I recently read a pastoral resignation letter in which the pastor explained his reasons for leaving his current pastorate. Including in the letter was a question he and his wife had been pondering: if we only have five or 10 years left, how do we want to spend them?
His question stems from surviving cancer. I believe any individual who has fought and survived a serious illness has a very different appreciation for life and time here on earth than the rest of us. As I read the resignation letter, the question stuck with me and a thought has been bouncing around my mind ever since: isn't that how we should all live on a daily basis?
How different would our lives look, would my life look, if we were fully living in the understanding that life is but a breath and there may be 40, 15, 5 or one year left? Would I be slower to speak and quicker to listen? Would I give more and take less? Would I invest in the lives of those around me with less thought to what I want or need? Would I take steps to heal relationships that need mending instead of putting it off or ignoring it because I don't want to open the emotional Pandora's box that could be waiting? Would I write a book?
A friend recently said, "Life is fragile." She spoke the truth.
In the past four years, I've lost three friends and an aunt to cancer. I hate cancer, but that's another topic altogether. Walking through cancer with people I love has changed my life in a thousand ways and multiplied my faith hundreds of times over. It has taught me two things: I don't fear death, at least not to the degree that I might have before, and I need to embrace the life I've been given because it can change with one phone call, with one careless driver, with one (fill in the blank).
I don't fear death because I know God has numbered my days and I believe that eternal glory awaits after this life is over. Some days I embrace life well; other days I waste more time than I should. Some days I listen well and intently; other days I'm impatient and careless with my words and forget that the person across from me is a gift.
B and I don't have a lot of big dreams and honestly, we are generally able to pursue the ones we do have. Last year, we went to Alaska for his 50th birthday. Why? Because he's always wanted to go and we know that we don't know what tomorrow holds. I'm not advocating reckless abandonment of common sense, but we realize that embracing life fully (which is different than selfishly) is paramount to how we want to live our lives. It's still far too easy for us to get caught up in the minutiae of the demands of daily life, but we strive to remember that we want to live our lives well.
Tim McGraw's song, "Live Like You Were Dying," is one that sticks with you. It particularly sticks with me because B dreams of going skydiving and my vote is still a pretty firm "no" because, well, that seems to fall in the aforementioned category of "reckless abandonment." But I digress. We should live like we are dying because we are. I don't mean that to be macabre, but we're not getting younger, time doesn't go backward. We should be looking to live in ways that fulfill our purpose here on earth, honoring God and loving others.
Ann Voskamp (www.aholyexperience.com) wrote about approaching a milestone birthday. She said, "Your choice is either receive your life or reject your one chance at living and you can ask all you want where does the time go, but it doesn’t get stuck under the couch. The point is that your life is meant to be spent. The point is that your life is meant to be used up and every wrinkle means you are wringing out the good of the wonder of this thing called life."
Let's go forth and embrace our lives. And create a few wrinkles while we're at it.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Legacy in a Box
I'm linking up today with Bloom (in)courage Book Club, which just finished reading bread & wine: a love letter to life around the table with recipes by Shauna Niequist.
I opened the box. I don't remember why - looking for my tried and true zucchini bread recipe to use some of the season's bounty? Searching for inspiration for dinner? I suppose it doesn't matter why I opened the box, what matters is what I realized when I opened it like I'd done hundreds of times before.
I had recently finished reading bread & wine, and while I thoroughly enjoyed the book, I came away feeling a little inadequate, wishing I enjoyed throwing my doors wide open, scaring up innovative seating for spontaneous guests and being more innovative in the kitchen. It's a minor struggle ... learning to exercise the gift of hospitality that comes so easily to others in my life.
But as I flipped through the cards, I realized that there is a treasured legacy residing in my recipe box. A community of the heart built one relationship and one recipe at a time. The women who have shared recipes with me through the years each represent a special part of my heart and life around my family's table.
There are recipes from my childhood in my mom's handwriting, written on the back of data cards recycled from her stint at the U.S. Census Bureau. These recipes include molasses crinkles and raggedy robins. I remember making Japanese teacakes with her, most likely as part of earning a merit badge for GAs at church. The teacake recipe still resides in my recipe box, written in my elementary cursive.
And then there's the recipe for Aunt Rosie's coconut cake. We lost Aunt Rosie to pancreatic cancer just last month, but I will always be glad I have her cake recipe. Perhaps it's time to make it in her honor.
Two women who have probably had the most influence on me in the kitchen are Pam and Natalie. Their contributions to my life, my family and my recipe box are significant and many. Pam always went out of her way to make sure my husband had some combination of peanut butter and chocolate for dessert, so my recipe box contains a number of recipes for delightful concoctions. The most treasured recipes I have from her are e-mailed recipes dated November 07, 2000, just weeks after I became a Mrs. She e-mailed me her recipes for beef vegetable soup and chicken corn soup. I think that's when our almost-annual tradition of Soup Day began. She and I would cook soup all afternoon while the guys watched the game or worked on a project and then we'd share dinner together. Sometimes we'd try new soup recipes, but we always included one or both of these stand-bys. It's been several years since our last Soup Day and while she's no longer on this earth to live and laugh beside me, I'm so grateful for the memories we made and shared together in the kitchen.
Like Pam, Natalie is a gifted, gracious hostess. We have shared thousands of escapades during our friendship, and some of the best have been in the kitchen. I used to be her sous chef, but a few years ago, she told me I'd completed my apprenticeship. Ha. Nearly 20 years ago, after separate trips to New Orleans, we decided to throw a Mardi Gras party to help break up the long, dreary, Pennsylvania winter. That was our first attempt at making gumbo and it was gone so fast, we didn't get to have more than a taste ourselves. (That party was also the time we thought we'd seriously miscalculated how much food we needed and purchased extra frozen appetizers for back-up. Lesson learned: It's better to have too much food than too little.) Since then, we've perfected our version of gumbo and have deemed it Natalie and Elizabeth's Gourmet Gucci Gumbo, since it's our creative take on the traditional version you would find down Louisiana way. We've missed a few years, but try to make it together every February or March.
King's Hawaiian French Toast is one of my favorite breakfast recipes. The story goes that my cousin's husband cooked up a big batch and was boasting about it being a secret family recipe, not to be replicated. Some time later, my uncle picked up a loaf of King's Hawaiian bread and found the not-so-secret recipe right on the back of the bag. My family's been enjoying it ever since.
Cajun pretzels remain a crowd favorite nearly 20 years after a co-worker brought them into work. I've included the recipe below, but beware ... they have a bit of a kick and are addictive! Impossible to eat just one.
Refrigerator rolls from Great Aunt Helen, who was always dressed to the nines and in stiletto heels well into her 90s; chocolate trifle from June, who sets off on a cross-country motorcycle trip tomorrow; chicken enchiladas from Ellen; a "Gotta Try!" party food recipe from Dona handwritten on a scrap of a Pennsylvania map; Heidi's San Antonio quinoa; the list goes on.
I have a recipes board on Pinterest, but it's nothing compared to a few minutes flipping through the cards in my recipe box, remembering life, laughter and tears beside the women who have freely shared themselves, their hospitality and their culinary abilities with me and the ones I love.
Cajun Pretzels
2 lbs. broken beer pretzels
1.5 cups vegetable oil
2 tsp. cayenne red pepper
1 T broiled steak seasoning (or seasoned salt)
1/2 tsp. dillweed
1 T Creole seasoning
1 package Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing mix (original)
Combine all ingredients except pretzels. Mix well. Put pretzels in large baking pan and pour mixture over pretzels. MIX PRETZELS WELL. (yes, this is written in all caps on my recipe card!) Bake at 225 for 1.5 hours, stirring every 15-20 minutes.
I opened the box. I don't remember why - looking for my tried and true zucchini bread recipe to use some of the season's bounty? Searching for inspiration for dinner? I suppose it doesn't matter why I opened the box, what matters is what I realized when I opened it like I'd done hundreds of times before.
I had recently finished reading bread & wine, and while I thoroughly enjoyed the book, I came away feeling a little inadequate, wishing I enjoyed throwing my doors wide open, scaring up innovative seating for spontaneous guests and being more innovative in the kitchen. It's a minor struggle ... learning to exercise the gift of hospitality that comes so easily to others in my life.
But as I flipped through the cards, I realized that there is a treasured legacy residing in my recipe box. A community of the heart built one relationship and one recipe at a time. The women who have shared recipes with me through the years each represent a special part of my heart and life around my family's table.
There are recipes from my childhood in my mom's handwriting, written on the back of data cards recycled from her stint at the U.S. Census Bureau. These recipes include molasses crinkles and raggedy robins. I remember making Japanese teacakes with her, most likely as part of earning a merit badge for GAs at church. The teacake recipe still resides in my recipe box, written in my elementary cursive.
And then there's the recipe for Aunt Rosie's coconut cake. We lost Aunt Rosie to pancreatic cancer just last month, but I will always be glad I have her cake recipe. Perhaps it's time to make it in her honor.
Two women who have probably had the most influence on me in the kitchen are Pam and Natalie. Their contributions to my life, my family and my recipe box are significant and many. Pam always went out of her way to make sure my husband had some combination of peanut butter and chocolate for dessert, so my recipe box contains a number of recipes for delightful concoctions. The most treasured recipes I have from her are e-mailed recipes dated November 07, 2000, just weeks after I became a Mrs. She e-mailed me her recipes for beef vegetable soup and chicken corn soup. I think that's when our almost-annual tradition of Soup Day began. She and I would cook soup all afternoon while the guys watched the game or worked on a project and then we'd share dinner together. Sometimes we'd try new soup recipes, but we always included one or both of these stand-bys. It's been several years since our last Soup Day and while she's no longer on this earth to live and laugh beside me, I'm so grateful for the memories we made and shared together in the kitchen.
Like Pam, Natalie is a gifted, gracious hostess. We have shared thousands of escapades during our friendship, and some of the best have been in the kitchen. I used to be her sous chef, but a few years ago, she told me I'd completed my apprenticeship. Ha. Nearly 20 years ago, after separate trips to New Orleans, we decided to throw a Mardi Gras party to help break up the long, dreary, Pennsylvania winter. That was our first attempt at making gumbo and it was gone so fast, we didn't get to have more than a taste ourselves. (That party was also the time we thought we'd seriously miscalculated how much food we needed and purchased extra frozen appetizers for back-up. Lesson learned: It's better to have too much food than too little.) Since then, we've perfected our version of gumbo and have deemed it Natalie and Elizabeth's Gourmet Gucci Gumbo, since it's our creative take on the traditional version you would find down Louisiana way. We've missed a few years, but try to make it together every February or March.
King's Hawaiian French Toast is one of my favorite breakfast recipes. The story goes that my cousin's husband cooked up a big batch and was boasting about it being a secret family recipe, not to be replicated. Some time later, my uncle picked up a loaf of King's Hawaiian bread and found the not-so-secret recipe right on the back of the bag. My family's been enjoying it ever since.
Cajun pretzels remain a crowd favorite nearly 20 years after a co-worker brought them into work. I've included the recipe below, but beware ... they have a bit of a kick and are addictive! Impossible to eat just one.
Refrigerator rolls from Great Aunt Helen, who was always dressed to the nines and in stiletto heels well into her 90s; chocolate trifle from June, who sets off on a cross-country motorcycle trip tomorrow; chicken enchiladas from Ellen; a "Gotta Try!" party food recipe from Dona handwritten on a scrap of a Pennsylvania map; Heidi's San Antonio quinoa; the list goes on.
I have a recipes board on Pinterest, but it's nothing compared to a few minutes flipping through the cards in my recipe box, remembering life, laughter and tears beside the women who have freely shared themselves, their hospitality and their culinary abilities with me and the ones I love.
Cajun Pretzels
2 lbs. broken beer pretzels
1.5 cups vegetable oil
2 tsp. cayenne red pepper
1 T broiled steak seasoning (or seasoned salt)
1/2 tsp. dillweed
1 T Creole seasoning
1 package Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing mix (original)
Combine all ingredients except pretzels. Mix well. Put pretzels in large baking pan and pour mixture over pretzels. MIX PRETZELS WELL. (yes, this is written in all caps on my recipe card!) Bake at 225 for 1.5 hours, stirring every 15-20 minutes.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Story
It's Friday, it's beautiful outside and it's time to write on the Five Minute Friday word prompt story.
My grandpa was a storyteller. Lest you envision a grandpa on a rocking chair in front of the fire with a wee one on his lap, my grandpa would peck out his stories on the typewriter in his den. He had four grandchildren and for a number of our childhood years, he would create a story at the holidays, primarily Thanksgiving and Christmas with an odd Easter thrown in. The stories would feature some combination of the four of us and were a special delight to receive . They are packed away right now, but I'm inspired to pull them out and enjoy the priceless heirloom of his typed words.
My grandpa was born in Wales and grew up in a tight-knit mining community in Pennsylvania. He wrote a memoir about driving mules in the Nottingham coal mines. My brother served as coauthor on the memoir. I'm not sure it was ever published beyond family distribution, but it was a window into the early years of his life and important to understanding that part of our heritage. In his retirement, Grandpa would write and submit stories to Good Old Days magazine and to his joy, had some published.
You wouldn't necessarily expect my grandpa to be a storyteller. His career path included coal mining, restaurant management and retail sales. But he understood something I'm realizing more each day -- your life is your story and everyone has a story to tell. These stories, our lives, are the best stories ever and can be shared over a meal, on a walk, in a book or on a screen. Grandpa has been gone for close to 20 years, but I like to think that if he were around, he'd have his own blog. Or else he'd still be back in the den, pecking away.
My grandpa was a storyteller. Lest you envision a grandpa on a rocking chair in front of the fire with a wee one on his lap, my grandpa would peck out his stories on the typewriter in his den. He had four grandchildren and for a number of our childhood years, he would create a story at the holidays, primarily Thanksgiving and Christmas with an odd Easter thrown in. The stories would feature some combination of the four of us and were a special delight to receive . They are packed away right now, but I'm inspired to pull them out and enjoy the priceless heirloom of his typed words.
My grandpa was born in Wales and grew up in a tight-knit mining community in Pennsylvania. He wrote a memoir about driving mules in the Nottingham coal mines. My brother served as coauthor on the memoir. I'm not sure it was ever published beyond family distribution, but it was a window into the early years of his life and important to understanding that part of our heritage. In his retirement, Grandpa would write and submit stories to Good Old Days magazine and to his joy, had some published.
You wouldn't necessarily expect my grandpa to be a storyteller. His career path included coal mining, restaurant management and retail sales. But he understood something I'm realizing more each day -- your life is your story and everyone has a story to tell. These stories, our lives, are the best stories ever and can be shared over a meal, on a walk, in a book or on a screen. Grandpa has been gone for close to 20 years, but I like to think that if he were around, he'd have his own blog. Or else he'd still be back in the den, pecking away.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Broken
Well, it's time for Five Minute Friday and usually I'd link up with Lisa-Jo, but her blog is broken, which may be the exact reason she chose broken for today's word prompt. So here we go.
Her heart was completely broken. It broke into a million tiny pieces the minute they placed him in her arms. It was the best kind of broken - propelled by the sheer force of joy at the safe arrival of her new son. The world had waited with her, and she'd have to share him with them soon enough, but at this moment it was her and her little family safely cocooned in the hospital suite.
She counted his fingers and toes and wondered which he would break just by boyhood shenanigans. She squeezed his chubby legs and envisioned keeping her fingers crossed that he wouldn't break a leg riding his horse or playing football. What young lady would break his heart for the first time?
His future lay ahead of him like a blank canvas. Not entirely blank, as his heritage prescribed the responsibilities he mantled simply by being born into this family. But as she held him close and felt the million pieces of her heart start to come back together, she purposed once again to protect him from the weight of his birthright even as he would learn to honor it and offer him a happy, bright upbringing filled with the opportunity to laugh with delight, run with joy and perhaps experience a bit of brokenness along the way.
There would be plenty of time for the inevitable brokenness of life in the years to come, but for now, right this moment, before the world even knew he had come, it was simply unbroken perfection.
Her heart was completely broken. It broke into a million tiny pieces the minute they placed him in her arms. It was the best kind of broken - propelled by the sheer force of joy at the safe arrival of her new son. The world had waited with her, and she'd have to share him with them soon enough, but at this moment it was her and her little family safely cocooned in the hospital suite.
She counted his fingers and toes and wondered which he would break just by boyhood shenanigans. She squeezed his chubby legs and envisioned keeping her fingers crossed that he wouldn't break a leg riding his horse or playing football. What young lady would break his heart for the first time?
His future lay ahead of him like a blank canvas. Not entirely blank, as his heritage prescribed the responsibilities he mantled simply by being born into this family. But as she held him close and felt the million pieces of her heart start to come back together, she purposed once again to protect him from the weight of his birthright even as he would learn to honor it and offer him a happy, bright upbringing filled with the opportunity to laugh with delight, run with joy and perhaps experience a bit of brokenness along the way.
There would be plenty of time for the inevitable brokenness of life in the years to come, but for now, right this moment, before the world even knew he had come, it was simply unbroken perfection.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Belong
Linking up today with Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is belong.
All she ever wanted was to belong. She was skinny, unkempt, neglected. She had spent the first 14 months of her life crated, outside, 24/7 until the uniformed officer came and took her away. It was loud in the new place, very loud until the lights dimmed at nighttime.
She had a family come visit and decide to take her home, but then they changed their minds. She didn't know why. She was ready to belong. She wasn't sad, though. By nature, she was just a happy girl. All the time, even when things went wrong.
And then one night, on a whim, a couple came to where she lived. At first, they walked right past her. They went behind the closed doors and then came back out, looking disappointed. Then the man stopped by her crate and said to the woman, "Can we look at her?" She turned on what bedraggled charm she had and blinked her big brown eyes. "Sure," said the woman who was with the man.
She couldn't believe it. Was she finally going to belong? The couple disappeared behind the doors again and then one of the workers came to get her. She grabbed a ball and pushed exuberantly into the room. BAM! She ran hard and slid right into the man.
And then she heard the woman say, "Well, that pretty much settles it. She's your girl."
She couldn't believe her ears. She was going to belong! She was going to be a daddy's girl! She was getting a new name! There was some talk about having to meet a big brother to make sure they got along, but she wasn't going to let that stand in her way. She'd be sure to be on her best behavior when he came to visit. It took her about two days to convince him that she belonged to the family, too, and she quickly found her way into her brother's heart and became his best pal.
At last, she belonged. She was home.
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All she ever wanted was to belong. She was skinny, unkempt, neglected. She had spent the first 14 months of her life crated, outside, 24/7 until the uniformed officer came and took her away. It was loud in the new place, very loud until the lights dimmed at nighttime.
She had a family come visit and decide to take her home, but then they changed their minds. She didn't know why. She was ready to belong. She wasn't sad, though. By nature, she was just a happy girl. All the time, even when things went wrong.
And then one night, on a whim, a couple came to where she lived. At first, they walked right past her. They went behind the closed doors and then came back out, looking disappointed. Then the man stopped by her crate and said to the woman, "Can we look at her?" She turned on what bedraggled charm she had and blinked her big brown eyes. "Sure," said the woman who was with the man.
She couldn't believe it. Was she finally going to belong? The couple disappeared behind the doors again and then one of the workers came to get her. She grabbed a ball and pushed exuberantly into the room. BAM! She ran hard and slid right into the man.
And then she heard the woman say, "Well, that pretty much settles it. She's your girl."
She couldn't believe her ears. She was going to belong! She was going to be a daddy's girl! She was getting a new name! There was some talk about having to meet a big brother to make sure they got along, but she wasn't going to let that stand in her way. She'd be sure to be on her best behavior when he came to visit. It took her about two days to convince him that she belonged to the family, too, and she quickly found her way into her brother's heart and became his best pal.
At last, she belonged. She was home.
Shelby meets her dad for the first time
On the boat with her brother and best friend, Cooper
Friday, July 12, 2013
Present
Linking up today with Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is present.
I think one of the most significant gifts we can give one another is the gift of being present. That's not a new theory in this age of instant communication, chronic distraction that many of us find ourselves in. Since the advent of the smartphone, many have bemoaned the fact that is so easily allows us to avoid being present with the people we are with at any given moment. I recently got a new phone and I find myself intentionally leaving it on my desk or putting it aside. I even considered, gasp, not getting a smartphone at all. Many survive and even thrive without one.
But I think I realized the importance of the gift of being present when walking with Pam on her journey through cancer. Ironically, the motivation for getting a smartphone was to allow me to stay connected with clients and work when I was being present with her, sitting in waiting rooms waiting for her, spending the day with her while she napped, just spending time in the same place.
When someone you love is ill, it's hard sometimes to find your role, to know what you are to be doing. Many people love the one you love and all want to help and sometimes it can be frustrating when you want to serve in a way that someone else has already taken over. But one day, I had an epiphany. I said to Pam, "I've figured it out. My job, my gift, is to be ... to be present with you, to be in your home, to walk by your side. There are many doers, and I'm one of them, but my primary role is just to be." Not surprisingly, she'd come to the same realization, probably sooner than I had. This part of our story deserves a longer, more thought-through post than a Five Minute Friday entry, but it's what came to mind when I saw today's word prompt.
I've carried the lesson of being present with me ever since. In the big things - like going with a friend to the hospital/emergency room/test - I find it easier to be present than in the little things when I allow myself to be distracted by the day-to-day to-do lists that run through my mind non-stop. But I'll keep trying to improve my ability and desire to be present for it really is a gift.
I think one of the most significant gifts we can give one another is the gift of being present. That's not a new theory in this age of instant communication, chronic distraction that many of us find ourselves in. Since the advent of the smartphone, many have bemoaned the fact that is so easily allows us to avoid being present with the people we are with at any given moment. I recently got a new phone and I find myself intentionally leaving it on my desk or putting it aside. I even considered, gasp, not getting a smartphone at all. Many survive and even thrive without one.
But I think I realized the importance of the gift of being present when walking with Pam on her journey through cancer. Ironically, the motivation for getting a smartphone was to allow me to stay connected with clients and work when I was being present with her, sitting in waiting rooms waiting for her, spending the day with her while she napped, just spending time in the same place.
When someone you love is ill, it's hard sometimes to find your role, to know what you are to be doing. Many people love the one you love and all want to help and sometimes it can be frustrating when you want to serve in a way that someone else has already taken over. But one day, I had an epiphany. I said to Pam, "I've figured it out. My job, my gift, is to be ... to be present with you, to be in your home, to walk by your side. There are many doers, and I'm one of them, but my primary role is just to be." Not surprisingly, she'd come to the same realization, probably sooner than I had. This part of our story deserves a longer, more thought-through post than a Five Minute Friday entry, but it's what came to mind when I saw today's word prompt.
I've carried the lesson of being present with me ever since. In the big things - like going with a friend to the hospital/emergency room/test - I find it easier to be present than in the little things when I allow myself to be distracted by the day-to-day to-do lists that run through my mind non-stop. But I'll keep trying to improve my ability and desire to be present for it really is a gift.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Beautiful
Even though it's Sunday, I'm linking up with the other writers over at Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is beautiful.
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We were enjoying breakfast on the cabin porch, taking in the beautiful view, when she quietly poked her head through the foliage. Quietly, the doe looked to the left, to the right, up toward where we were sitting. Deciding the coast was clear, she emerged from the woods and began gently walking across the yard. Ever vigilant, ever alert, stealthy.
We froze and willed the dogs to stay still and oblivious to the scene unfolding below us.
Then one little fawn, and another and a third emerged behind her, following their mama on this adventure wherever it would lead. Another doe brought up the rear of this unanticipated parade of beauty on the Fourth of July. Gently, they crossed the yard in single file until they disappeared again in the brush.
Beautiful comes in many shapes and sizes. It can come when and where we least expect it.
We were enjoying breakfast on the cabin porch, taking in the beautiful view, when she quietly poked her head through the foliage. Quietly, the doe looked to the left, to the right, up toward where we were sitting. Deciding the coast was clear, she emerged from the woods and began gently walking across the yard. Ever vigilant, ever alert, stealthy.
We froze and willed the dogs to stay still and oblivious to the scene unfolding below us.
Then one little fawn, and another and a third emerged behind her, following their mama on this adventure wherever it would lead. Another doe brought up the rear of this unanticipated parade of beauty on the Fourth of July. Gently, they crossed the yard in single file until they disappeared again in the brush.
Beautiful comes in many shapes and sizes. It can come when and where we least expect it.
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