Archive for the 'Family' Category

September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family, Uniquely Me

So here’s the deal.

I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant  foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one  things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.

Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after  my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)

I could go on and on…

The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.

Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…

Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…

And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.

The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.

Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!

_________________________________

        The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.

            Homemade pickles.

            If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.

            Other times, she’d make…pickles.

            There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom  go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?

            I still don’t eat pickles.

            The memories of those pickle-making summers, however,  have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.

            Not the pickles again!

 

 

Tags: Family, summertime memories, writing

September 3, 2009 @ 6:49 am | Filed under: Family, Uniquely Me, he said she said

“The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.” - Frederick Beuchner
_____________________________
(journal entry from mid-May)

Tonight was a quiet evening. We sat in our (now) small living area - Mike in his chair, with his computer (doing sales call reports) and me in my spot on the sofa, with my computer (doing homework.) It was just a few minutes before nine when there was a knock on the door.

I think it startled us both. In the couple of weeks we’ve been here, we’ve not seen many people, let alone knocking on our door.

Mike set his computer aside and went to the door. Even though he was less than twenty feet away, I could neither see nor hear our visitor. I could only hear Mike’s side of the conversation.

“No, thanks, we don’t really need any this time.” He closed the door and locked it. “That was a local high school girl selling cookie dough for—”

He stopped mid-sentence and I can only guess it was because I had sprung up from my seat and was at his side when he turned around.

I opened my mouth and tried to find a voice for the overwhelming pull that had propelled me upward in the first place. I spit and sputtered, uttering words that seemed to come from out of nowhere. I’m pretty sure that ‘community’ and ‘witness’ and ‘part of the plan’ all came out of my mouth in that brief twenty second period, but I don’t know that it made any kind of sense at all.

Mike unlocked the door and stepped out into the breezeway outside our door, looking down the hallway for the girl. She was at the next apartment.

“Hey, I think my wife wants to buy some after all.” Mike beckoned her back.

I spent the next five minutes introducing myself to Kenesha, a striking African-American teen with the most beautiful blue eyes I think I’ve ever seen, and buying the white chocolate-macadamia cookie dough that - truly - we did not need. Even as we chatted, I was almost mesmerized by her personality, and I even had the briefest of seconds when I thought - again - how unlike me this was, to be so involved in an animated conversation with a complete stranger.

But there was an unspeakable pull toward this teen that began while I still sat on the sofa, before I’d even laid eyes on her, or heard her voice.

After I handed her the fourteen dollars for the cookie dough and then shut and locked the door, Mike chuckled from his chair. “Think we’ll ever see that cookie dough?”

I was silent, still kind of in awe at what had pulled me from my spot on the sofa in the first place. Somehow I knew it wasn’t really about the cookie dough at all. We sat in total silence for about five minutes. And then Mike spoke.

“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re here for more than just the reasons we think we’re here?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Tags: life lessons, living simply

August 31, 2009 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Family, Soul Food, Uniquely Me

I’ve been the quietest I’ve been in years…maybe ever…these past several months.

As an aside - I’m sure if you were to ask Mike, he’d beg to differ with that last statement! I’ve been talking, for sure, as we’ve been planning, implementing those plans, and making various adjustments these past few months. But, other than journaling it and talking it out within our four walls, I’ve not been too vocal on much except surface…stuff.

When I shut out the noise around me, good or bad, I can truly focus. Regain some clarity, perspective. There is a tranquility of spirit these days and - while it is something new for me - it is definitely something I hope to keep.

There is one area though that I am resolving to bolster even more. It is one of my weaknesses: time management. I want so much to do well in so many different areas that I find I am constantly tending to the urgent and - in the process - often ignoring the important.

Putting out fires is necessary, goodness knows, but what I so often perceive as being a burning forest usually turns out to be nothing more than smoldering embers. And sometimes when I get back to the important, the passion, the energy and the drive has already been spent.

My heartbeat lately has been to find God and then join Him in what He is doing. In this protected, tender space that is my life right now, I feel a real need to maximize the time. To not only be productive in my work, school, church and family life, but to really be cognizant as I go through my day of the people around me. What they are facing. Decisions they are making. Hurts they have.

My life has slowed, for sure. I don’t know that I will ever truly understand the scope of what this time is about for me. I feel almost certain that, at the very least, I won’t glimpse the meaning until I’ve faithfully trodded this path until I come to the next leg of the journey.

The last thing I want to do is to fill this time with busyness instead of progress. There are some things - some people - that I can do nothing about, nothing for. Some things just need to be left alone. I’m trying to learn that, accept it.

Only then can I cultivate the important. I want to grow a garden during this time, and nourish it with time spent with Him, time spent in reflection, time shared with loved ones, and time in knowledge and understanding.

Today begins the new fall term and, with it, I am starting a new book. I’m excited about both…and also nervous about both. Beginnings - as fresh and fun and exciting as they can be - aren’t really my forte. But they are crucial and I know that these first days will set the stage for the next weeks and months. I want those months to be productive ones.  And I know what it will take for that productivity to even have a fighting chance.

This morning I lay it all down, all the components that make up ME.

I ask for eyes to see the realities.

Ears to hear His voice.

A heart to love without borders.

And arms strong enough to cradle it all.

Tags: Family, living simply, school stories

April 7, 2009 @ 9:35 pm | Filed under: Family, Wordless Wednesday

April 1, 2009 @ 11:07 am | Filed under: Family, Pure Sunshine, Wordless Wednesday

March 23, 2009 @ 7:35 am | Filed under: Family, Uniquely Me

Do you ever have one of those days when you wish you could purchase some self-discipline in bulk at Sam’s or Costco’s, or maybe at least find it on clearance on one of those great end caps at Target?

I think maybe I’m having one of those days today. Spring Break was great. Just having the time off from classes and a break from studying was balm for my brain! Jordan was home so there was lots of family time, moments of laughter and fun and just good R&R.

But it’s Monday morning and Jordan is back on his college campus, Mike is back at work, and I am facing a brand new to-do list, that I need to give some time to before diving back into my own classes tomorrow. This list is all about the Big Adventure, as Mike has begun calling it. (More on that to come in the days to come.)

A part of me is longing for the familiar comfort of routine and all of its predictability. Another part of me is already right smack in the middle of the adventure. My heart is open to what is coming next, even in the moments when my head is still being it’s usual logical, list-making self. I love the fact that when God sends an invitation for a big adventure, He also delivers the courage and the faith that is often needed to make the most of the opportunity.

Nothing of quality that’s worth having comes easy. Or free.

Last week I spent countless hours cleaning out the closets in our house. Sorting through boxes and files and pictures, I made decision after decision as to what stayed and what went. This morning I’m finding that I’m doing the same thing in my heart, doing some internal inventory. Taking stock of what’s on the shelves of my heart, and in the drawers of my mind and soul. Coming to terms with what’s still good, and what can stand to be tossed.

Hopefully, since I’m a hoarder by nature, I’ll be sensitive to God’s voice and heed his direction to clean out the clutter. I feel challenged this morning to make room for all He has waiting for me.

I have a feeling a healthy dose of self-discipline may be in order. Which brings me back to Target.

Seriously. Wouldn’t it be the coolest if we could pick up a box or bag or CRATE of self-discipline at our local, friendly Target?

March 17, 2009 @ 7:00 am | Filed under: Family, The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

I - like most women - value security. There’s comfort in the familiar, reassurance in the mundane. We know what to expect, and pretty much when to expect it. While this life runs the risk of skating dangerously close to BORING, I have to say I prefer this ride over the wildly unpredictable roller coaster of the UNKNOWN.

But sometimes the normal - the FAMILIAR - can breed mediocrity and we begin to give less-than-our-very-best. When we finally get brave enough to truly face the situation with clarity we can then - and only then - summon the courage to venture into newer, unfamiliar waters. It is only there that we can meet newer, more mature challenges. And, really, it’s the challenges that promote personal growth. And personal growth is what we all need, isn’t it? Once in those waters…

I might weep. Grieve, even. My spirit and my soul tend to lay claim to my every thought and action. I don’t want to make a change. Even so, life is all about change. In no way at all do I want to miss out on what God has for me for fear of the unknown. With hesitancy, I feel myself being drawn to the deeper things.

I allow the waters to suck me into their uncertain depths.

I may retreat for a while. Retreat from all the noise, all the distractions, all the pulls of the world around me. I might share with no one the conflicting and warring emotions tugging for proprietorship in my soul. I enclose myself in the only place I know will bring healing and hope for my bruised spirit.

And then I pray.

You know the kind of prayers I’m talking about. The ones that seem to claw their way from the innermost parts of your being. The ones where words elude you, fail you, yet you pray on, your spirit interceding for the human being that you are. But it’s only in those moments of uncertainty, of brand-spanking-newness that you somehow sense that in your trevail you are giving birth to something new.

So I surrender.

Once in the murky, uncertain waters of what I once perceived as scary territory, I discover treasures. Pieces of beauty that I would never have seen otherwise. My eyes adjust to the dimness of the situation and I became still, doing the only thing I knew to do. What I’ve always been taught to do. Be still, and know that I am God. Verses from the Bible became my food. Lyrics from songs became a healing balm for my soul. Worship - though often wordless - brings a quenching to my thirst.

After a while, I realize I no longer flail at the water surrounding me. No longer struggle against the lessons these depths are trying to teach me. Acceptance, slow yet persistent, begins to inch its way into my conscience. And then the AMAZING…

…the healing of soul and spirit comes to me.

I break the surface again, and breathe in great gulps of fresh peace. I’d gone under in a black-and-white world, but now the colors around me bloom with vibrancy and brilliance and techni-color supremacy. The scales are gone from eyes, the pain gone from my heart, and doubt gone from my spirit.

I am different. Yet the same. I’ve released the familiar. Yet I’m more comfortable than ever before. I stand still and KNOW. I have moved into the deeper waters. I have security that cannot fail.

I am no closer to knowing my future. Some dreams may come true. I may have to bid good-bye to still others. There will no doubt be days that appear cloudy and uncertain. There will be days when the familiar once again blankets me, lulling me into a complacent existence that feels wonderful, but has the potential to stagnate the growth that I crave. And then it will be time for my focus to change again.

All that I am, all that I hope to be, is in HIM.

That’s it for me. Nothing else matters. There’s comfort in that. It’s familiar. Yet it’s ever-changing, pulling at me, tugging on my heart’s door - begging me to come deeper still.

And so I will. I’m letting go and moving willingly into the deeper waters.

And in that movement I’ll know POWER.

And in that power I’ll know LOVE.

Tags: living simply

March 12, 2009 @ 8:25 am | Filed under: 5 Minutes for Mom, Faith Lifts, Family, The Solid Rock

I posted over at 5 Minutes for Faith today. Come by and visit!

Happy Thursday!

March 11, 2009 @ 7:25 am | Filed under: Family, Pure Sunshine

Tags: nieces

March 4, 2009 @ 7:24 am | Filed under: Family, Pure Sunshine

Tags: grandkids