Archive for Faith

Resurrection

// April 9th, 2012 // 3 Comments » // Faith, Family, Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

Easter is always an emotional season for me. Now that He’s risen (indeed) it’s time to get off this roller coaster and settle into the contentment of budding perennials, blooming trees and be a seed that blooms. At 4 bells this morning, I had some random thoughts.

  • That whole being in control (or not) thing – I get that. I know Who’s the Boss of me. What I have chosen to give up are a few things I could have control over but I’ve made the decision that I don’t want to die on that hill. The cost is too great. Que Sera, Sera.
  • This was the first Easter without all of the kids at home. It was also the first Easter we ate dinner out at a restaurant. Though I was spared the horrors of ham, it just was not the same. I missed my 3 girls, my eldest, and my son-in-law terribly. My pity pot was trumped by my gratitude for simply having them in my life and seeing what God has done in theirs.
  • Sometimes your faith is tested and your hope is shaky at best. Then something happens that makes you slap yourself upside the head and tell yourself what a fool you’ve been to ever doubt. I shredded a whole hanging folder of someone’s tearful, shaky doubt this weekend. Literally. I probably should have kept it as a reminder in those dark times, lest I forget.
  • Several things have thrown me into physical/nutritional reboot mode (see also: Easter restaurant food above). More exercise, more kale (etc), more lifting. I was a slacker last week, and I’m feeling it. Ron Burgundy got my bike all ready for the season, and I can’t wait to hit the trails. Even have my homemade power granola bars ready for the rides. Never underestimate the power of the properly fueled endorphin on your body, mind, and spirit. If I could package those little buggers in a pill, I’d be a gazillionaire. Sorry, folks. You have to work for those but they are totally worth it.
  • I absolutely refused to see/read The Hunger Games until I read the posts by Katdish and then Amy Sorrells. (Yes, I still do read blogs on occasion. Rarely.) Now I’m intrigued. I’m taking the “absolutely” out of that equation and rethinking that whole stubborn R word. I won’t be that old lady who is inflexible and doesn’t listen to other peoples reasoning, especially when I haven’t read the book or seen the movie to make an informed decision about whether or not something is good, bad, or has redemptive qualities. If I hate it, I’ll bury that regret. If I don’t, I’ll be better for it.
  • Sometimes people let you know that you don’t know squat. Praise God for real friends who are encouraging and edifying and keep your ego from being trampled by a herd of buffalo that are too big for their grumpy pants or who have the Cleopatra syndrome. They, my friends, are the Queen of Denial. I have so many IRL and online (i.e. “imaginary,” but not) friends, and they have blessed me many times over. You know who you are. Thank you.
  • Sometimes dreaming about vacations you’ll never take can be pretty darn refreshing. And you get to skip airport security. Dream on.
  • Continuing to live Alive. After all, when you are, why not live that way? Dying doesn’t mean you can’t still live. Thank you, Sara.
Tea today: Dragonwell

Joy, without reservation

// February 27th, 2012 // 4 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Despite sharing the angst of death with friends/family and witnessing Mom’s finally relenting pain last week (clarification: the two are not related; she is alive and doing well) … I was overcome with the pure, unadulterated love and joy of a child. Babies can heal just about any heartbreak.

Well, not just any baby.

Harper’s deep gratitude for people and life go far beyond her years months. Inherently, the love I feel for her is inexpressible, but after spending a couple of days with her this week, she set my heart soaring by how she radiates love for everyone and everything she meets. Without reservation.

Her love is unconditional and she doesn’t even know it.

At nine months she has no idea how joy absolutely pours from her heart, and that’s the beauty of it. Innocence. Wonder. Not a spit of  judgment coming from that quirky little mouth or those deep-ocean eyes. No fear. It’s enough to allow you to cast your cares and exhaustion  to the wind and welcome a mighty stab of adrenaline to the soul.

Wide-eyed, she follows shadows from a tree branch and erupts into giggles. The sun peeks through the clouds, she squints, then eyes open wide to look for more. More sparkles. She sees her own shadow on a stroller ride and fixes her eyes in fascination, wondering when that “thing” will come into her line of sight again, arms and legs practically doing “The Freddie” with excitement. I make her a snowball and she touches it gingerly, then gasps with delight, her eyes connecting with mine in intense amazement.

We gaze at the school of bright goldfish at the top of the winter-murky pond and she reaches, literally bouncing in my arms with delight.

She sneezes,  and her “achoo” is followed by a throaty chuckle. She loves that, too. Boogers, be damned. That was fun.

She’s done with her breakfast, but rather than fussing or squirming, she clamps her mouth shut and gives me a sideways glance. Grinning, showing off her dimple filled with steel-cut oats. She hates nothing. Kindness is so natural for her.

Last week I brought her to the hospital when Mom had surgery, because that’s the way the logistics happened. Some of  the people we met in passing looked disheveled and even scary. I hustled past many, pushing the stroller, with a vague pleasant smile, the nurse/mom/grandma in me wanting nobody to touch her if I haven’t seen them use the antiseptic gel dispensers. They made eye contact with her and she smiled big. (Real big). Her legs kicked non-stop and her arms flailed with joy and her upper body did a 180 to keep following them. Everyone is her friend. She knows no color, no class, no creed. All are loved, even the abstract ballerina with the distorted face in a wall sculpture that towers above both of us. That “art” always creeped me out.

Not Harper – she’s met another friend. I want to be like her when I grow up.

I pray her faith is as authentic and strong as her beautiful infant spirit.

I bumped into this on Pinterest the other day, and immediately thought of her. 

It’s no wonder she is such a joy to be around; her attitude is magnetic. Her heart is open. I spent the remainder of my week just trying to see things with her eyes. Clearly I had been schooled.

Maybe I’ll even get up the nerve to do The Freddie in public – I need just a bit more practice.

Praise the Lord.
Blessed are those who fear the Lord,
who find great delight in his commands.
Their children will be mighty in the land;
the generation of the upright will be blessed.

~Psalm 112:1-2

Tea today: Sencha

#OneWord365: Alive

// January 4th, 2012 // 8 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Lamenting to a(n) (imaginary) friend that I’d miserably failed my 2011 word (Seek), I went back and read that post. Failed? No. Still in seek mode? Yep. Just because the year’s over doesn’t mean I stop focusing on that word, and I feel like I’ve come a long way. I just haven’t blogged about it; about much of anything, really.

I’m OK with that. It’s not like blog was my focus word.

My word this year?

Sara was one of the reasons I chose this word, because she truly was one of the most joyful, alive people I’ve ever known, even as she edged toward Heaven’s gate. She died with grace, dignity, and humility. But she remains alive in spirit as I frequent her words that continue to lift me.

I have also been inspired and moved by the lovely Shauna Ahern, as I sought out cooking/baking ideas when gluten reared its ugly head within my body. In that seeking process, I fell in love with her zesty passion for life, love, and community as written so eloquently in this post. I’ve dog-eared her cookbook, which reads like a novel, but is her true story of love and sacrifice.

Today I sit on the edge of the unknown, waiting for a diagnosis of a loved one with a potentially life-stealing disease. I think of all He gave to the world through Sara who embraced her own disease by giving glory to God. Her one word last year? Praise. My prayer is that our remaining days, months, or years (only God knows – only God decides) we all choose to be alive, keeping our spirits and attitudes awake,  animated, sensitive. Each of us has numbered days. Let us not be the walking dead.

Just like the visual thesaurus that guided me to Seek last year, I look there again for direction: “mentally perceptive and responsive,” “capable of erupting,” (nailed that one!), and “full of life and spirit.”

Alive.

Whatever my circumstances.

Tea today: Marrakesh Mint

The Wedding

// November 13th, 2011 // 10 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

A million posts about our daughter’s wedding have rattled in my head before I could even venture to click on “new post.”

Just get started.

The few weeks leading up to it flew faster than I ever thought it was possible for time to fly. One of my favorite parts was that I would hear from Kate almost every day about something related to the planning. I love having her name pop up on my phone. Long gone are the days it sent a panic through my gut, fearing drama. Her personal, spiritual, and emotional maturation have far exceeded what I once thought possible.

I should have known better.

The three days preceding the wedding are a fog. Luckily there are some brain-jarring moments and photos to help me out.

The days were guided ever-so-gracefully (despite aforementioned near-beheading) by my awesome daughter-in-law, who was also Kate’s Matron of Honor. I heard from her almost every day, too. Loved that. And really, how beautiful is she? That beauty runs deep. Truly, my son married up.

I was kept on track by a spreadsheet of endless lists, including the one that said “Pack Spanx.” Because in the midst of this wonderful sacrament of marriage, one must remember to wear Spanx. Turns out the Spanx sort of argued with the shutter pleats on my dress and I had pleats a-flipping most of the night, but who cares? Checking “pack Spanx” off the list was cathartic.

A moment that grounded me in the meaning of the day was after the clamoring and giggling of the girls getting their make-up done in the hotel room. Sara, a dear friend and bridesmaid, offered to pray with us as we sat around the table cluttered with water bottles and M & M’s. In that moment, it all came together and I felt a peace that only conversation with God can give. I want to be like Sara when I grow up – never too busy or distracted to pause for a prayer of gratitude and praise. I’m not very good at that sometimes.

My cousin Ellie, who is Kate‘s namesake and was also my Maid of Honor, made the jewelry for both Kate and me. Kate chose her as one of the reception hostesses. She was an ever-present source of support, and left a sweet note on my pillow the night of the wedding, a gesture that blessed me and reminded me again how much thicker blood is than water. And how cousins can be best friends and near-sisters. Even though you still bicker about who gets to hold Harper next.

I really don’t know what I envisioned for the day, but it was perfect. Oh sure, there were last minute changes for the ushers, but being seasoned at their jobs they handled it well. My boys are awesome. I was at the mercy of the planning, coordinators, and organizers, and it was all unfolding as it should. My assignment was to greet, walk down the aisle, listen, cry, walk back down the aisle,  greet some more, go to reception.

I felt comfortably inconspicuous.

A bit alone.

Everyone had a job to do. Everyone was busy. My work was done, on many levels. I’d birthed, prayed, nursed, raised, taught, fought (yes, we fought), prayed, mentored, instructed, prayed, cried, advised, prayed, and loved this beautiful girl from the moment she arrived on Mother’s Day 32 years before. I’d left her in God’s hands long ago, knowing I was powerless to do only what He can do.  So I spent the several hours before the wedding just sitting in the chapel, alone, bare feet on cold cement, reflecting on this beautiful daughter of mine, never really mine to begin with, but loaned to me by Him. I thought about this God-breathed marriage, not merely a wedding. Ann Voskamp’s A Prayer for a Daughter had long been memorized, and I pulled the lyrical words randomly out of my memory throughout the day.

If you have a daughter, I dare you to pray that prayer and not weep.

May her vocation in this world simply be translation.
Translating every enemy into esteemed guest
Translating every countenance into the face of Christ
Translating every burden into blessing.

~Ann Voskamp

Kate was radiant the entire day, captured beautifully by skilled photographers, one of them Ryan’s cousin. Looking back at the videos, I am so proud of the person she has become, though she did not arrive there without trials, heartbreak, and tears. That’s how God shapes us. (Well, that and her Bridal Boot Camp which didn’t hurt her physical image one bit).

But the little girl woman I saw greeting guests as they exited was gracious, kind, and loving. The gratitude she expressed for them for was straight from the heart. I loved that they chose for us all to praise Him as one family, singing Hosanna along with the worship leader from their church. In the moment of silence after the song, a child in the congregation yelled “YAY!!!” Yes, that said it all. I love the look on Kate and Ryan’s faces as captured by Steph.

I’ve been dying to rehash the entire day with her. Every minute. Every thought. After dropping them at the airport early the following Monday as they jetted away on their honeymoon, I’ve thought of a million things I want to tell her or ask her. My restraint has been phenomenal. I won’t be that mother, or mother-in-law. God’s always had her first, but Ryan just took over second place.

Sigh. I may have lost that position a long time ago. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. I am eternally grateful for that Third Strand among them that will be the foundation of their marriage.

I pray their marriage will be blessed with God’s love, defeated trials, continual forgiveness, mutual submission, forever love, and cousins for Harper. Because Grandma’s house is the place cousins go to become best friends.

Just ask Ellie and me.

Tea today: China Green, leftover from tea satchels they had as wedding favors

 

Absent, yet in the moment

// October 25th, 2011 // 3 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

It’s no accident that there hasn’t been so much as a food re-post on this teeny internet real estate lately. Being off the grid has meant being in the moment for me. I needed some moments.

Sara’s flight left me empty and wordless. I’ve been Pinning for mindless distraction, sending recipes and wedding details to Evernote and getting my house cleaned and organized because when stress hits my brain, busy is what I do. I’ve traveled to babysit Harper and consider every minute with our little miracle pure joy. And believe it or not, the internet just isn’t busy enough for me. Physically, anyway. Who knew I could run like the wind?

Well, a breeze, perhaps.

Cobwebs, BE GONE. Closets, BE CLEANED. The spindles on the staircase are polished as if Kate will be descending those stairs like precious Annie in Father of the Bride.

I’ve forced my rabbit-trail brain to focus on detail after detail – I will not live these precious pre-wedding days ever again. I’ve taken extra care to not get sick  from sleep deprivation or junk food, even though I don’t remember the last time I was sick. A couple long nights of sleep don’t, however, keep you well-rested.

If anything gives me sniffles and snorts,I hope it’s the music and the sight of Kate on her wedding day. I hope it’s watching her dad walk her down the aisle (and secretly praying he doesn’t stop and talk to all the guests THEN). It’s watching my two handsome strapping boys usher in family and friends and friends we haven’t met yet. It’s going to be the sight of my beautiful daughter-in-law  witnessing as her matron of honor and recollecting all she has so unselfishly done for us to prepare for Kate’s perfect day. It’s going to be sniffling as I see ”Uncle RyRy” watch his bride come down the aisle and I just know he’ll grin so big that his eyes will shut because that’s what he does and it’s adorable.

That boy, he’s a born smiler. His mama did good. She raised happy. We are so blessed.

I’ve prayed for my daughter’s wedding day for 32 years. But it was only in the last few years that the prayer turned from “Please God, find her a nice husband who loves her deeply” to “Please God, prepare heart of the man you want for her, that he will love her over moon and back, but love You more. Prepare her heart to love You first, and him second.”

That’s the prayer that was answered; this time both God and I were on the same page. I feel one step closer to heaven.

As Ron Burgundy tirelessly scours 30 years of VHS tapes and photographs in the wee morning hours, we are winding down to the tearful (for me) production that will be know as “The Wedding Video.” Tearful because of sheer emotion – joy, gratitude, and precious memories.

I want to be present in every single moment. I do not want to forget a conversation, a friend, or a hug. So as I have prayed for Him to prepare Kate and Ryan for this sacrament, I pray now that He will keep me present in every moment of their day.

I don’t want to miss it.

(It is not a coincidence that Sara and Kate share the same birthday – just another nudge from Above.  Her presence will be there in a special way, which I will share later).

 I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

3 John 1:4

Tea today: Mystic Dragon (The Spice and Tea Exchange)

Choosing a weekend of joy – for Gitz

// September 26th, 2011 // 14 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

I’m telling this story as I would tell it to Sara, our Gitzen girl. Because I’m going to miss telling her this and she always wanted to hear about celebrations. It was how she connected to the outside world from inside her igloo condo. She would double over from the combination of laughter and pain and joy and pain (the pain…no, I will not miss her pain) as I would regale on the antics of life with Ron Burgundy while she sipped her Sonic lime slush and ate her Starburst. Because Sara’s gone to be with Jesus, and I find it oddly comforting that she left to meet Him in the middle of this whole weekend story thing. Because she will always be a part of MY story, making me forever grateful. I guess we all grieve a little differently, and that’s what makes the world go ’round. It doesn’t mean there were no tears here.

As if an 80 hour work week wasn’t enough for Ron Burgundy, we had plans to go to the Twin Cities for “an award thing.” Yep, that’s all he told me. So I googled (what all good wives do for men who tend to leave out details) and discovered we were going to see someone named Emmy.

Emmy. I’d like that name for my next granddaughter, thankyouverymuch.

We started out rough. I was up all night with, shall we say, a gastrointestinal upset of the Montezuma variety. Graveyard shift bellyaches are not for the faint of heart, but fortunately, there was some medication in the cabinet that expired in 2004. Bingo!

We got a late start Saturday, and we were flying through the house, throwing things in random bags that we just might need. We weren’t being Samsonite people; nope, we were bag people. And off we went for the four hour drive, which had the potential of the proverbial three-hour tour, seeing as how that pesky electrical tape keeps falling off the “service engine soon” light and we had to watch it the whole trip.

To say that we arrived in Minneapolis looking like a couple of rode-hard, put-away-wet hicks is an understatement. Shabby jeans, long sleeved t-shirts from a road race in 1996, high-mileage tennis shoes, no make-up (either of us!), we were only *this much* out of place at the fancy hotel. I stood a bit behind RB as he was visiting with the bellhop Joseph (not Joe) a handsome, freshly-shaven and well-postured young man in an expensive wool suit. And an ear piece. And clip board. The epitome of customer service, but more resembling the Secret Service.

There he was, my favorite multimedia journalist in too-big Walmart blue jeans, visiting with Joe (they were BFF within 30 seconds), discussing amenities in downtown Minneapolis, and tipping generously as he always does.

And his electric toothbrush, bigger than life, sticking out the back pocket of his jeans.

I mean We. Are. Classy. My biggest fear was that he would turn wrong and the stupid thing would start vibrating and buzzing right there. (to which Sara would have said “SHUT UUUUP!! He goes to the City in grunge and he puts up Christmas lights in a suit? What’s that about?” to which I’d reply, “Dorks make the best husbands.”)

whew. dodged that bullet. the toothbrush remained silent.

We were late arriving and missed dinner, but my stomach was still telling me “no” so we went to our hotel, quickly threw on our city clothes (him: tux. me: Spanx. both: deodorant) and grabbed a cab for the ceremony. “I’ll bet you looked fancy,” Sara would have said. “And you didn’t take a picture??” Yep, we did. But our feet looked better than our faces by then.

There were young female journalists in very short skirts with very big hair and those five-inch heels that keep podiatrists and orthopedic surgeons in business. I’d be acrophobic in some of those shoes. (At this point Sara and I would have hit up Zappos.com so I could show her all of the foot-deforming styles). Good thing those young ‘uns don’t have to deal with Spanx while wearing those. That’s way too much multitasking for the lower limbs.

About two minutes before RB was called to the stage, I got the text about Sara leaving her earthly home. I gasped audibly, as if I never realized it was actually going to happen. I let out a heavy sigh, feeling peace and almost literally seeing her fly heavenward. I was happy-sad-nervous-annoyed-proud-relieved-mournful and only a little nauseated. She was pain-free at last. Oh and look, RB’s up on stage! Where am I? It was an out-of-body experience, and only right that Sara would be a part of it in her own delightful flight-of-ideas sort of way.

He was nervous and felt like he botched his acceptance speech, but he didn’t. What an example to young journalists in the audience on work ethic, perseverance, and integrity. I was very proud. Lots of people said “I knew you when….” Sara was also one who “knew him when,” even before I knew her, back when he had hair and (his) teeth and Shep was a pup. And she would pull out a story of “I’ll never forget the time….” and tell me something that was only able to be told because it was a long time ago and it was safe now to tell, because the participating parties are long gone. Or how shocked she was to see  him on the news set in running shorts, Nikes, a tie and suit jacket, ready to deliver news with utmost professionalism, from the waist up. When they showed a video with some crazy outtakes, I thought how much Sara would love it. And laugh. And need a pain pill.

The weekend ended with laundry, a pot of soup, skyping with Harper, and a grease fire. You (and by you, I mean he) shouldn’t leave your (his) popcorn oil heating on the stove even if your wife hollers that your granddaughter is online and you want to babble and make stupid faces at her to see how she reacts. Good thing we have tall ceilings – those were some nasty flames. Fire 1, throw rug 0, smoke alarms 6. At least we know they work – all of them. Sara would have been gut-busting by this point and I’d have to apologize for causing her the pain and breathlessness but she’d tell me to keep going. “Time for a pain pill, Sara?” She always thought it was so funny that I get so annoyed when RB’s ADD made him leave water running and go to work, or leave the door open and go running for an hour. Like standing open. In the winter.

She would have wanted to see pictures and hear details and we would have sat on her bed with Riley begging for treats and flipped through my phone pics and gone down a million rabbit trails before finishing with me as the heroine (of course), putting out the grease fire with baking soda that expired three years ago (it’s still good for fires). But she would also want life to go on and for us to “Choose Joy” despite the heavy hearts we were both carrying and the big lumps in our throats that simply would not go away for the whole weekend.

Emmy. It’s a nice name. Gitz would love it. Not only did she choose joy, she delighted in the joy of others – many others. Such a big, loving heart will I never again see.

I miss you, Sara, but I do not miss the physical pain and hunger for air that you bore every day. I am so grateful that you are finally relieved of that. I rejoice in your Homecoming. I’ll come back here to tell you about the wedding.

Tea today: Green Ginger

gitzen girl: heavenbound

// September 16th, 2011 // 37 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Meet Sara. Sweet Sara. Likely if you’ve landed here, you already know her.

This is our story.

We met in a most unlikely place, under unlikely circumstances. I surmise that’s a trick God plays – throws people together to see if they’ll love each other well. So there we were, hanging out reading a post on Pete Wilson’s blog several years ago, and somehow, someway, we introduced ourselves and ended up hijacking the comments section and apologizing to Pete. He was most gracious. I’ve looked back to find that post and haven’t been able to. I don’t even remember what it was about – sorry again, Pete. I’m sure it was profound.

Sara and I quickly realized we had a lot of mutual acquaintances (makes for good gossip, but who does that?), she knew Ron Burgundy way back when he had hair, we lived just a few miles apart, and we shared a love for food. Well, we don’t love the same food, but We. Love. Food. I tried to convince her to eat mine (“Sara, this açai juice will go right to your cells!”) and she extolled the qualities of bacon and … milk gravy(?), which I had never heard of. She stood by the stove with George and Riley while I whisked and stirred and added more salt and we stuck our fingers in it and it was *this* close. “Just keep adding stuff ’til it looks right. That’s what Mom does.” This is indeed my way of cooking (Jane and I would get along famously), but I didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. She decided the problem wasn’t me; it was the almond milk. Stupid whey, anyway.

Our common food ground is fruit. She loves fresh fruit, and it tickled me to no end the first time I brought her a pomegranate. I mean, they had poms in the Bible, right?  “Where have these been?? Are they NEW??” “I’m pretty sure Jesus ate pomegranates, Sara. They may have even been put on the Ark. Just savor the explosion in your mouth.” “NO, I just want to EAT them!!”  Funny girl, that one. (I saved that in my journal because some day I knew I’d tell the internets about it).

I have a hundred stories like this, and I’m trying to keep this light in the looming shadow of my grief. As Sara takes steps closer to Heaven because of her 17-year chronic illness, my heart feels like lead in my chest. And Sara doesn’t want that. She told me on Tuesday she is not afraid, she is ready to go Home, she wants to see her dad. She wants to fly to Jesus’ arms. No more pain.

Who can blame her? This horrible disease robbed her of everything the world knows and gave her constant, debilitating pain.

But Sara knew differently.

She refused to let it rob her of her faith, her joy, her immense love for people, especially children, her laughter, and her trust in her future in Heaven. She never complained. In fact, she would apologize for hurting when she would suddenly writhe in pain. Being homebound placed no limits on her desire to reach across the world to make friends, support friends, love friends. Yes, the world.

Her mantra: Choose Joy. Choose Joy in spite of your circumstances.

If there’s such a person as a chronic giver, that’s Sara. She’s painted canvases as gifts, prayed for us, written blog posts, spent hours trying to straighten out my misunderstandings of her Catholic faith, created free digital artwork for others, gifted us with songs with the voice of an angel, and just loved us immensely, no matter what. She was always mailing packages of gifts everywhere across the country.

I never drove by Sonic without calculating the time it would take me to grab a lime slush and take it to her house, or see peaches in Sam’s without getting some for her. Lime slushes and peaches were her kryptonite. And watermelon. And bacon. I think she threw her love of bacon in there just to get my goat, knowing I’d try to feed her something healthier.

Through the pain, she would laugh. Sometimes we would laugh and it would cause her pain. Even in her weakened state on Tuesday, she maintained her laughter, her joy, her praise. She lovingly talked of Harper (the kid is 3+ months old and Sara is dying. Who does that?? Sara does.) It’s rather awkward when a dying friend cracks a joke, but I’ve been in that situation before with other friends. I apparently pick friends who think dying well is akin to living well. There, I’ve found my spiritual gift.

We laughed at her Tuesday medication-induced gem: “I hope when I get there God doesn’t change his mind and decide 17 years of this disease wasn’t enough and then BRINGS OUT THE NAILS!!”

My sweet Gitz, thank you for all you have given me. I grieve big because I love you big. I can feel you love me back. And thanks to your faithful example, I’m even more confident Where to turn, in both gratitude and grief. Thank you for allowing me into your life and to love immensely.

(not) Tea tonight: Sonic Lime Slush, of course

 

Functional Foodie Friday: Shrimp, Bok Choy and Peanuts over Coconut Jasmine Rice

// September 16th, 2011 // No Comments » // Faith, Family, Functional Foodie, My Fabulous Life

Note: this was a post in the hopper, scheduled to publish today. My heart is selfishly heavy as I, with literally thousands of others, await the news of the arrival of our dear friend Sara (@gitzengirl) in Jesus’ arms. Right now the words that could adequately reflect on the coincidental friendship we’ve shared are frozen in my heart. If I believed in coincidences, that is. Soon, perhaps. Please keep her close in prayer.

Sara would hate this recipe (no meat, no taters) – but she’s all about Choosing Joy, and the kitchen is one of my joy-choosing places. I love you, Sara. You’re the only one I ever made “milk gravy” for. And you always told me they have it in heaven. Really??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s all in the prep – putting together a stir fry is nothing if not easy, especially if you’re a lover of chopping and dicing like I am. Sharp knives are one of my biggest joys.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Prepping your ingredients is key, you can do it ahead of time, and when it’s time to cook dinner, you’ll have it on the table in 5 minutes. Really.

I stole this recipe from one of my favorite food bloggers, Sanura Weathers from “My Life Runs on Food,” and made a few modifications based on what I had available. Actually, it’s pretty darn close. The coconut rice was real iffy for me, but I don’t think I’ve ever had such delectable flavor. Even if you don’t like coconut flavor, you will like this. It’s more nutty than anything, and almost the texture of a risotto.

I used brown jasmine rice, because I have no white rice here except sushi rice, and about a dozen other rices and grains in the pantry. This was my most likely choice.

And yes, Ron Burgundy ate it. Even said it was good. To me, it’s the epitome of freshness and nutrition and every bite had a different texture, different bit of flavor, different bit of heat. It was a fabulous explosion of creamy, nutty, crunchy, sweet and salty flavors. To him, it was … dinner. He doesn’t have the gustatory joy I seem to have been blessed with.


Shrimp, Bok Choy and Peanuts over Coconut Jasmine Rice
1 1/2 tsp canola oil
¼ cup dry roasted peanuts, roughly chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
3 tbsp. fresh ginger, finely chopped
4 scallions, divide the white and the green parts (dice the white part and slice the green part)
2 jalapeños, seeds removed, finely diced
2 tbsp. Tamari sauce
1 tbsp. sesame seeds, toasted
1 lb. of large shrimp (I used cooked, frozen – fresh would be better)
1 lb. baby bok choy, cleaned and sliced ½ inch horizontally
1 lime, juiced

Toss the shrimp with Tamari and set aside. Warm canola oil over medium heat. Add the peanuts and sauté until golden brown. Add garlic and ginger. Stir for 30 seconds. Add the white part of the scallions, jalapeños, sesame seeds, and shrimp. Stir for 1 minute.

Add the bok choy and the lime juice. Continue cooking until the shrimp is done, about 2 to 3 minutes.

Spoon mixture over coconut rice. Garnish with scallion greens.

Coconut Jasmine Rice
1 tbsp. sesame oil
1 cup brown jasmine rice
14 oz. light coconut milk
white pepper, to taste

Soak rice for 30-60 minutes in warm water. Drain. In a pot, heat sesame oil until hot. Add rice and toss until fragrant. Pour coconut milk into the pot, adding water to make 2 cups of liquid. Season with pepper. Cover and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook for 30 minutes, then turn off the heat. Let rice sit covered until stir fry is ready. Fluff rice with a fork and serve.

Tea today: Trader Joe’s Jasmine

Pedaling Advice: Pray for Lost Souls

// August 9th, 2011 // 1 Comment » // Faith, My Fabulous Life

Another snippet gleaned from the solitude enjoyed
on one of my many summer bike rides.

For at least three weeks, I’ve noticed this child’s croc on an infrequently-traveled road leading me to the nature trail. I didn’t think much about it for the first few passes, but it began to catch my attention after a while.

Who is the sweet little one who lost this?

And then my mind wandered to the people I pray for consistently. Husband, mother, children, granddaughter, friends, the numerous prayer requests I get throughout the months. Most of my people-prayer is focused on those who are already pretty steady in their faith walk, and I pray for good health, wise decisions, and softened hearts.

But what about the souls who are lost and have nothing to believe in? Those who feel like God has walked away from them, deserted them, not heard their cries? I really don’t pray too much for them, to be honest, and according to scripture I am called to do so. That’s my focus this week.

I’m praying for lost souls to find Him, that they recognize the comfort in no longer being lost and surrender the illusion of being in control.

And lost soles? I have one of my own that is beyond prayer. And if you see Jesus’ face in that sole, you’re not the first one. Bids, anyone?

Tea today: Green with mango

Pedaling Advice: Beware of Small Sticks

// August 1st, 2011 // 5 Comments » // Faith, My Fabulous Life, Pedaling Advice

Slacker that I am, I’ve decided to create my own writing prompt. Something has to get me to post something other than food on Fridays. I’ve been on my bike a lot lately, grabbing all of the steamy hot weather before fall blows in and my fair-weather attitude gets challenged. On these rides, I write a gazillion blog posts in my head, none of which ever get the thrill of the “publish” button. Focus, Candy, focus.

I’ve thought a lot lately about the parallels of biking, faith and life – simple parallels, simple prompts. I’ve collected a lot of thoughts over the past 6 decades, and I may as well spew them. So yes, I’m going to call this Pedaling Advice and this may be the last post or the first of many. There will most likely be rants, Que sera, sera. Oh, and I need a cute button because that pic up there is Just. Plain. Tacky.

First, understand that I’m no bike-savvy chick. I have a cheap bike, one pair of bike shorts (yes, I wash them often) and (GAAA!) a fanny pack for emergency carbs. My brakes squeak and my gears catch. I own no fancy sweat-wicking bike jerseys and usually bike in tank tops that were on sale at Old Navy or Sam’s Club say, about 10 years ago. I wear some formerly fancy schmancy biking sandals that would probably never be found if you Googled “biking fashion” but they serve their purpose. That is, if their purpose is making a mess out of a new pedicure.

All of this makes me a less than-impressive cyclist as I swat at the Japanese beetles that pelt me like buckshot and stop way too often to take photographs with my little point-and-shoot. But it gives me lots of quiet time to think and pray and make decisions and write speeches-never-to-be-given while I’m out on the trails, soaking up the heat, the sun and the stares of passers-by as I chat to myself out loud.

There may be a snippet a week … maybe. Trying to apply the KISS formula here. Let’s go.

Tip #1: Beware of small sticks

Earlier storms knocked some pretty hefty branches down along my favorite trail. Most of my fellow bikers were kind enough to move the larger limbs, and only scattered small sticks remain. They don’t get in my way; I ride right over them without consequence. That is, until yesterday. A small stick, not even 6 inches long was in my path, and as I hit it, it broke, flew up in my spoke, clanked around, and hit my rear gear wheelie thing (told you I’m not bike-savvy) and caused me to clunk, slip, and yes, fall. Praise God nobody saw me, and the bruising is minimal.

The Advice: Even small sticks can make you stumble. They are not nudges from God to take a risk, if in the end it will hurt or destroy you. That “just one” drink. That seemingly innocent across-the-room flirt. Just one quick stop at the casino. Avoiding big pitfalls is easy – stay away from the tree trunk. But it’s the little things along the way that chip away at your resolve, make you oblivious to the dangers, and set you up for the big dive into the woods of hell. And remember that when you fall, you just might drag a few people with you. Collateral damage hurts. You also might want to move a few small sticks out of the path, lest you cause a brother/sister to stumble.

The good news: God’s mercies are new every day. Start over. Take a different route. Don’t fall into the definition of being an idiot by doing the same stupid thing over and over again, expecting different results.

“So then each of us will give an account of ourselves to God.”

Romans 14:12

Do you have any small sticks?

Tea tonight: Stash Green
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