From our weekly reflections

My biggest prayer for the year is for serenity. The United Methodist church down the road threw a party on Saturday, and we stopped by. It was like Eucharist with hot dogs and grape soda. Front porches are like the best thing ever. Had a great conversation with Ms. Joyce about Peter's faith. Bernard came over for a bit on Saturday night and told us that friendship is about justice, humility and freedom. Not sure yet what that means. We hold on to our emotions because they are how we experience the world. So respecting people's emotions is really important. 

Steve and I usually ride to work together and have a blast. Conversations with roommates, neighbors, etc. are constantly challenging my perceptions of God. The biggest thing in my life right now is the color red. The red leaves mean a change in season, which fills me with a feeling of anticipation. The first two or three weeks were hard. Not knowing or being known by anyone here and not having access to the people who did know me was frustrating. Ms. Bridgett's phone is off/dead/lost and I miss her. Miss Annie got onto me for walking outside without a sweater and Queen laid into me for not drying my hair. One, they were right, and two, I'm thankful for adopted mommas. I have experienced joy, frustration, silliness, brokenness, and deep love in those friendships. Got to spend Thanksgiving with Ms. Bridgette and her family. Thankful that she invited me! I was about to add a note apologizing for how jumbled my thoughts are, but then I decided I like that they're jumbled because that's where I am right now and I trust the Spirit's work in my heart. 

Randomly ran into Whitney after work at the train station. Been super tired because I haven't been able to sleep. The questions are rich, if unsettling. Sanchez and I are going to audition for American Idol together with "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Someone told me white people call chit'lins "crinkle steaks." I almost fell out of my chair! Spent a million hours in the kitchen kneading dough for bread and dough for cookies and meat for this Syrian dish and making rice and green beans too. God was just as present in the cooking as in the actual dinner! So if I can learn how to love well somewhere, in some context, I am fighting injustice there and fighting it in all the places I will ever go, because I will always carry my being-redeemed heart with me. 

Also, God talks to me a lot in pictures. And sometimes through short sentences so I can remember them. Sitting at Pittman Park and belting "Be Thou My Vision" because no one was around. Like, my crap sucks but people still love me. I swear I can make friends with anyone by mentioning chit'lins. Went to a neighbor's 7th birthday party! It was super awkward because I don't know them that well and I hate parties (but really). Ryan and I taught preschool Sunday School on Easter and ROCKED IT. I think, maybe, what a flower feels is a sinking, pressing in to the soil and a stretching, reaching out into the world, toward the sun, never arriving. And I do feel like I'm there. 

Jill and I became friends with this like 90-year-old woman who loved to dance but didn't really know any dance moves so she just copied us. She told us that she LOVED to PARTY! It feels like the past eight and a half months of awkward moments are finally paying off... in the form of differently awkward moments. Asking not so much "who is right" but "how do we show each other love" and "where do we go from here." Gym, pool, nose piercing. Now I feel sore, sunburned, have a sore nose, and feel rested and more at peace. I'm going to miss our front porch. Because honestly? I can continue to carry a lot of prejudices and live with a lot of blind spots if I never explore faith with other people... people who are different from me. 

I see the moon, the moon sees me

"I heard someone say it's 93 billion miles away."

The stray cat purrs and settles between my sunburned legs. We're rocking back and forth, smooth and easy, summer-night slow. He's already licked the pink splattered remains of our ice cream from the bowls. He's comfortable here. Me too.

"But if you ask me, it looks like it's hanging right over the interstate."

We sit with the full stillness between us and watch the moon slide above the line of trees. It's a thick yellow, pockmarked and freckled with unexplored craters. 

And she's right. It looks absurdly, impossibly close. So does the Kingdom, tonight, as we're crossing generational and color lines to watch the night sky, looking for patterns in the stars and warmth in each other.

It doesn't look close because I'm proclaiming good news to the poor. That's what Jesus did, bringing his stunning message, "God is with us," to lonely, anxious humanity. All we can do is proclaim good news to each other. And that's what we're doing, the two of us, as we're opening her family Bible and reading, "Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name." And that's what we're doing as we're singing the old hymns, laughing that we know all the same ones, belting that we rest on his unchanging grace. On Christ the solid rock we stand!

The Kingdom, in all of its upside-down, inside-out, embarrassingly inclusive glory is not yet here. I see the not-here-ness in too many "flesh-colored" Band-aids and missionaries that match my skin tone. I see it when I treat people as one-dimensional: you are just a needy friend, you are organized and put together, you are a heretic. I see it when kids in our neighborhood, and in others with similar demographics, are seen as the recipients of community service, not capable of offering it. I see it when I wake up in the middle of the night feeling lonely and afraid.

But here we are, on the porch, sitting with the paradox of a far-near moon. Calling out constellations, wishing on them for a world full of holiness and wholeness.

This is the year of the Lord's favor.


The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

Even though this isn't a cooking blog (part two).

I expected adventures when I moved to Atlanta. I just didn't know they would look like this. I didn't anticipate wrestling spinach to shreds, wielding my wooden spoon in an onslaught of popping oil, beating down billowing clouds of flour. But here I am, breathing in the garlicky breadcrumbs and the roasting chickpeas, saying "grace, this is grace, all is grace." And then we're sitting around a table together and we're laughing and the tears come too and we're saying "grace," all together now. We're believing that this love we're experiencing, leaning into, working our tails off for, is grace.

"The grace of God means something like: 'Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you.'" -Frederick Buechner

This was dinner Tuesday night. Further proof that eating on $2.41 a day can be healthy(ish) and taste so. dang. good! Thank you Pinterest for the beautiful photography (and recipes, of course).

Spinach Burgers
1 1/2 c. cooked spinach (fresh* or thawed+drained)
2 eggs
1/4 c. diced onion
1/2 c. shredded cheddar
1/2 c. breadcrumbs
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp garlic powder
oil (for frying)

Mix all ingredients but oil. Heat oil in skillet over medium. Using 1/4 c. measuring cup, scoop mixture into skillet and cook burgers 4-6 minutes on each side, or until nicely browned. Serve on quartered pita bread. Sweet chili sauce was a popular topping. Makes 4-6 burgers.
*If spinach is fresh, saute it (cooking spray works well for this) in batches until you have 1 1/2 cups cooked. It usually ends up taking about 2/3 lb. uncooked.

Cucumber Salad
1 1/4 c. water
1 tsp salt
1 c. bulgar
1/4 plain yogurt
3 Tbs olive oil
3 Tbs lemon juice
1 tsp pepper
4 c. halved+sliced cucumber (approximately 2 cucumbers)
1 15.5 oz. can chickpeas rinsed+drained (optional: roast them in olive oil and oregano for 20ish minutes at 425 degrees)
1 Tbs dried oregano

Boil water and salt. Turn off heat. Stir in bulgur. Let stand, covered, 20-30 minutes, or until water is absorbed. Uncover and let cool. (Hint: spreading it out on a cookie sheet makes it cool much faster.) Whisk yogurt, oil, lemon juice, and pepper. Toss everything and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Makes 8 side servings.

Applesauce Oatmeal Cake
1 1/2 c. brown sugar
3 eggs
2/3 c. butter, melted+cooled
2 tsp vanilla
1/4 c. honey
2 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp apple pie spice (or pumpkin pie spice, or cinnamon)
1 c. applesauce
2 c. oatmeal (I like 1-minute oats)

Preheat oven to 350. Whisk sugar and eggs. Whisk in butter and vanilla. Mix flour, baking powder, salt, and spice. Alternate mixing in flour mixture and applesauce, beginning and ending with flour. Stir in oatmeal. Bake in greased bundt pan for 55-60 minutes. (I used two loaf pans and reduced the cooking time.) Serve with whipped cream, powdered sugar, or applesauce (applesauce tasted perfect... yet another great excuse to eat cake for breakfast!).

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The cake recipe happens to be perfect for when those itty-bitty black ants invade your white sugar. For some reason they don't touch brown sugar or powdered sugar. Anyone else had an issue with those recently? Are they just part of Georgia's summers?

On my bookshelf

"Rhythms": MissionYear buzzword number three.

It comes right behind intentionality (which is either the guiding principle of my life OR the word most likely to make me vomit) and community (we build it, pursue it, create it, promote it, define it, and struggle to separate it from pasta dishes). Of course, you get bonus points for using "intentional community." Or you get eye rolls. One or the other.

But, rhythms. I think we use that word because it sounds gentler and freer and stronger than "schedule." It brings images of hearts pumping, chests swelling, tides ebbing. And "respect the rhythms of the house" has a nicer ring to it than "show up for devos at 6:30 SHARP, PEOPLE." But euphemistic as it may be, the idea of rhythms has been pretty central to our exploration of life in Atlanta.

The first "beats" of our days ARE those 6:30 devos, times set aside to reflect on scripture, poetry, songs, art as a little community. (Ha, "community"... two extra points for me.) Then we settle into our quiet hour. There have been days enough where I've opened my Bible at random. Put my iPod on shuffle. Grabbed a new and unfamiliar book from the shelf. I'm grateful for those mornings, the ones where Onesimus and Simba and Janie Crawford awaken me to the Holy One in our midst. 

But if I'm honest, as days here sashay and strut or sometimes wriggle and squirm by, I need to read and pray words that keep me grounded. I need to sit with the thick books that make me focus my attention long enough to be transformed.  I need to pray the prayers of that great cloud of witnesses, the prayers that have been swirling around in the mists of our planet through many loops around the sun. I need to hear the language and stories of my childhood, the ones reminding me that "grace hath brought me safe thus far," the ones making me trust that "grace will lead me home." So I open my Bible, and I open these books. They stay on the makeshift bookshelf between my shoes and recipes, between my head and heart.

Gates of Prayer: the New Union Prayerbook. I found this Jewish prayerbook in a little bookstore in San Marco. I love that the prayers in here point to God's presence in nature, in doubt, and in community.

The Jesus Storybook Bible. This is a story about a God who transforms a world with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love. And on the days I lose sight of the fact that this too is the narrative of the Bible, my whimsical storybook reminds me to take few steps back and look again.

Total Yoga. So I don't fall back asleep. And because it's hard to read or pray at all if I'm forgetting to breathe! Yoga reminds me of what a powerful and beautiful thing my body is, and gently prods me to treat it kindly.

Overweights of Joy. Amy Carmichael's experience adjusting to life in India helps me process my life here in Atlanta. She uses lots of plant imagery and draws from a deeply intimate experience with the Divine. These words floor me, inspire me, center me: "Guard against depression. Bear evenly with all that is uneven. Never be shocked out of loving."

Baptist Hymnal. It's the second and third verses that get me every time. Current favorite is Be Thou My Vision.  (Related: Red Mountain Music.)

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What's been on your bookshelf recently?

Among the Trees

You know how sometimes you get to the end of a day and you don't want to say "it was a good day" or even "it was a bad day," but you pause, breathe a little deeper, and then you sigh "it was a day"?

Well this has been a week. Please excuse the melodrama; just last Sunday, I was a teenager.

Things I did that made this week a week:

• curled up under my rain jacket in Panera (these are the times I wish it were more socially acceptable to carry around a blanket), cried over a book of poetry, and drank so much sweet tea I couldn't sleep all night
• ate fan-freaking-tastic birthday cupcakes made with love by two of my favorite people
• [unsuccessfully] attempted to register for classes and get football tickets for the fall
• talked to my mom about scrapbooking
• made "lentil loaf" (there's a reason this post doesn't include the recipe)
• came home from work one day and collapsed on the couch until I mustered enough energy to microwave some eggs for dinner (clearly the raving success of the spinach burgers last week was balanced out by lentil loaf and microwaved eggs this week... what can I say?  I'm restoring equilibrium to the universe)
• made plans to go dress shopping with one of my very fashionable older neighbors this weekend
• hung out with some awesome preschoolers and danced and celebrated the ways we see God provides for us
• cried because people are hungry
• hit a girl (and got hit!) in a jam-packed Zumba class
• picked a lot of flowers and put them in my hair
• blew out birthday candles and wished that I would always be surrounded by people who love me as well as the 1158 crowd does (oops... does writing it mean my wish won't come true?)
• thought a lot about trees:

When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness,

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine."

-Mary Oliver

And so I've been trying to "walk slowly, and bow often." Because my sometimes-flighty, no-longer-teenage self has a lot to learn from the elegant, coming-back-to-life tree in our front yard, from the grasping branches at the park down the road, from the pink buds littering the sidewalk on my walk to work. They're inviting me to stay awhile, to hold out during the long cold months and trust that spring, flowers, growth are coming, to offer unashamed fragrance and beauty to the world. "'It's simple,' they say." Maybe not easy, but simple.

Sights for Sore Eyes (seriously though... this pollen is killing my eyes)

The wonderful, perfect, wanna-be-like-her-when-I-grow-up Meredith and I celebrated Mass at St. Bernard's Abbey. We missed the dress-up-and-cover-your-hair memo, but the monks didn't seem to mind at all. Also, the homily was one of the most stunning invitations I've ever heard to come to the table of grace and stuff our faces with the goodness of Christ's forgiveness so we don't walk away hungry. Only the monk said it much, you know, prettier.

Then we ate pizza. Lots of pizza. With pineapple.

The next morning (who am I kidding... it was the afternoon before we even got out of bed) we went on the loveliest walk, full of snaky trails, sunshiney rocks, and a topsy-turvy-tumbly stream. 

Then I was off to Tuscaloosa. I don't even eat at Taco Bell, but  it's always the first thing I notice on McFarland, so I have this strangely forceful attraction to it. I may have sort of almost cried.

First stop in T-town... Church of Movement Toward Freedom. These folks--my family-- know how to do community (and fried chicken!) exceptionally well. 

And then... GLORIOUS REUNION! Fried green tomato BTL and a chocolate shake. Oh also it was pretty nice to see my roommates again. (Of course you know that by "pretty nice" I mean it was like someone plugged in the world and everything, EVERYTHING just lit up.)

I swear there is nothing better than eating brownies and watching monsters fall in love with a little girl. Nothing in the whole wide world. See also: what cool college kids do at night. 

THIS! I swung by my favorite art gallery EVER (the Paul R. Jones Gallery downtown-- houses 20th century African-American art)  and found a lovely collection of pieces around the theme of migration and the way cities forced people to start rubbing shoulders with each other a little bit more. Coincidentally, that mayyy be something I've been thinking about recently. Just a little bit.

Ben Rector sang about giraffes and it was STILL face-meltingly gorgeous. That's all I have to say about that.


...And tomorrow it's back to Atlanta for more adventures, more precious community, and (hopefully) much less pollen!

Now-but-not-yet

We got to the Good Friday service (which wasn't really a Good Friday service at all) a little late. I wish I could blame MARTA, but it was actually because I got lost. (Me? Lost and late? Shocking, I know.) But no one seemed to mind as we settled into the back row of the synagogue to welcome the Pesach Shabbat, Passover Sabbath, with the rest of the congregation.

And somewhere between the beautiful kirtan and the silent meditation it hit me.

We're all living in the now-but-not-yet.

We celebrate freedom from captivity in Egypt. We eat quinoa instead of bread to remember the gleeful, terrifying fleeing as Pharaoh finally let us go. We shake tambourines and proclaim, Sh'ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ehad. Hear, O Israel: the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. We remember Sarah and Abraham, Rebekah and Isaac, Miriam and Moses, and we dance in the presence of Jehovah Jireh, the Lord who always, always provides.

Or, we celebrate freedom from death. We take the preschoolers running around the church looking for Jesus only to find out that He is risen. He is risen indeed! We watch the sun come up on Easter and let the signs of life remind us that life itself is being renewed, restored, redeemed. We sing the hymns loud, trusting that this resurrection points to a future one.

But we all live in the same shattered world, a place where the imago dei is on display but goes unnoticed. Image-bearers of the Most High parade, meander, or sometimes slouch through life seen as sex objects, gun targets, too much of one thing, not enough of another. And we cry or yell or sit quietly with the not-yets as they slap us in the face, all the while looking forward to the coming—whether we believe it will be for the first time or the second—of Moshiach, the Messiah, who will bring the complete redemption of the world.

In a world torn by violence and pain, a world far from wholeness and peace, a world waiting still to be redeemed, give us, Lord, the courage to say: There is One God in heaven and earth. The high heavens declare His glory; may earth reveal His justice and His love.

—The New Union Prayer Book