have?

Let me tell you something about me. When I sin, I sin big; you just can’t see it. Oh, it’s there, festering, stumbling, growing underneath a smile and a hug and a kindness that seems real.

And so I did what any person would do in a church. I said, “Sure. I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do.” But inside I was praying, “Why me?!”

This is a fear, a huge fear of mine: Sick people. Weak people. People who need other people. And Jesus, seeing my weakened, sinful state, after a week of outright ugly, knew this.

Still, He asked. Of course, He asked.

“And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’” Matthew 25:40

Help Me? When it’s convenient.

Serve Me? When I have time.

Die for Me? Wait, You’re supposed to do that.

When I joined my family in the darkened church, unready to worship, I was wrecked.

The huge, wooden cross, draped in black, crown of thorns perched on top, mocked me from the front. The words to every song humiliated me.

He was not the One needing my help--I was the one needing His. His help, His service, His death. In my selfish state, I could not see Him until He asked me to do the one thing I did not think I could do. 

Sick, weak, needy. That is the state of my heart every moment of every day. I should be in a hospital, I need healing so badly.

Yet in His merciful, graceful, lovingkindness He showed me that even at my worst—my sickened, weakened, needy state—He could still use me, helpless. In fact, only in that state can He truly use me.

“But God showed His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

Upside down grace, that’s what He showed me last Friday.

Good Friday.

Look up . . .

. . . and see.

"When the Roman officer who stood facing him saw how he had died, he exclaimed, 'This man truly was the Son of God!'" Mark 15:39

Five Minute Friday: Remember

Hello there! It has been ages since I took part in Lisa-Jo's "Five Minute Friday" party, but that's about all the time I had today. Five minutes. Besides, I've been wanting to play along again--for some reason I think some of my bests posts are written in five minutes.

Is that so wrong?

Anyway, thanks, Lisa-Jo, for hosting this fun party every week. And thanks for the prompt. It was fun!

Remember.

How could I forget? The first time I laid eyes on you, your age mystified me. As I traversed your fields, alleyways, byways, I had a sense of being there before. Of belonging. Of home.

And I wondered if you had remembered. Had you remembered the reason you were still standing? Had you remembered the ancient wars? Had you remembered the vision and the dedication of your great poets?

Did you remember?

It was He who gave you the land of my heart. He who clothed you with greens and purples and blues. He who ran His finger over your hills and called them good. He who blessed you with rain and wind and clouds so that beauty would be your name.

Remember the days of sunshine and warmth. Remember the carefree hours of new friendships and old words. Remember the blessing of love’s first blush, red and fragrant.

Remember the old and the new.

Look up. And remember.

***

Linking up with Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama today.

The Conversation I Never Thought I’d Have with my Kids

In about 45 minutes I need to pick up my daughter from school, and I will need to have a conversation that I never, ever dreamed I would have to have with her.

Because today, a beloved teacher from her school was arrested for having sex with one of his students. I won’t go into the scant details I’ve heard so far, just suffice it to say it’s horrific.

And especially horrific because both of my older girls had this teacher, loved him, and my youngest was hoping to have him next year.

It hits home.

What I want to know, what I have been praying to God this afternoon, is how on earth do I talk to them about this? Because, for the life of me, I don’t know.

Ironically, I’ve been thinking all day about a blog post I read and responded to yesterday. My friend, Jo-Lynne, has been struggling with how to protect her children, especially her 13-year-old son, in this crazy world we live in.

I get that. I understand that struggle.

What really hit me as I read her post and some of the comments from people who said that they have intentionally placed their children in a “bubble,” is that no matter how hard we try, we do NOT live in a bubble. We live in a very broken, very fallen world.

That sure became evident to our community today.

It’s interesting to me that I have truly been chewing on this for the past 24 hours, because much of what I wrote in Jo-Lynne’s comments is what I need to remind myself of here, now that I’m in this situation of having to have the ugly talk with my kids.

First, I need to remember that our world is very fallen indeed. Anybody watching “The Bible” on The History Channel can see that parents have been worried about protecting their children from outside influences for centuries. It's nothing new. But it’s also an unfortunate reality that the world we live in is trying its very best to corrupt, not only our children, but US.

And sometimes we fall prey.

Second, I need to remember who I am. I need to remember that I am fallen, too, just like this world, just like that teacher, just like, well, me. I am fallen. I am sinful. I am not above reproach.

The phrase, “there but by the grace of God go I” rings very clearly today. The fact is, I could be that teacher. I AM that teacher, because when God sees my sin, it makes him just as disgusted as that teacher’s actions are to me.

Sin is sin, and mine is no “better” than anyone else’s. If I think otherwise, I am only fooling myself and setting myself up to be a hypocrite.

Third, I need to remember who God is. He’s God, and that’s enough. He has loved me enough to provide a way of salvation, and in return, he wants me to stop living like the rest of the world and be holy.

But here’s the thing: I’m not holy. No matter how hard I try, I won’t ever meet the standard that God has set for me. In His eyes I’m just as bad as that teacher.

But Jesus.

Thanks be to God that because I have Jesus, God no longer sees my sin. He sees me as holy. It really is an amazing thing to think about.

So how does this help me talk to my kids about that teacher?

1. It reminds all of us that we are people who have received grace—totally, completely unmerited grace. And because of that we should not speak ill, we should not gossip, we should not judge what we do not know.

2. It makes me want to cling tighter to the God who sees all, who knows all, and who forgives all and to encourage my girls to do the same.

3. It causes me to pray for this whole messy situation, for the gross, fallen world we live in, and for the tender hearts of my children who are affected by this as well.

4.  And, sadly, this situation forces me to talk to them about being careful about who they are around and who they trust. To be honest, that was not on my list of things to do today.

This is a desperately sad situation for everyone involved, including my very own children. As I said, this hits home. I’m angry about it all--the effects are so far-reaching--and yet, I’m so sad for our community, for the victim, for the teacher's wife and family, and even for him.

It’s an ugly, messy world we live in, and all kinds of bad stuff happens in it. Stuff I would rather not have to think about or talk to my kids about. But the fact remains that this world, without Jesus, is desperately needy. There is no disguising the fact, no sheltering my kids from it, no bubble big enough to hide away in.

All I can do is praise God that He sent His Son to redeem it. As Easter approaches, this seems especially important.

And that’s a conversation I want to have with my kids.

Fabulous Friday Food: Pan Fried Onion Dip

Have I ever mentioned that I grew up with family all around me? My grandparents lived about a half a mile down the road, and my aunt, uncle, and cousins lived another half mile past them.

Some of my happiest childhood memories are of family gatherings--birthdays, holidays, welcome home parties, even the Super Bowl. All were spent with the love of family wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

What I remember most is the food. Lots of it, always good. Fried chicken, jello salads, baked beans, and homemade rhubarb or strawberry pie and ice cream.

Just for starters.

I think these family gatherings primed me to be the food-lover that I am today.

This sounds crazy, being the good-food lover that I am, but I always got super-excited when Grandma served chips and dip. We'd be gathered around the television, watching football, and Grandma would bring out the snacks. Back then it was a bag of Ruffles and a carton of store bought onion dip, but even as a kid I loved me some chips and dip.

I'm still a dipper today. Pretty much with any food, if I can dip it, I will. Sandwiches into au jus. Cookies into ice cream. Bananas into peanut butter.

But especially chips into dip. There's just something comforting about it.

So you can imagine my delight when I saw Ina Garten make her Pan Fried Onion Dip many years ago. I just had to try it, like right NOW! And I'm so glad I did because this has become one of my favorite snack foods.

SO much better than the onion dip in a carton that you buy in the grocery store!

Really, there's no comparison.

I've made Ina's recipe too many times to count over the years, so I've been able to tweak it according to my own tastes and preferences. What you have here is my own, slightly altered version of Ina's original recipe.

You'll need onions (duh!), butter, olive oil, salt, pepper, cayenne, cream cheese, mayo, and sour cream.

Sound decadent enough for ya?

Slice up about three or four sweet onions. Vidalia season is almost here, so grab a big bag and get slicing!

Place them in a pan with about 4 tablespoons of butter and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. I like to use a cast iron skillet for this because I think you can control the temperature of the pan a little better than with stainless.

Probably just me.

Sprinkle them with just a dash or two of cayenne pepper and a little salt and pepper.

Now here's where your patience really pays off. Keep the heat of the pan at about medium to medium-low. You don't want to FRY your onions, you want to CARAMELIZE them. And caramelizing takes time.

As in, about 40 minutes.

Here is what my onions looked like after about 20 minutes:

But be patient, child. They might look like they're almost done, but they're not.

Here's what they looked like after 40 minutes:

Isn't that better?

Allowing your onions to fully caramelize helps develop the rich, sweet flavor that the onions have hidden in them. And your dip will be just that much better for it.

Remove the onions from the pan and drain them on a couple of pieces of paper towel on a plate. Ina's recipe leaves out that step, and I've found it helpful to get rid of some of the excess grease.

Next, take an 8-ounce package of cream cheese that you have left out on the counter for quite some time, preferrably overnight (it really, really has to be at room temperature, unless you like little lumps of cream cheese floating throughout your onion dip) and beat the heck out of it.

Make sure your cream cheese is really light and fluffy before you add the rest.

Next, add about 1/2 cup of mayonnaise and 1 cup of sour cream, also best if at room temperature, but not entirely necessary.

Beat that together with the cream cheese until everything is well-incorporated.

Next, add the onions that have been drained and cooled and beat just until mixed together.

Place in a pretty bowl (!) and refrigerate for a couple of hours before serving with the best potato chips you can find (preferrably not Ruffles).

Now, invite some friends over to watch the Blackhawks cream whomever they happen to be playing (ha!) and enjoy!

To get a printable version of this recipe, click here.

***

Did you know you can get all of my 42 (so far!) recipes as printables? Just click on the "Recipes" tab above and have a look around. These are all of the recipes that I have featured here on the blog, and every one has been tested and tried by my family. Many times over.

***

Like what you see here? I'd love it if you'd follow me via RSS feed or email. Just head over there ---> to sign up!

***

Linking this post to Richella's Grace at Home party. So glad you stopped by!

Perspective

February stretches long and gray around here. March does, too.

If I’m not careful, I can be sucked right into its vortex, down, down, down into a web of “why-do-I-live-here’s” and “if-only’s.”

I find myself irritable and too often looking ahead instead of sitting right here, right now. Making excuses for my behavior instead of looking for ways to improve my attitude.

I know a woman who has, for many years, allowed the weather to control her. She plots her escape, daily. 

She is the most miserable person I know.

How do I not become that? How do I not see days of gray unending and not become a bitter, miserable person? How do I find joy in the gray out my window?

Yesterday, Ann Voskamp wrote this: Everyone gets to decide how happy they want to be. Because everyone gets to decide how grateful they are willing to be.

We get to decide our happiness. God has given us the tools—everything we need is right there in front of us. It’s up to us to choose happiness, joy, gratitude or bitterness, complaint, misery.

I choose happiness.

Because this day, this gray, dreary, cold, rainy day has been given to me to use well. Today I choose to write, to have lunch with friends, to sit with my daughter in a quiet room without distractions.

And on this gray, dreary, cold, rainy day, I visit with a dear friend who is housebound for twelve weeks. Twelve weeks! No weight on her foot. At all.

Do you ever go stir-crazy? I ask.

She smiles her sweet, cheerful smile and says, No. I have plenty to do here. I just figure this is what God has for me right now, in this season.

Does she ever look at the clouds? Maybe, but she chooses otherwise.

She chooses joy.

Ann also says that after choosing happiness, we get to decide how willing we are to be grateful. Still counting, that Ann.

So today, I choose to be grateful.

For my work.

For a quiet office.

For friendships that span decades.

For perspective.

Mama Fail?

I wasn't the best mom to infants.

Oh, I loved my babies. I loved their tiny, tiny fingernails and the rolls of chubby baby on their legs. I loved their thick, brown hair and the smell of the tops of their heads after bath time. I loved the way their eyes lit up when their daddy walked into the room and the smile of recognition when our eyes met in that deep, knowing way.

My babies were, and still are, my very great love.

But I was not patient. I was not gracious. I was not always kind.

I was selfish, impatient, and, yes, even mean at times.

I shudder to think about those early years as a mom--how the deep, deep chasm between my imagined life and my reality seemed never to be able to come together. How I never really felt like myself, comfortable in my own skin. How, for some inexplicable reason, I felt I should be doing this differently, better, and that I should be enjoying myself more.

***

I don't know why I thought about this today, except that babies have been on my mind lately. At least four women I know have had babies in the past three weeks, including my sister.

*Hi Gracie! Consider this your first blog shout out!*

(I'd really like to know what's in the water. Goodness! All the goodness lately!)

I wonder sometimes, being the person I am now, having been somewhat sanctified through the fires of motherhood, how would I be with an infant today? I'd like to think that I'd be more patient, more understanding, less selfish.

But let's face it, I'm me, and patience isn't really my strong suit.

Over the years, however, I hope that because of my experiences with my own children, I have become a different person, better, and, yes, even a little bit more holy.

Maybe?

I know I'm having more fun.

***

If I've taught my daughters anything, I hope I've taught them how to laugh. Our world is so serious, so big and self-important, that it's a gift, a rare thing, to be able to laugh, especially at ourselves.

And that is why I just had to chuckle over the Facebook wars going on between two of my girls today.

Here's what Julia shared with her big sister today: "Love you seester! (And I love your face :)"

And here's what Kate promptly replied: "payback"

(And, yes, that is the shape of an "L" on her forehead. Can you name the song?)

I've probably breached a thousand unwritten Facebook rules by sharing their posts, but I love that my girls can laugh with one another. Their shenanigans today reminded me that I have not completely failed.

Yet.

Good Reads

I realized recently that I've been hoarding blog posts lately. Keeping them to myself. Reading, savoring, delighting in them, but not sharing.

And these need to be shared.

So, grab a cup of tea, curl up by a fire, and enjoy some of my favorite posts from recent weeks.

14 wonderful words with no English equivalent :: The Week. Yes! As someone who loves words and can't stand when I can't pronounce them, this one was tricky, but I loved it.

25 reasons we're taking our kids around the world :: Entre Family Travels. I'm fascinated by this family. They are taking their four YOUNG kids around the world in a year. I'm following their progress (they just started in January), and it's so fun to travel vicariously with them.

17 Parenting Lessons from Downton Abbey :: Huffington Post. Because I just couldn't resist.

5 Things Every Daughter Needs to Hear from Her Dad :: Daniel Darling. *tears*

A Weak Mother is a Good Mother :: Desiring God blog. Oh why couldn't I have read this when my girls were younger?

A Letter to My Children :: Clover Lane. Yep. This pretty much covers it. Beautifully.

Raising a Pure Son in a Sex-Crazed World :: We Are THAT Family. Awesome, awesome post for moms of boys.

The Good News: This is Only the Beginning :: Christy Purifoy. This is a new blog to me, but one I have already fallen in love with. In this post, I got such a new perspective when she writes: "But here is the Good News: it is finished. Revelation is simply the Cross from the point of view of heaven." Yes! Love that.

And finally, True Beauty :: Privet and Holly. My friend, Suzanne. Always so full of wisdom, that one. I think I need to read this every day for a month.

There. That should keep you going for a while. I realized as I wrote this list that there is an abundance of parenting posts. Sorry if that's not your thing--it's kind of where I'm sitting right now.

Enjoy your weekend!

Aslan's Country

One year ago today, my friend, Laura, lost her daughter to cancer. Shortly after Anna's death, I wrote this piece, which I thought I'd share with you again today. 

The death of a loved one, particularly a child, is never easy. I'm sure Anna's family would appreciate your prayers today.

* * * * *

At the end of the movie The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the little mouse, Reepicheep has a decision to make. Will he stay with the children he loves in Narnia or will he follow Aslan to his country?

It doesn’t take long for Reepicheep to make his decision, if there was even one to be made at all. He boldly goes where no mouse has gone before, leaping into the wall of water that will surely lead him to that great place.

C.S. Lewis’s narrative puts it a little differently, but the sentiment is still the same:

     “And suddenly there came a breeze from the east, tossing the top of the wave into foamy shapes and ruffling the smooth water all round them. It lasted only a second or so but what it brought them in that second none of those three children will ever forget. It brought both a smell and a sound, a musical sound. Edmund and Eustace would never talk about it afterwards. Lucy could only say, ‘It would break your heart.’ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘was it so sad?’ ‘Sad!! No,’ said Lucy.

     “No one in that boat doubted that they were seeing beyond the End of the World into Aslan’s country.

     “At the moment, with a crunch, the boat ran aground. The water was too shallow now for it. ‘This,’ said Reepicheep, ‘is where I go on alone.’

      “They did not even try to stop him, for everything now felt as if it had been fated or had happened before. They helped him to lower his little coracle. Then he took off his sword (‘I shall need it no more,’ he said) and flung it far away across the lilied sea. Where it fell it stood upright with the hilt above the surface. Then he bade them goodbye, trying to be sad for their sakes; but he was quivering with happiness.”

            The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis

The movie version shows Reepicheep whooping it up, kicking up his heels as he runs straight for the water. He glances back, briefly, at the children standing on the shore, before becoming completely engulfed.

And Reepicheep enters Aslan’s country.

I remember seeing that scene for the first time, unable to control the flood of emotion that came over me, tears pouring down my face. For I knew that Reepicheep had made the better choice. He was following Aslan, receiving his reward.

And yet, the children stayed behind because they knew their time had not yet come. Aslan had other work for them to do. They would follow another time, but not yet.

Would they miss their friend? Oh yes. Their hearts would break for the emptiness they would feel at times. But did they know that Reepicheep was exactly where he needed to be? Indeed, for as the text tells us, “They did not even try to stop him.”

* * * * *

I have written about Anna a few times in the past. Some of you have followed her story of courage, determination, joy, and pain. Many of you have prayed for Anna’s complete healing.

Well, Anna has been healed. Completely. She is now free of pain, completely restored, and walking the shores of Aslan’s country.

Her dad has written about her journey so eloquently, so beautifully, that I could not add anything of value to their story. You can read about it here.

What I can add is my own story of how Anna has touched my life.

Ten years ago I was numbed by the news that my friend’s daughter had cancer. Cancer! Of all things. Nobody expected this diagnosis of a healthy, vibrant, 17-year-old girl.

Over the course of ten years I have watched, prayed, cried, and learned so much from this faithful family.

I have learned that sharing our experiences is much better than keeping them private. Through Anna’s blog, her parents have given so much of themselves to others, taught us how to pray and to care for their family, and showed us some of the incredible results of Anna’s ministry. Surely there are aspects of their story that are private, meant just for them, but they have shared much of Anna’s journey so that we might learn, grow, and be comforted by it. That has been a gift.

I have learned that determination trumps defeat. I will never know how many times over ten years Anna’s parents probably felt defeated, and yet their daughter’s determination to find the next treatment, the next cure, the next glimmer of hope has kept them going. Even when she knew that her fight would end as it did last week, Anna continued to seek experimental treatments so that other children might benefit from her experience.

I have learned that God is completely sovereign, even in death. So many little details came together to make Anna’s final moments God moments. I will never forget how He tenderly made sure that Anna’s oncologist was at their house even as she took her final breath, giving her parents exactly the strength and support they needed at just the right time. Even this is an encouragement to me that God is in the smallest of details.

I have learned that, if we let them, our trials can turn to triumph. From the moment she was diagnosed, Anna knew that this was God’s working in her life, and she was determined to share her faith with the world. Only God (and Anna now!) knows the thousands of lives that have been changed because of her willingness to let this illness be used for His glory.

Oh, it is so hard to let our loved ones go, and Anna’s parents are surely grieving right now as are her siblings, relatives, friends, and even those who did not know her at all. But our grief remains shallow compared to the depth of God’s love for us, and for Anna, with whom He is surely walking alongside today.

 Photo credit

To Anna: A life well lived.

What Your Snowman Says About You

Two years. 

For two years the kids in our neighborhood have been waiting for this. Enough snow. Heavy snow. Snow that will actually make a snowman.

It's been a long wait, but this week, the day finally came. And, boy, did the kids deliver.

Today as I drove through my neighborhood, I started noticing snowmen. Lots and lots of snowmen. 

They made me smile.

In literally ten minutes I snapped these pictures, creeping through my neighborhood with the windows rolled down. Seriously, if anyone had seen me, they would have been completely justified to call the police. 

I got to wondering, does your snowman say anything about you? 

I decided that they absolutely, positively do say something about you. Yes, indeed.

This one, for instance. Typically traditional and as sweet as can be. Must be a nice little family.

Look at those huge smiles. Happy family.

Like father, like son.

I'm guessing somebody might have been sipping a little something while helping their kids with these snowmen.

Nature lovers here.

Zombie vs. Alien fans.

Honestly? I don't know what this one says. 

What do you think?