Friday, December 31, 2010
Honest to God Lament
I invite you to listen to this sermon on lament, delivered by my friend Laura last semester.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Granddad
I said goodbye to my granddad a couple weeks ago. At the time, I’m not sure he knew who I was, and I know he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation—that his granddaughter was seeing him alive for the last time. But despite his lack of understanding, he treated the situation with gentle grace, and spoke over me the blessing that he’s uttered thousands of times—over his children and grandchildren, over his own wife and the spouses of his family, over friends and even over healthcare providers: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and give you his peace.”
During the last several days I spent with Granddad, I was struck by the gentleness he showed to all those around him. When I was growing up, I remember him being a little rougher around the edges. He had tender moments when he’d take me and my brothers sledding or tell me he had me tied up in his golden thread of love that I could never escape. But the softer side was not his dominant one. Years later, in Granddad’s final weeks of life, that softer side rose to the surface, filling in cracks and covering the rough edges and sharp corners of his character.
He treated everyone with kindness, even when he didn’t necessarily know who they were or why they were there. He spoke blessings over people when they went to bed or left for the day. He bantered with the hired caretakers. He got excited when he saw my dad and realized, for the twelfth time that day, who he was. His dementia tore his short-term memory to shreds, but he even dealt with that graciously. Often he would turn to me after focusing on something or someone else for a few minutes, and would have already forgotten who I was. But every time I can remember this happening, he either greeted me with an excited “Hello!” or asked, “Who’s that beautiful young lady over there?” Even in not recognizing me, he would call me beautiful.
Granddad also spoke of Anne in the most glowing terms I’ve ever heard a man talk about his wife. After 58 years of marriage, he still called her “my bride” and loved her immensely. He would rave about what an amazing woman she is, about how well she’d taken care of him for 58 years, and about how hard he’d tried to take care of her for 58 years. Several times during my visit, he told me I was beautiful and followed it with, “But not as beautiful as my bride.” While so many marriages end in painful divorce or lapse into bland coexistence, Granddad and Anne’s long, loving, joyful marriage testifies to the blessing that a lifelong marriage is.
Early this morning, Granddad stopped breathing, after 81 years of life and 58 years of marriage; after raising a family of ten children and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than I care to count right now; after working as a pilot and patent-holding metallurgist and building countless homes with Habitat for Humanity; after impressing his devout faith upon his children. And now the Lord’s face shines, undimmed, upon him, and he is experiencing the Lord’s peace in its purest, most untarnished form.
During the last several days I spent with Granddad, I was struck by the gentleness he showed to all those around him. When I was growing up, I remember him being a little rougher around the edges. He had tender moments when he’d take me and my brothers sledding or tell me he had me tied up in his golden thread of love that I could never escape. But the softer side was not his dominant one. Years later, in Granddad’s final weeks of life, that softer side rose to the surface, filling in cracks and covering the rough edges and sharp corners of his character.
He treated everyone with kindness, even when he didn’t necessarily know who they were or why they were there. He spoke blessings over people when they went to bed or left for the day. He bantered with the hired caretakers. He got excited when he saw my dad and realized, for the twelfth time that day, who he was. His dementia tore his short-term memory to shreds, but he even dealt with that graciously. Often he would turn to me after focusing on something or someone else for a few minutes, and would have already forgotten who I was. But every time I can remember this happening, he either greeted me with an excited “Hello!” or asked, “Who’s that beautiful young lady over there?” Even in not recognizing me, he would call me beautiful.
Granddad also spoke of Anne in the most glowing terms I’ve ever heard a man talk about his wife. After 58 years of marriage, he still called her “my bride” and loved her immensely. He would rave about what an amazing woman she is, about how well she’d taken care of him for 58 years, and about how hard he’d tried to take care of her for 58 years. Several times during my visit, he told me I was beautiful and followed it with, “But not as beautiful as my bride.” While so many marriages end in painful divorce or lapse into bland coexistence, Granddad and Anne’s long, loving, joyful marriage testifies to the blessing that a lifelong marriage is.
Early this morning, Granddad stopped breathing, after 81 years of life and 58 years of marriage; after raising a family of ten children and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than I care to count right now; after working as a pilot and patent-holding metallurgist and building countless homes with Habitat for Humanity; after impressing his devout faith upon his children. And now the Lord’s face shines, undimmed, upon him, and he is experiencing the Lord’s peace in its purest, most untarnished form.
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| Playing cards on one of Granddad's last good days |
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| The day before I told him goodbye |
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Dinner in a Pumpkin
This past weekend, I tried a new recipe for a casserole baked in a pumpkin. Here is my modification of this recipe from allrecipes.com. Basically, I adjusted the quantities so I could cook one serving for myself in a pie pumpkin and freeze 2 more meals' worth for use in the future with pie pumpkins or some other form of squash.
Dinner in a Pumpkin
1 pound ground beef
Salt and pepper to taste
1 tablespoon pumpkin pie spice
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 14-oz. can chicken stock
1 box of Uncle Ben's long grain and wild rice mix, Original Recipe, including seasoning packet
1 10.75-oz. can condensed cream of celery soup
6 oz. fresh mushrooms
3-4 pie pumpkins
In a large skillet over medium heat, brown the ground beef. Drain.
Mix in salt and pepper, pumpkin pie spice, brown sugar, chicken stock, rice, and flavor packet. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer 25 to 30 minutes, until rice is tender.
Remove and reserve top of each pumpkin, being sure to cut at an angle so the top will work as a lid. Scoop out seeds and stringy pulp.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Mix cream of celery soup and mushrooms into the meat and rice mixture. Spoon 1 to 1-1/2 cups of the mixture into each of the pumpkins, and replace pumpkin tops. You will have about 5 cups of beef/rice filling.
Place pumpkins on a large baking sheet, and bake 1 hour in the preheated oven, or until pumpkin is tender (after 30 minutes, check every 10 minutes. If you're only cooking only one pie pumpkin, 40-45 minutes should be long enough).
Serve in the pumpkins, eating the meat of the pumpkin as well as the beef and rice filling.
Alternate version if you're just cooking for one: Just prepare one pie pumpkin, scoop the rest of the filling into 2-3 zip bags, and throw them in the freezer for future meals.
Next time I make it, I will probably add some fresh celery (or at least dried celery seed) and garlic.
Dinner in a Pumpkin
1 pound ground beef
Salt and pepper to taste
1 tablespoon pumpkin pie spice
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 14-oz. can chicken stock
1 box of Uncle Ben's long grain and wild rice mix, Original Recipe, including seasoning packet
1 10.75-oz. can condensed cream of celery soup
6 oz. fresh mushrooms
3-4 pie pumpkins
In a large skillet over medium heat, brown the ground beef. Drain.
Mix in salt and pepper, pumpkin pie spice, brown sugar, chicken stock, rice, and flavor packet. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer 25 to 30 minutes, until rice is tender.
Remove and reserve top of each pumpkin, being sure to cut at an angle so the top will work as a lid. Scoop out seeds and stringy pulp.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Mix cream of celery soup and mushrooms into the meat and rice mixture. Spoon 1 to 1-1/2 cups of the mixture into each of the pumpkins, and replace pumpkin tops. You will have about 5 cups of beef/rice filling.
Place pumpkins on a large baking sheet, and bake 1 hour in the preheated oven, or until pumpkin is tender (after 30 minutes, check every 10 minutes. If you're only cooking only one pie pumpkin, 40-45 minutes should be long enough).
Serve in the pumpkins, eating the meat of the pumpkin as well as the beef and rice filling.
Alternate version if you're just cooking for one: Just prepare one pie pumpkin, scoop the rest of the filling into 2-3 zip bags, and throw them in the freezer for future meals.
Next time I make it, I will probably add some fresh celery (or at least dried celery seed) and garlic.
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| Before going in the oven. |
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| With the filling inside. |
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| Leftover filling ready to go into the freezer. |
 |
| All gone! |
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| I felt the need to get artistic with the empty pumpkin. |
Monday, February 22, 2010
Seasons
I love that we have different seasons, each with different attributes. Even in tropical climates where it’s hot and humid year round, there is at least a rainy season and a rainier season. Or in arctic climates, I’m sure there’s a cold and snowy season and a colder and snowier season.
I love that—at least in places with four distinct (or semi distinct) seasons—each season is just long enough for you to really appreciate the next one. By the time spring rolls around, we’re tired of cold temperatures, and we’re ready to wear short sleeves and drive with the windows down. And by the time summer rolls around, we’re ready to go swimming and take family vacations. And by the time fall rolls around, we’re excited about cooler temperatures and pumpkin-scented candles. And by the time winter rolls around, we’re eager for snow and Christmas and bundling up against the cold.
One thing I love about the seasons in Texas is that we have so many random days that don’t fit into the season in which they fall. Two days ago, it was 70 degrees; when I left campus this evening, it was snowing fiercely. Maybe I just like variety, but I enjoy the 70-degree days in the middle of February to break the norm of cold temperatures. And I love the days in the summer when it drops to low 60s or even 50s, and then pops back up to 102.
I like that we also experience seasons in our lives and spiritual journeys. If we didn’t go in cycles we would become stagnant—and I believe even getting “stuck” in a good place can become unhealthy. Spring, bursting with life, is so much more refreshing when it comes after a harsh winter. And a harsh winter is so much more bearable when there’s the remembrance of past summers and the hope of new springs. Those random out-of-season days are so needed in our spiritual lives, too. A day of spring in the middle of autumn or winter gives hope that it won’t always be cold, hard, and dead or dying. A day of fall in the middle of summer serves as a sobering reminder that it hasn’t always been this warm and carefree, which helps us appreciate summer that much more.
There are things I like and dislike about every season, both in the weather and in life, but I am trying to be grateful for each one and to search for God in each of life’s seasons.
I love that—at least in places with four distinct (or semi distinct) seasons—each season is just long enough for you to really appreciate the next one. By the time spring rolls around, we’re tired of cold temperatures, and we’re ready to wear short sleeves and drive with the windows down. And by the time summer rolls around, we’re ready to go swimming and take family vacations. And by the time fall rolls around, we’re excited about cooler temperatures and pumpkin-scented candles. And by the time winter rolls around, we’re eager for snow and Christmas and bundling up against the cold.
One thing I love about the seasons in Texas is that we have so many random days that don’t fit into the season in which they fall. Two days ago, it was 70 degrees; when I left campus this evening, it was snowing fiercely. Maybe I just like variety, but I enjoy the 70-degree days in the middle of February to break the norm of cold temperatures. And I love the days in the summer when it drops to low 60s or even 50s, and then pops back up to 102.
I like that we also experience seasons in our lives and spiritual journeys. If we didn’t go in cycles we would become stagnant—and I believe even getting “stuck” in a good place can become unhealthy. Spring, bursting with life, is so much more refreshing when it comes after a harsh winter. And a harsh winter is so much more bearable when there’s the remembrance of past summers and the hope of new springs. Those random out-of-season days are so needed in our spiritual lives, too. A day of spring in the middle of autumn or winter gives hope that it won’t always be cold, hard, and dead or dying. A day of fall in the middle of summer serves as a sobering reminder that it hasn’t always been this warm and carefree, which helps us appreciate summer that much more.
There are things I like and dislike about every season, both in the weather and in life, but I am trying to be grateful for each one and to search for God in each of life’s seasons.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Practitioners of Memos
by Walter Brueggemann
from Prayers for a Privileged People
Here we are, practitioners of memos:
We send e-mail and we receive it,
We copy it and forward it and save it and delete it.
We write to move the data, and
organize the program,
and keep people informed--
and know and control and manage.
We write and receive one-dimensional memos,
that are, at best, clear and unambiguous.
And then--in breathtaking ways--you summon us to song.
You, by your very presence, call us to lyrical voice;
You, by your book, give us cadences of praise
that we sing and say, "allelu, allelu."
You, by your hymnal, give us many voices
toward thanks and gratitude and amazement.
You, by your betraying absence,
call us to lament and protest and complaint.
All our songs are toward you
in praise, in thanks and in need.
We sing figure and image and parallel and metaphor.
We sing thickness according to our coded community.
We sing and draw close to each other, and to you.
We sing. Things become fresh. But then the moment breaks
and we sink back into memo: "How many pages?"
"When is it due?"
"Do you need footnotes?"
We are hopelessly memo kinds of people.
So we pray, by the power of your spirit,
give us some song-infused days,
deliver us from memo-dominated nights.
Give us a different rhythm,
of dismay and promise,
of candor and hope,
of trusting and obeying.
Give us the courage to withstand the world of memo
and draw near to your craft of life
given in the wind.
We pray back to you the Word made flesh;
We pray, "Come soon."
We say, "Amen."
Let me just say, that first part...it's me. Through and through. I spend literally hours every day receiving emails, answering them, forwarding them to my boss, writing new emails, going back through past emails to find exactly what that confirmation number was or exactly when that student said he was sending in his project/thesis...conducting business through my keyboard.
And I enjoy emails. I enjoy emailing. I enjoy communicating and being a sort of conduit through which a copious amount of information flows.
In some ways, that world is one-dimensional like Brueggemann says. In some ways, what I do is flat. But when God is in the picture, there's this whole new, deep, rich, complex layer of life, where all those memos and emails and project/theses are coated with the richness of God and of worship. I don't think that the world of memos and the fullness of God's presence are mutually exclusive. I think that, when we allow him--and when we allow ourselves to notice--God infuses our lives with him. Those emails gain new meaning. Those school assignments gain new significance. That to-do list gains purpose.
I think that part of being a mature Christian is taking those songs of praise and lament and complaint and sheer joy into whatever we do. Whether it's coordinating people's schedules to set up a doctoral project/thesis oral defense, or building a new website, or formatting a document, or giving food to a homeless person, or sitting with a friend while they mourn or rejoice, or driving someone to the airport, or scrubbing a toilet. Whatever it is that we're doing, God permeates it, and he brings depth and meaning to it.
from Prayers for a Privileged People
Here we are, practitioners of memos:
We send e-mail and we receive it,
We copy it and forward it and save it and delete it.
We write to move the data, and
organize the program,
and keep people informed--
and know and control and manage.
We write and receive one-dimensional memos,
that are, at best, clear and unambiguous.
And then--in breathtaking ways--you summon us to song.
You, by your very presence, call us to lyrical voice;
You, by your book, give us cadences of praise
that we sing and say, "allelu, allelu."
You, by your hymnal, give us many voices
toward thanks and gratitude and amazement.
You, by your betraying absence,
call us to lament and protest and complaint.
All our songs are toward you
in praise, in thanks and in need.
We sing figure and image and parallel and metaphor.
We sing thickness according to our coded community.
We sing and draw close to each other, and to you.
We sing. Things become fresh. But then the moment breaks
and we sink back into memo: "How many pages?"
"When is it due?"
"Do you need footnotes?"
We are hopelessly memo kinds of people.
So we pray, by the power of your spirit,
give us some song-infused days,
deliver us from memo-dominated nights.
Give us a different rhythm,
of dismay and promise,
of candor and hope,
of trusting and obeying.
Give us the courage to withstand the world of memo
and draw near to your craft of life
given in the wind.
We pray back to you the Word made flesh;
We pray, "Come soon."
We say, "Amen."
Let me just say, that first part...it's me. Through and through. I spend literally hours every day receiving emails, answering them, forwarding them to my boss, writing new emails, going back through past emails to find exactly what that confirmation number was or exactly when that student said he was sending in his project/thesis...conducting business through my keyboard.
And I enjoy emails. I enjoy emailing. I enjoy communicating and being a sort of conduit through which a copious amount of information flows.
In some ways, that world is one-dimensional like Brueggemann says. In some ways, what I do is flat. But when God is in the picture, there's this whole new, deep, rich, complex layer of life, where all those memos and emails and project/theses are coated with the richness of God and of worship. I don't think that the world of memos and the fullness of God's presence are mutually exclusive. I think that, when we allow him--and when we allow ourselves to notice--God infuses our lives with him. Those emails gain new meaning. Those school assignments gain new significance. That to-do list gains purpose.
I think that part of being a mature Christian is taking those songs of praise and lament and complaint and sheer joy into whatever we do. Whether it's coordinating people's schedules to set up a doctoral project/thesis oral defense, or building a new website, or formatting a document, or giving food to a homeless person, or sitting with a friend while they mourn or rejoice, or driving someone to the airport, or scrubbing a toilet. Whatever it is that we're doing, God permeates it, and he brings depth and meaning to it.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Dream
I dreamed last night we were starting our trip to PNG. Mom, Matthew, and Josh came by my office to pick me and my suitcase up. When we got to the airport, we were talking about all we were going to do, and part of our schedule was to fly to Orlando mid-week to go to Disney World. We were chatting excitedly about it, and then I was like, "Wait a minute. We're going to fly to PNG, then fly back to Orlando to go to Disney World, and then fly back to PNG?" They all affirmed it, and I said, "Well, that's dumb," and then expressed my worries that all the flying back and forth would cut into our time in PNG, and would be more expensive...but then admitted that there was probably nothing we could do about it since the tickets were already bought.
Then, a bit later, I realized that I hadn't packed anything. When they picked me up at my office, I grabbed an empty suitcase, thinking we'd go to my house first so I could pack, and then in the excitement, I forgot about it. So I just started crying because I didn't have anything with me besides the clothes on my back and my purse. I didn't even have my passport. We tried to think of alternate ways to prove my identity so they'd let me into the country, but came up dry, so Mom and I ran out to the parking garage to try to rush home and at least grab my passport.
Then, a bit later, I realized that I hadn't packed anything. When they picked me up at my office, I grabbed an empty suitcase, thinking we'd go to my house first so I could pack, and then in the excitement, I forgot about it. So I just started crying because I didn't have anything with me besides the clothes on my back and my purse. I didn't even have my passport. We tried to think of alternate ways to prove my identity so they'd let me into the country, but came up dry, so Mom and I ran out to the parking garage to try to rush home and at least grab my passport.
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