In church on Sunday we had a visit from Bishop Alberto Morales, of the Diocese of Quincy, who came and gave a sermon on Mary.
As a Protestant, I was raised not thinking about her much. Not that all Protestants don't think about Mary, but in the churches in which I was raised, she was trotted out at Christmas - gently holding a baby, quietly wrapped in a blue and white shawl. Sometimes we saw her at Easter, just to the side of the cross, looking sad. If we saw her elsewhere it was because Jesus was telling her to go away or that it was not His time yet. If the Roman Catholic Church had gone too far one way by deifying her, we were certainly going to provide balance and go too far the other way.
Now as I've grown during Bible study, and become a mother, I've felt myself wishing to have known more. I've found myself wondering how she might have felt, watching her son up on a cross.
Sunday, Bp. Morales began with Mary's discussion with Gabriel. Which began with a "how" and ended up with a "Let it be unto me"...and he proceeded through to Jesus' testing moment in the Garden of Gethsemane. From His request that, if it were possible to "let this cup pass"...to His "let it be".... How neatly it was tied together, how Mary had influenced Jesus. Years of being taught to discount her, as if she'd never existed, are being quietly questioned, assumptions are being shaken and often laid aside.
For years I've struggled with how some people prefer Mary over Jesus. How she's related to by both men and women, and why people would pray to her. A parent of one of my friends told me once that he prayed to Mary instead of Jesus. Didn't want to bother "the Big Guy," and he liked Mary better. I still don't understand how one could see her as being co-equal, but I'm getting how and why people love her so much.
Because if you love Jesus, his mother has to be a part of that. And you can't put aside the one who held and loved him as a baby, who watched and remembered, and who stood, unable to save him, as he died. You can't put aside her influence on His humanity - anymore than you can refrain from chuckling when you hear something you've said come out of your kid's mouth. That's when it really strikes you - the influence, for better or worse, that we have on our children is immense. And her's wasn't less so. Not if Jesus was fully human. It couldn't have been.
I know there are a lot of books written about Mary. I'm not sure I'm interested in those. I'm focused right now on reading the gospels and seeing Mary through the single lens of Scripture.
What I found lovely about Sunday's sermon, apart from the sermon itself, was the timing. As I've been delving into the gospel of John, I've been coming to terms (an ongoing thing, I'm afraid) with the humanity of Jesus. I find myself quick to look at Him as God, rather than as man. Looking at His mother, thinking about the influence she'd have had on Him, and seeing the parallels between her conversation with Gabriel and His with His Father, well, very cool week for the brain.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Wishing I'd Met Avis DeVoto
The other day I read something that is so perfectly reflective of where I'm at that I couldn't wait to share it. So I wrote up a post and then looked at the front of the book, which had, as most books do, a little warning about reproducing without permission. Dagnabit. Partially because I'd already written it up and partially because there's no way I'll be able to summarize what they wrote in a way that comes even close to how wonderfully well they wrote what they did.
I got the book As Always, Julia The Letters of Julia Child & Avis DeVoto Food Friendship & the Making of a Masterpiece because I love to cook and have been using Julia's cookbooks forever. Their correspondence began when Julia wrote a response to an article Avis' husband wrote on American knives. Julia sent him a French knife and Avis, handling her husband's correspondence, wrote back. They ended up writing for years and their letters covered politics (McCarthy era), publishing, cooking, travel, families - everything. That initial letter lead to the eventual publishing of Mastering The Art of French Cooking.
They have a lot in common: both women are Democrats; both are very political; and both love food. They are, to use their terms, egghead intellectuals. Avis is 48 and Julia 40 when their letters begin. And the two women forge a lasting friendship on the chance writing of a letter.
While I've found the food discussion interesting, it is Avis, rather than Julia, who truly fascinates me. She has two sons, one of whom's still at home during the correspondence, and one of whom is returning from military service in need of help. He has what sounds like autism to my only partially educated ear. Her description of their life with him is honest, loving and despairing, and very human. She is like an amalgam of many of my friends, and yet enough unlike them as to make me want to know her, specifically. She is a wife, mother, editor, writer, encourager, helpmate, friend and, later, widow.
Mid-way through the book there's a section where Julia's busy pigeon-holing people into groups. She's got groups she dislikes, one of which she labels UMB - Upper Middle Brow, most of whom are Republicans and reside in the mid-western and western states. She describes them as basically nice, but, given their lack of intellectualism and achievements, a waste of human material. She's being flippant and not a little derisive, and Avis calls her on it, telling her that she's being too quick to categorize people and that these Republicans are apt to occasionally have answers that are better than those of the eggheads. Avis goes on to say that she's continually surprised by good things about these people...and that some of the intellectuals that she knows can be the "awfullest fools."
Avis then shares with Julia her take on a family she knows who publicly present a wonderful face, but who are dealing in private with something that turns them into a "mass of well-concealed panic." She tells Julia that she admired this family, thinking it ideal, until she really knew their story. And that the complexity of people caused her to love them, turning her "to mush."
I love Avis' response. Because the older I get, the truer her response rings. In terms of understanding and sometimes being awed by the complexity of humanity, Avis DeVoto nails it.
Avis died in 1989. And I was pretty sad to read that part, as I'd like to have known her. She'd not make a comfortable friend, but you'd be a better person because of her friendship. Julia Child certainly was.
I got the book As Always, Julia The Letters of Julia Child & Avis DeVoto Food Friendship & the Making of a Masterpiece because I love to cook and have been using Julia's cookbooks forever. Their correspondence began when Julia wrote a response to an article Avis' husband wrote on American knives. Julia sent him a French knife and Avis, handling her husband's correspondence, wrote back. They ended up writing for years and their letters covered politics (McCarthy era), publishing, cooking, travel, families - everything. That initial letter lead to the eventual publishing of Mastering The Art of French Cooking.
They have a lot in common: both women are Democrats; both are very political; and both love food. They are, to use their terms, egghead intellectuals. Avis is 48 and Julia 40 when their letters begin. And the two women forge a lasting friendship on the chance writing of a letter.
While I've found the food discussion interesting, it is Avis, rather than Julia, who truly fascinates me. She has two sons, one of whom's still at home during the correspondence, and one of whom is returning from military service in need of help. He has what sounds like autism to my only partially educated ear. Her description of their life with him is honest, loving and despairing, and very human. She is like an amalgam of many of my friends, and yet enough unlike them as to make me want to know her, specifically. She is a wife, mother, editor, writer, encourager, helpmate, friend and, later, widow.
Mid-way through the book there's a section where Julia's busy pigeon-holing people into groups. She's got groups she dislikes, one of which she labels UMB - Upper Middle Brow, most of whom are Republicans and reside in the mid-western and western states. She describes them as basically nice, but, given their lack of intellectualism and achievements, a waste of human material. She's being flippant and not a little derisive, and Avis calls her on it, telling her that she's being too quick to categorize people and that these Republicans are apt to occasionally have answers that are better than those of the eggheads. Avis goes on to say that she's continually surprised by good things about these people...and that some of the intellectuals that she knows can be the "awfullest fools."
Avis then shares with Julia her take on a family she knows who publicly present a wonderful face, but who are dealing in private with something that turns them into a "mass of well-concealed panic." She tells Julia that she admired this family, thinking it ideal, until she really knew their story. And that the complexity of people caused her to love them, turning her "to mush."
I love Avis' response. Because the older I get, the truer her response rings. In terms of understanding and sometimes being awed by the complexity of humanity, Avis DeVoto nails it.
Avis died in 1989. And I was pretty sad to read that part, as I'd like to have known her. She'd not make a comfortable friend, but you'd be a better person because of her friendship. Julia Child certainly was.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Baguettes Are Tricky Little Suckers
Over the end of last week, I made bread for a baby shower. Three of the loaves, two baguettes and one boule, were from a recipe out of Artisan Breads Across America, called Acme's Rustic Baguette.
I've been making breads from a book called Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, which I love - fast and easy and delicious. And they have a fabulous Gluten Free Loaf in their second book that's probably the best gluten free bread I've ever eaten, ever. But this kind of bread - not made in five minutes, but rather in about 20 hours - is a whole 'nother level of tasty.
I began baking on Thursday by making what they called a Scrap Dough and a Poolish. Combinations of tiny amounts of yeast, flour, and water that you add into the main dough the next day. The poolish sits out on your counter top and gets bubbly by the next morning, the scrap dough rises a bit and then comes out of the fridge, ready to be added, bit by bit, into the dough as you're putting it together.
What I love about the book, apart from their lengthy discussion on growing wheat, is that they give you a recipe synopsis, which lays out the recipe for you. So you know, as you're entering into the adventure, that the ride will last about 20 hours. Most of that time, you're sitting around (or in the case of the poolish - sleeping overnight) waiting for the timer to go off and let you play with the dough again.
Initially, the dough was much stickier than the wet doughs I usually work with, but by the time I'd folded it for the third time, it was getting a little more manageable. Once all the fermenting, turning, proofing and shaping was done, I had two baguettes and a boule.
Lessons learned? Baguettes are tricky little suckers. They look like you'd just roll out a tube of dough and go with it, but nope. Taking care not to pop any of the bubbles in the dough, you make a rectangle (harder than it sounds) fold it like an envelope, then fold it a couple more times, and then start rolling. You're not allowed to touch it a bunch, but you are to touch it with purpose. I liked that.
I don't have the shaping of those quite right yet, but I'm undaunted because the taste of the bread was great. Didn't matter what the shape was, and my boule was slightly 'underdeveloped,' it was still great. And they tell you that. No matter what you make, it will taste great.
What was really fun was taking pictures and sending them to a bread baking friend of mine who introduced me to the book and, prior to that, the bread. He analyzed my bread based on the pictures, so I have an idea of how to fix some stuff. And I went back over the book, looking at my finished product, and saw what he was talking about. I love the generosity of the cooks and bakers I know who share their time and talent. It's a great community to be part of.
Now I have a couple of loaves of bread in my freezer, part of one in the fridge, and lots of cheese to pop onto a slice of it whenever I want. The abundance of riches reminds me of the adage about how teaching a man to fish lets him eat for a lifetime. Forty years ago, my mom started making bread and made me learn how. Forty years later, up to my elbows in flour, kitchen looking like something exploded in it, I'm still getting to learn..and eat! I am a happy child.
I've been making breads from a book called Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, which I love - fast and easy and delicious. And they have a fabulous Gluten Free Loaf in their second book that's probably the best gluten free bread I've ever eaten, ever. But this kind of bread - not made in five minutes, but rather in about 20 hours - is a whole 'nother level of tasty.
I began baking on Thursday by making what they called a Scrap Dough and a Poolish. Combinations of tiny amounts of yeast, flour, and water that you add into the main dough the next day. The poolish sits out on your counter top and gets bubbly by the next morning, the scrap dough rises a bit and then comes out of the fridge, ready to be added, bit by bit, into the dough as you're putting it together.
What I love about the book, apart from their lengthy discussion on growing wheat, is that they give you a recipe synopsis, which lays out the recipe for you. So you know, as you're entering into the adventure, that the ride will last about 20 hours. Most of that time, you're sitting around (or in the case of the poolish - sleeping overnight) waiting for the timer to go off and let you play with the dough again.
Initially, the dough was much stickier than the wet doughs I usually work with, but by the time I'd folded it for the third time, it was getting a little more manageable. Once all the fermenting, turning, proofing and shaping was done, I had two baguettes and a boule.
Lessons learned? Baguettes are tricky little suckers. They look like you'd just roll out a tube of dough and go with it, but nope. Taking care not to pop any of the bubbles in the dough, you make a rectangle (harder than it sounds) fold it like an envelope, then fold it a couple more times, and then start rolling. You're not allowed to touch it a bunch, but you are to touch it with purpose. I liked that.
I don't have the shaping of those quite right yet, but I'm undaunted because the taste of the bread was great. Didn't matter what the shape was, and my boule was slightly 'underdeveloped,' it was still great. And they tell you that. No matter what you make, it will taste great.
What was really fun was taking pictures and sending them to a bread baking friend of mine who introduced me to the book and, prior to that, the bread. He analyzed my bread based on the pictures, so I have an idea of how to fix some stuff. And I went back over the book, looking at my finished product, and saw what he was talking about. I love the generosity of the cooks and bakers I know who share their time and talent. It's a great community to be part of.
Now I have a couple of loaves of bread in my freezer, part of one in the fridge, and lots of cheese to pop onto a slice of it whenever I want. The abundance of riches reminds me of the adage about how teaching a man to fish lets him eat for a lifetime. Forty years ago, my mom started making bread and made me learn how. Forty years later, up to my elbows in flour, kitchen looking like something exploded in it, I'm still getting to learn..and eat! I am a happy child.
Friday, December 24, 2010
And All Men Are At Home
This was one of several poems read by Dr Alan Jacobs as the Christmas Eve service at All Souls Anglican Church, Wheaton, was starting. He read another, which I also loved and will track down, but this one was particularly poignant.
CHRISTMAS POEM by G.K. Chesterton
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost – how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.
This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
CHRISTMAS POEM by G.K. Chesterton
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost – how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.
This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Christmas Letter 2010
Christmas 2010
A friend said to me recently that tears and laughter are the mortar of life. Through the changes of this last year, they are what have held us together and kept us (questionably) sane.
Losing my mother-in-law in December last year turned Christmas 2009 into the “Amazon.com Christmas.” My husband took our wish lists, pared them down to a reasonable level, and, with a few clicks of the mouse, brown UPS boxes began showing up. Our son thought we should just leave them that way under the tree. I drew the line at that and wrapped the brown boxes. It gave us something to chuckle about as we hung Mom's ornaments on our tree with the tissues nearby.
One hectic work year done and another underway, in January my beloved headed to Bangkok for two weeks of meetings. The people there are great, but it's a long plane ride. Upside: frequent flier miles, which you get a lot of for sitting in a plane for 20-some hours each way. He continues to do genealogical research, and we tramp around the local cemeteries once he's found a great-grandparent or long lost step-great aunt. It's fun to do the detective work. Our kids think we're odd, which is kind of true.
At Spring Break we went to Pensacola Beach. In late March, pre-oil spill, the beaches were beautiful. The water was freezing, however, so we didn't swim much. With the exception of our daughter the Vegetarian, we ate lots of seafood and loved our visit to Joe Patti's fish market in Pensacola. Wow and yum.
In our first major change of the year, our oldest graduated from high school. He was very sad to leave his friends and very excited to go to college. Our summer travel schedule meant he couldn't get a job, so he got to spend the time hanging out with his friends, broke, but totally, lazily happy. Once he had none to do, I realized how much of my time had been spent “asking” him about homework. Twelve years of a topic of conversation, gone in the time it took to walk across a stage on a beautiful May evening.
Shortly after graduation, the kids, my niece and I headed up to Lake Vermilion for a relaxing week of fishing with my folks. I missed VBS for the first time in years, but the family time was sweet.
We celebrated our 25th anniversary by taking a trip to Maui with the kids. We snorkeled a lot and also ascended Haleakala, driving the switchbacks from sea level to 11,000 feet up, way above the clouds. The views were spectacular and neither kid fell off the mountain – certainly thanks to my “nagging,” which they failed to appreciate. We visited a goat farm (again, not appreciated by the kids) and a winery (ditto), and Sean and I decided that next time we are not bringing said, unappreciative kids.
August began a season of leave-takings. My friend Patty moved to London, which I was sad about until we realized that we can video conference on Skype and that visiting in person requires a trip to London. Thanks to my husband's frequent flier miles, my friend Kathy and I are going in February. Tea and crumpets, plays and museums, cottages and castles here we come!
August also saw our leaving us to go to ISU, majoring in teaching Middle School math and science. He absolutely loves it. He has an unlimited meal plan, interesting classes, and a great dorm floor. He did well and finished finals in mid-December. I've enjoyed having my car to myself, but we miss him a lot otherwise. He misses my cheeseburgers.
Thankfully, our daughter still comes back home at the end of the day. She started sophomore year and has her permit. She's playing flute, piccolo, alto recorder and soprano ukulele. Last month we went to hear her favorite group, Project, play and went to a flute workshop by one of the band members the next day. They play beatbox flute, cello and bass. Not only does she now want to learn cello, but the flute player in the group advised the kids that busking on street corners playing flute is a great way to earn money. We are torn by that idea. It would save on college, but what parent wants to tell people their daughter works on a street corner? Her room looks like a music store, but we love listening to her play. She's also joined the French, Art and Drama clubs at school.
September was very hard. My sister-in-law, Karen, and her husband, Tom, moved back to Illinois in July. She'd been battling malignant melanoma for over six years and her health was worsening. During the next couple of months, we had the luxury of time with her, enjoying trips to art galleries, walks, watching movies, or just sitting and talking. She was increasingly tired, but was not in pain until a couple of days before she died. She passed away on September 19th, just a few weeks after celebrating her 55th birthday and their 19th anniversary. She was a gifted teacher and artist. I don't know how to put into words how wonderful she was or how much we miss her.
Also in September, my mom went into the hospital for a scheduled, and long overdue, back surgery. It went very well, and we expected she'd be home in three days. Instead, she returned home almost a month and two more surgeries later, with not only a new device in her back, but also a stent and a pacemaker. I'd say it was three for the price of one, but I'm pretty sure it was three for the price of three. We were blessed that Mom received excellent care. We spent a lot of family time together eating hospital food, “discussing” politics, and solving the world's problems.
November had us celebrating Dad's 75th birthday and spending Thanksgiving with my family. It was a particularly poignant holiday this year. Having a healthy Mom at the table, and having friends and family who prayed for us and carried us through the last few months, gave us a lot to be thankful for.
Cold weather is baking season and I've been baking bread a lot, beginning with crusty French loaves and more recently trying gluten free variations. I've been baking for church events, which lets me bake without eating it myself. My very favorite thing to bake for is my Wednesday night class when I get to sit on little chairs at little tables with a dozen of the wee Souls (my name for kids at All Souls Church), memorizing verses, reading the Bible, coloring, and munching on brownies - it's a glorious thing.
And now we're in Advent, a time of quiet, reflective waiting in the midst of frenetic activity, which ends for us at the beautiful, candlelight Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve. We'll spend Christmas morning with my parents and then head to my sister-in-law's home in the afternoon. As always, I hope this finds you all spending Christmas surrounded by those you love and who love you.
Grace and Peace.
Ann and company
A friend said to me recently that tears and laughter are the mortar of life. Through the changes of this last year, they are what have held us together and kept us (questionably) sane.
Losing my mother-in-law in December last year turned Christmas 2009 into the “Amazon.com Christmas.” My husband took our wish lists, pared them down to a reasonable level, and, with a few clicks of the mouse, brown UPS boxes began showing up. Our son thought we should just leave them that way under the tree. I drew the line at that and wrapped the brown boxes. It gave us something to chuckle about as we hung Mom's ornaments on our tree with the tissues nearby.
One hectic work year done and another underway, in January my beloved headed to Bangkok for two weeks of meetings. The people there are great, but it's a long plane ride. Upside: frequent flier miles, which you get a lot of for sitting in a plane for 20-some hours each way. He continues to do genealogical research, and we tramp around the local cemeteries once he's found a great-grandparent or long lost step-great aunt. It's fun to do the detective work. Our kids think we're odd, which is kind of true.
At Spring Break we went to Pensacola Beach. In late March, pre-oil spill, the beaches were beautiful. The water was freezing, however, so we didn't swim much. With the exception of our daughter the Vegetarian, we ate lots of seafood and loved our visit to Joe Patti's fish market in Pensacola. Wow and yum.
In our first major change of the year, our oldest graduated from high school. He was very sad to leave his friends and very excited to go to college. Our summer travel schedule meant he couldn't get a job, so he got to spend the time hanging out with his friends, broke, but totally, lazily happy. Once he had none to do, I realized how much of my time had been spent “asking” him about homework. Twelve years of a topic of conversation, gone in the time it took to walk across a stage on a beautiful May evening.
Shortly after graduation, the kids, my niece and I headed up to Lake Vermilion for a relaxing week of fishing with my folks. I missed VBS for the first time in years, but the family time was sweet.
We celebrated our 25th anniversary by taking a trip to Maui with the kids. We snorkeled a lot and also ascended Haleakala, driving the switchbacks from sea level to 11,000 feet up, way above the clouds. The views were spectacular and neither kid fell off the mountain – certainly thanks to my “nagging,” which they failed to appreciate. We visited a goat farm (again, not appreciated by the kids) and a winery (ditto), and Sean and I decided that next time we are not bringing said, unappreciative kids.
August began a season of leave-takings. My friend Patty moved to London, which I was sad about until we realized that we can video conference on Skype and that visiting in person requires a trip to London. Thanks to my husband's frequent flier miles, my friend Kathy and I are going in February. Tea and crumpets, plays and museums, cottages and castles here we come!
August also saw our leaving us to go to ISU, majoring in teaching Middle School math and science. He absolutely loves it. He has an unlimited meal plan, interesting classes, and a great dorm floor. He did well and finished finals in mid-December. I've enjoyed having my car to myself, but we miss him a lot otherwise. He misses my cheeseburgers.
Thankfully, our daughter still comes back home at the end of the day. She started sophomore year and has her permit. She's playing flute, piccolo, alto recorder and soprano ukulele. Last month we went to hear her favorite group, Project, play and went to a flute workshop by one of the band members the next day. They play beatbox flute, cello and bass. Not only does she now want to learn cello, but the flute player in the group advised the kids that busking on street corners playing flute is a great way to earn money. We are torn by that idea. It would save on college, but what parent wants to tell people their daughter works on a street corner? Her room looks like a music store, but we love listening to her play. She's also joined the French, Art and Drama clubs at school.
September was very hard. My sister-in-law, Karen, and her husband, Tom, moved back to Illinois in July. She'd been battling malignant melanoma for over six years and her health was worsening. During the next couple of months, we had the luxury of time with her, enjoying trips to art galleries, walks, watching movies, or just sitting and talking. She was increasingly tired, but was not in pain until a couple of days before she died. She passed away on September 19th, just a few weeks after celebrating her 55th birthday and their 19th anniversary. She was a gifted teacher and artist. I don't know how to put into words how wonderful she was or how much we miss her.
Also in September, my mom went into the hospital for a scheduled, and long overdue, back surgery. It went very well, and we expected she'd be home in three days. Instead, she returned home almost a month and two more surgeries later, with not only a new device in her back, but also a stent and a pacemaker. I'd say it was three for the price of one, but I'm pretty sure it was three for the price of three. We were blessed that Mom received excellent care. We spent a lot of family time together eating hospital food, “discussing” politics, and solving the world's problems.
November had us celebrating Dad's 75th birthday and spending Thanksgiving with my family. It was a particularly poignant holiday this year. Having a healthy Mom at the table, and having friends and family who prayed for us and carried us through the last few months, gave us a lot to be thankful for.
Cold weather is baking season and I've been baking bread a lot, beginning with crusty French loaves and more recently trying gluten free variations. I've been baking for church events, which lets me bake without eating it myself. My very favorite thing to bake for is my Wednesday night class when I get to sit on little chairs at little tables with a dozen of the wee Souls (my name for kids at All Souls Church), memorizing verses, reading the Bible, coloring, and munching on brownies - it's a glorious thing.
And now we're in Advent, a time of quiet, reflective waiting in the midst of frenetic activity, which ends for us at the beautiful, candlelight Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve. We'll spend Christmas morning with my parents and then head to my sister-in-law's home in the afternoon. As always, I hope this finds you all spending Christmas surrounded by those you love and who love you.
Grace and Peace.
Ann and company
Friday, November 26, 2010
Gathering to Give Thanks
Last year at this time, at the end of Monday Morning Bible Study, we sang several Thanksgiving hymns in preparation for heading out, away from each other and into the Thanksgiving business. And while I loved all the hymns we sang, there is one that remains a constant favorite:
We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.
Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, were at our side, all glory be Thine!
We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader triumphant,
And pray that Thou still our Defender will be.
Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!
Written in the 1500s as the Dutch came out from under Spanish rule, it went from being a Dutch patriotic song to being a Thanksgiving song over the course of the next three hundred years. It continues to speak to people who have been oppressed or who have struggled. And, in one way or another, that applies to most of us.
Sometimes sermons or Christian music urges us to be active and to never slow down, as if it's all up to us and that God will forsake us if we let up for even a second. This old hymn tells the truth - it is God who ordains and maintains. The battle was won from the beginning, with the knowledge on God's part that we'd be fighting along side Him.
Having lived through the last couple of months of change and sorrow, I've taken comfort from the knowledge that this is not up to me. That I'm just part of a larger picture painted by God. And so when it came time to give thanks before dinner, at a time when we were missing those who'd gone ahead and grateful for those who hadn't, I was overwhelmingly thankful to belong to a God who forgets not His own.
We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.
Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, were at our side, all glory be Thine!
We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader triumphant,
And pray that Thou still our Defender will be.
Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!
Written in the 1500s as the Dutch came out from under Spanish rule, it went from being a Dutch patriotic song to being a Thanksgiving song over the course of the next three hundred years. It continues to speak to people who have been oppressed or who have struggled. And, in one way or another, that applies to most of us.
Sometimes sermons or Christian music urges us to be active and to never slow down, as if it's all up to us and that God will forsake us if we let up for even a second. This old hymn tells the truth - it is God who ordains and maintains. The battle was won from the beginning, with the knowledge on God's part that we'd be fighting along side Him.
Having lived through the last couple of months of change and sorrow, I've taken comfort from the knowledge that this is not up to me. That I'm just part of a larger picture painted by God. And so when it came time to give thanks before dinner, at a time when we were missing those who'd gone ahead and grateful for those who hadn't, I was overwhelmingly thankful to belong to a God who forgets not His own.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Give Me, Every Day, Some Bread
No, this isn't a post on the Lord's Prayer. It is a post on bread, because I tried a recipe from a cool book called Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, by Jeff Hertzberg, M.D. and Zoë François.
My dad turned 75 on Sunday and I got him this book I'd read about that promised artisanal breadmaking skills (and bread) in five minutes a day. Trick is to get a big, food grade tub and mix enough dough to make four, 1 lb. loaves, let it rise, and pop it in the fridge. No kneading. So I ordered it for him and an extra book and tub for me. I also got him a sushi-making class (two hours of instruction, along with wine)...which, yeah, I'll go along for also. He gave me half his genes, so the food presents are his fault, I figure.
I grew up making bread. My mom ground her own wheat and we made whole wheat bread in loaf pans every few days. I liked kneading it and watching it rise, but it took time. My brother and I used to cut slices of it and toast it with butter and sugar on it. I also used to melt a big hunk of cheese on a thick slice of it for breakfast (I read the book Heidi and she did that). It was wonderful.
I've got this friend at church who makes brilliant bread. He makes boules and baguettes, not just loaf pan bread. We have soup suppers on Wednesday nights before our various classes for kids and adults, and he always makes the bread. I love the soup, don't get me wrong, but I go for the bread. And for the class I co-teach, of course. I love those kids.
My friend's bread is like what you find in a great bakery, and that's what I wanted to learn how to do. Then along comes this book into my life. I don't even remember how, probably on some food website. A few clicks on Amazon.com and voila! In my fridge is a tub of dough with three loaves worth of bread left in it. Theoretically, it can sit for up to 14 days. You cut off a hunk, shape it, let it sit for 40 minutes and pop it onto a hot stone in your oven for a half an hour and then, just like that, there is a boule cooling on your countertop.
Of course, the book does not describe the fact that, if you're at my house, you spend part of that half hour waving your dishtowel beneath the smoke detector that's going off because your oven needs to be cleaner. Apparently the term "self-cleaning" in "self-cleaning oven" doesn't mean it will actually clean it's ownself.
Tangent aside, there is a crust of bread left on the cutting board. I don't hold out high hopes that it'll last much longer than tomorrow morning. I'm making challah next for the Thanksgiving dressing, and then on to baguettes. Right after, that is, I clean the stupid oven.
I hope Dad likes his present, I really do. Because I love his present ;-) Now I just need to figure out what we...I mean he...is getting for Christmas.
My dad turned 75 on Sunday and I got him this book I'd read about that promised artisanal breadmaking skills (and bread) in five minutes a day. Trick is to get a big, food grade tub and mix enough dough to make four, 1 lb. loaves, let it rise, and pop it in the fridge. No kneading. So I ordered it for him and an extra book and tub for me. I also got him a sushi-making class (two hours of instruction, along with wine)...which, yeah, I'll go along for also. He gave me half his genes, so the food presents are his fault, I figure.
I grew up making bread. My mom ground her own wheat and we made whole wheat bread in loaf pans every few days. I liked kneading it and watching it rise, but it took time. My brother and I used to cut slices of it and toast it with butter and sugar on it. I also used to melt a big hunk of cheese on a thick slice of it for breakfast (I read the book Heidi and she did that). It was wonderful.
I've got this friend at church who makes brilliant bread. He makes boules and baguettes, not just loaf pan bread. We have soup suppers on Wednesday nights before our various classes for kids and adults, and he always makes the bread. I love the soup, don't get me wrong, but I go for the bread. And for the class I co-teach, of course. I love those kids.
My friend's bread is like what you find in a great bakery, and that's what I wanted to learn how to do. Then along comes this book into my life. I don't even remember how, probably on some food website. A few clicks on Amazon.com and voila! In my fridge is a tub of dough with three loaves worth of bread left in it. Theoretically, it can sit for up to 14 days. You cut off a hunk, shape it, let it sit for 40 minutes and pop it onto a hot stone in your oven for a half an hour and then, just like that, there is a boule cooling on your countertop.
Of course, the book does not describe the fact that, if you're at my house, you spend part of that half hour waving your dishtowel beneath the smoke detector that's going off because your oven needs to be cleaner. Apparently the term "self-cleaning" in "self-cleaning oven" doesn't mean it will actually clean it's ownself.
Tangent aside, there is a crust of bread left on the cutting board. I don't hold out high hopes that it'll last much longer than tomorrow morning. I'm making challah next for the Thanksgiving dressing, and then on to baguettes. Right after, that is, I clean the stupid oven.
I hope Dad likes his present, I really do. Because I love his present ;-) Now I just need to figure out what we...I mean he...is getting for Christmas.
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