When your nails are unkempt
And your spirits are low
I will love you
When you bail on plans and oversleep
Choose the boys over me
I won't judge you
When you drive us in circles
Ignore the GPS's heedings
I won't nag you
When you're feeling 5 pounds heavy
And you wonder if you've still got it
I'll remind you
When you need to melt down
Pitch a fit, cry and moan
I'll cry with you
When decisions press upon you
And there seem to be no answers
I'll pray for you
When you think you're all alone
That he's the only one to call
I'm here for you
When the day has been long
And the boss has been cruel
I'll wine with you
For when I was hungry
You fed me
And when I was thirsty
Gave me drink
Clothed me
Loved me
Forgave me
Took me in
- The gifts we have in girlfriends
Are the purest forms of grace
Little tastes of heaven
We must pass on to appreciate -
When life's seasons nudge us forward
And we no longer walk in stride
I'll celebrate our times and thank God for you
Monday, June 28, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Rediscovering the Crockpot
Watch out! I've just rediscovered my crockpot (and my chili pepper apron!) and I'm getting down and dirty in the kitchen.
I've missed my slow cooker. Once upon a time I put it to good use at least twice a week making roasts or stews or various beef and chicken concoctions. Tonight I finally faced the pheasant in the freezer and decided the crockpot was the only way to go.
I've actually learned quite a few kitchen lessons today:
1) Pheasant is supposed to be that bloody-scary dark shade of reddish-purple. And I thought all poultry was white meat...
2) It is ok to use an onion that has been sitting out for over a month. Limes are a different story.
3) Two clueless kitchen-ettes can conquer something domestic, even if it is just reassembly of the blender (thanks Lacelove!)
4) You can plug the coffeepot in, fill it up with grounds and pour in the water, but you still have to turn it on
5) Recipe for a fantastic evening:
1 bottle red wine (the cheaper the better)
2 sassy Southern women (add to suit to taste)
1 bag tortilla chips
1 container salsa
Combine ingredients in urban kitchen and let simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from heat when beginning to boil (be careful when inserting men and mothers into the mix!). Stir well, and allow to cool. Serve in heels and pearls. Enjoy!
I've missed my slow cooker. Once upon a time I put it to good use at least twice a week making roasts or stews or various beef and chicken concoctions. Tonight I finally faced the pheasant in the freezer and decided the crockpot was the only way to go.
I've actually learned quite a few kitchen lessons today:
1) Pheasant is supposed to be that bloody-scary dark shade of reddish-purple. And I thought all poultry was white meat...
2) It is ok to use an onion that has been sitting out for over a month. Limes are a different story.
3) Two clueless kitchen-ettes can conquer something domestic, even if it is just reassembly of the blender (thanks Lacelove!)
4) You can plug the coffeepot in, fill it up with grounds and pour in the water, but you still have to turn it on
5) Recipe for a fantastic evening:
1 bottle red wine (the cheaper the better)
2 sassy Southern women (add to suit to taste)
1 bag tortilla chips
1 container salsa
Combine ingredients in urban kitchen and let simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from heat when beginning to boil (be careful when inserting men and mothers into the mix!). Stir well, and allow to cool. Serve in heels and pearls. Enjoy!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
God's resume
Living in this town it sometimes feels like life revolves around a constant stream of resumes. Whether it's scanning for potential hires in your office, passing a friend's along for consideration, or getting barraged via email by various network acquaintances ("just in case you hear of an opening"), or busy distributing your own, we've all seen our fair share.
What does a resume tell you? Past performance, specific tasks and responsibilities, and in my humble opinion, a good resume shows results. Like doubling a client base in 2 years, or increasing sales by 5%, or successfully managing a campaign to victory. Verifiable facts, best backed up by references; you get the idea.
So it just hit me funny tonight when, whilst talking about our experiences with God's faithfulness, my dear roomie actually used the term "God's resume". Hmm.
Doesn't it make sense though? And how often I do go looking back over his resume to reaffirm my faith! Just think about it: most of us have points in our life to which we can point and say undoubtedly, "That was the Lord." Some times are more obvious than others, but get enough years under your belt and you'll be amazed at what you'll find. Like intervening in a might way in major life decisions, providing a job or unexpected income or furniture, or delivering me with only so much as a scratch from a car I rolled six times. And time and again I find him answering specific prayers, whether it takes a day or a month or a year. I like to keep a journal and flip back through to glean encouragement from all the ways things I once dealt with were resolved. Perhaps I will type out God's resume for my life and post it to have an even more visual reminder of his faithfulness.
What does a resume tell you? Past performance, specific tasks and responsibilities, and in my humble opinion, a good resume shows results. Like doubling a client base in 2 years, or increasing sales by 5%, or successfully managing a campaign to victory. Verifiable facts, best backed up by references; you get the idea.
So it just hit me funny tonight when, whilst talking about our experiences with God's faithfulness, my dear roomie actually used the term "God's resume". Hmm.
Doesn't it make sense though? And how often I do go looking back over his resume to reaffirm my faith! Just think about it: most of us have points in our life to which we can point and say undoubtedly, "That was the Lord." Some times are more obvious than others, but get enough years under your belt and you'll be amazed at what you'll find. Like intervening in a might way in major life decisions, providing a job or unexpected income or furniture, or delivering me with only so much as a scratch from a car I rolled six times. And time and again I find him answering specific prayers, whether it takes a day or a month or a year. I like to keep a journal and flip back through to glean encouragement from all the ways things I once dealt with were resolved. Perhaps I will type out God's resume for my life and post it to have an even more visual reminder of his faithfulness.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sixteen Elizabeths
I have been in serious need of some Bob time.
Last Sunday as we were catching up at the kitchen table he proudly showed me the program from Tony's graduation ceremony a few weeks earlier. (Tony is another adopted grandchild from across the street, and Bob had attended his MBA graduation ceremony with Tony's parents.) I flipped through the pages as he recounted the ceremony, the Maryland Transportation Secretary's address, the rain, Tony's honors.
I noticed how he had circled Tony's name each time it appeared in the program. He truly is proud of all his "kids" and their accomplishments. I also noticed he had placed numbers beside other names in the program, names I didn't recognize. But I decided against interrupting him for an explanation: he went on to recount mowing the church lawn, Ben's birthday party and his most recent meeting with his lawyer. This month he has big plans to go to an Orioles game with Tony and then he's coming to a Nats game one night as well ("Honey, I want you to meet us if you can"). For the 4th he's going on a boys' trip with Harvey and Ben and they'll have a huge family reunion at his brother's cabin in the West Virginia mountains.
"And honey, wouldja believe they had sixteen Elizabeth's at Tony's graduation?" his eyes got big behind his thick frames and a grin spread across his face.
"See I counted 'em, and I marked 'em all in that book,"he pointed to the program. "That's a lot now isn't it?"
All of a sudden I'm imagining him sitting there under a large tent watching in anticipation each time he hears the name of his beloved late wife being called. I feel the ironic twist of pain and hope and happiness he must have felt to watch each stranger-Elizabeth walk across the stage, a reminder of all he has lost. Sixteen of them, one by one. I remember the Sunday a few weeks earlier when he draped a strand of her white beads around my neck and choked out, "Happy Future Mother's Day, honey, I want you to have these." Right before we both melted into tears in the same kitchen.
But this Sunday he was smiling at me expectantly as I stared back, a bit surprised and feeling his pain. All I could do was smile back and answer, "It sure is, Bob, it sure is."
"She's been gone 10 months on the 4th," he reminded me. Still no tears, as I held my breath and searched his face for signs. He chuckled softly and changed topics, leaving me in a daze.
These have been a rough few weeks for him, and I'm still not sure how to react to his sixteen Elizabeth's.
All I know is the Bob I love and adore has experienced loss to a degree that I may never understand. He is not too proud to cry or to tell me when he's having a hard time. He's not too independent to ask for help when he needs it. And he still finds the strength to smile, serve and keep living and loving.
And to find some odd, small joy in counting Elizabeth's.
Last Sunday as we were catching up at the kitchen table he proudly showed me the program from Tony's graduation ceremony a few weeks earlier. (Tony is another adopted grandchild from across the street, and Bob had attended his MBA graduation ceremony with Tony's parents.) I flipped through the pages as he recounted the ceremony, the Maryland Transportation Secretary's address, the rain, Tony's honors.
I noticed how he had circled Tony's name each time it appeared in the program. He truly is proud of all his "kids" and their accomplishments. I also noticed he had placed numbers beside other names in the program, names I didn't recognize. But I decided against interrupting him for an explanation: he went on to recount mowing the church lawn, Ben's birthday party and his most recent meeting with his lawyer. This month he has big plans to go to an Orioles game with Tony and then he's coming to a Nats game one night as well ("Honey, I want you to meet us if you can"). For the 4th he's going on a boys' trip with Harvey and Ben and they'll have a huge family reunion at his brother's cabin in the West Virginia mountains.
"And honey, wouldja believe they had sixteen Elizabeth's at Tony's graduation?" his eyes got big behind his thick frames and a grin spread across his face.
"See I counted 'em, and I marked 'em all in that book,"he pointed to the program. "That's a lot now isn't it?"
All of a sudden I'm imagining him sitting there under a large tent watching in anticipation each time he hears the name of his beloved late wife being called. I feel the ironic twist of pain and hope and happiness he must have felt to watch each stranger-Elizabeth walk across the stage, a reminder of all he has lost. Sixteen of them, one by one. I remember the Sunday a few weeks earlier when he draped a strand of her white beads around my neck and choked out, "Happy Future Mother's Day, honey, I want you to have these." Right before we both melted into tears in the same kitchen.
But this Sunday he was smiling at me expectantly as I stared back, a bit surprised and feeling his pain. All I could do was smile back and answer, "It sure is, Bob, it sure is."
"She's been gone 10 months on the 4th," he reminded me. Still no tears, as I held my breath and searched his face for signs. He chuckled softly and changed topics, leaving me in a daze.
These have been a rough few weeks for him, and I'm still not sure how to react to his sixteen Elizabeth's.
All I know is the Bob I love and adore has experienced loss to a degree that I may never understand. He is not too proud to cry or to tell me when he's having a hard time. He's not too independent to ask for help when he needs it. And he still finds the strength to smile, serve and keep living and loving.
And to find some odd, small joy in counting Elizabeth's.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A Taste of Italy
We gazed over the muggy, miserably crowded room and laughed. I don't recall what it is we laughed at, but it doesn't take much: Stephanie's pessimistic spin on life and the legal system proves comedic, especially when mixed with my naievete and daring spirit. Which, oddly enough, seemed to wane with each glass of champagne. We were there to enjoy and be amused, but neither of us felt like making an effort to socialize.
Think Italian Embassy, modern architecture, fabulous pasta and a melting crowd of diplomats sweltering in the D.C. heat. And of course we two Southern girls happened to corner one of the few U.S. military men there. And of course he's spent the majority of his service time in Ft. Rucker, AL. We would hunt down the one Alabama connection in a room full of Italians!
Oh to speak Italian, just a teensy bit. To know more than bellissimo. We did happen to make one new friend, to neither of our credit. He approached, interrupting our fits of laughter and humoring our cultural whims. We learned the word for the national guard-like military men patrolling the room with their flared up caps and cross-shoulder belts. Bellissimo Carabiniere!
Two comments endeared us immediately:
"I can't stand Nancy Pelosi!" and "I went to Cornell. You know, like Andy from The Office."
I enjoy being silly with old friends and new ones. Comfortable, snorting-giggles, fake accents, feet-on-the-dash silly. And who says you can't do that in a fab environment surrounded by fashion superiors and foreign dignitaries?
I love this town. And sometimes, I think it loves me back.
Think Italian Embassy, modern architecture, fabulous pasta and a melting crowd of diplomats sweltering in the D.C. heat. And of course we two Southern girls happened to corner one of the few U.S. military men there. And of course he's spent the majority of his service time in Ft. Rucker, AL. We would hunt down the one Alabama connection in a room full of Italians!
Oh to speak Italian, just a teensy bit. To know more than bellissimo. We did happen to make one new friend, to neither of our credit. He approached, interrupting our fits of laughter and humoring our cultural whims. We learned the word for the national guard-like military men patrolling the room with their flared up caps and cross-shoulder belts. Bellissimo Carabiniere!
Two comments endeared us immediately:
"I can't stand Nancy Pelosi!" and "I went to Cornell. You know, like Andy from The Office."
I enjoy being silly with old friends and new ones. Comfortable, snorting-giggles, fake accents, feet-on-the-dash silly. And who says you can't do that in a fab environment surrounded by fashion superiors and foreign dignitaries?
I love this town. And sometimes, I think it loves me back.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
When the quest for truth turns sour
I ran across this phrase yesterday afternoon and I've been trying to decide whether I think these words, taken from a letter written by C.S. Lewis, are absurd or sheer genius:
"Of course reality must be self-consistent: but till (if ever) we can see the consistency it is better to hold two inconsistent views than to ignore one side of the evidence."
Does this principle, applied across a wide spectrum of issues and highly-contested debates, hold true? Is this the inevitable conclusion we must sometimes face when at a loss for understanding (as in a scientific example Lewis cites earlier in this piece to bolster his argument) or do inconsistencies simply imply there is more work to be done toward reaching understanding? At what point is it (if it is ever) wise, prudent, and noble to acknowledge that no more can be done and the best explanation is that we simply can't know the present answer; to assume that all the presupposed assumptions that have led us to a crossroads are true, regardless of seeming contradictions?
I have a need to make sense of and find the logic in order to accept something as truth. I assume that contradiction and inconsistency indicate a flaw among whatever has been presupposed. Which is why at first glance I shrank back at Lewis' words, scratched my head and thought I must be reading him wrong.
To be fair, Lewis isn't saying there is no absolute truth. He's just acknowledging our human incapacity to always see it clearly, and sometimes the best thing to do is lay down your shovel and stop digging. And I'm sure Lewis would be the first to say this principle should be applied sparingly on a case-by-case basis, as a last resort, once all other forceivable explanations and options have been exhausted. Still, it feels like intellectual laziness, doesn't it? And if there are absolute truths, they will eventually come to light, won't they?
I'm beginning to see where my continual 'digging' doesn't always even produce the real results I'm looking for. Sometimes it just means I'm attempting to force an issue so I can feel more comfortable with it. So I can feel I have a neat little answer, the right answer, the superior logic. And sometimes that's more damaging and futile than if I had just left it alone.
"Of course reality must be self-consistent: but till (if ever) we can see the consistency it is better to hold two inconsistent views than to ignore one side of the evidence."
Does this principle, applied across a wide spectrum of issues and highly-contested debates, hold true? Is this the inevitable conclusion we must sometimes face when at a loss for understanding (as in a scientific example Lewis cites earlier in this piece to bolster his argument) or do inconsistencies simply imply there is more work to be done toward reaching understanding? At what point is it (if it is ever) wise, prudent, and noble to acknowledge that no more can be done and the best explanation is that we simply can't know the present answer; to assume that all the presupposed assumptions that have led us to a crossroads are true, regardless of seeming contradictions?
I have a need to make sense of and find the logic in order to accept something as truth. I assume that contradiction and inconsistency indicate a flaw among whatever has been presupposed. Which is why at first glance I shrank back at Lewis' words, scratched my head and thought I must be reading him wrong.
To be fair, Lewis isn't saying there is no absolute truth. He's just acknowledging our human incapacity to always see it clearly, and sometimes the best thing to do is lay down your shovel and stop digging. And I'm sure Lewis would be the first to say this principle should be applied sparingly on a case-by-case basis, as a last resort, once all other forceivable explanations and options have been exhausted. Still, it feels like intellectual laziness, doesn't it? And if there are absolute truths, they will eventually come to light, won't they?
I'm beginning to see where my continual 'digging' doesn't always even produce the real results I'm looking for. Sometimes it just means I'm attempting to force an issue so I can feel more comfortable with it. So I can feel I have a neat little answer, the right answer, the superior logic. And sometimes that's more damaging and futile than if I had just left it alone.
The funny thing is, after pondering this all night, I saw a tweet this morning with another quote, also attributed to Lewis: "It's not the things that I don't understand that convict me, it's the things that I do understand."
I don't know if he actually said this because I can't seem to find the quote, but it struck me as something of a rebuke for my earlier tirade and I find it ironic that both are at least attributed to Lewis. As if God was saying,
"You just worry about doing the things you know you ought to be doing and stop worrying about figuring it all out." Just goes to show, it's forever a balancing act...
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Tales from a Wedding Weekend
Those of you who are aware of the seemingly crazy circumstances surrounding my sister's recent wedding have asked how last weekend transpired.
It is my sister's wedding day and the rain pours. I am sitting in the dark with a head full of wet hair and no power to dry it. Jess puts on a brave face and we laugh at the disastrous circumstances: the semi-outdoor venue will not shelter us from sideways rain, hail, and lightning that have been forecast for the entire day and well into the night. The photographer hasn't returned a call in days and this morning persists in evading us. As I leave another message on his voicemail, I realize I neglected to charge my Blackberry last night and it is dangerously low on power. Too late to charge it now. Jessica is beautiful, natural, calm, and as low-key as ever. It is the perfect day for a wedding. This is a perfect chapter in their story.
It was a perilously perfect day, complete with the impeccably-timed whine of tornado sirens during the vows. (Who wants wedding bells when you can have tornado sirens, anyway?) We sent them off with waves of handheld sparklers and collapsed into exhausted, joyful tears. Would that every bride's day might be half so momentous; would that every bride would weather (pun intended) the minor catastrophes that might arise on her wedding day with half so much grace and ease as Jess.
The short answer is - they're hitched!
Theirs has been quite the story. Coming together from a half a world away, falling hopelessly in love in a matter of weeks, threatened with separation by their respective governments (and a mountain of paperwork!) and a whirlwind of wedding, house and marriage prep in another few short weeks --- I get exhausted just thinking about it! But those who know them, who have experienced them together, can attest to the way they take it all in stride. As they did on one of the most adventurous wedding days. EVER. I recorded a few thoughts from the day in an old diary from the fourth grade, which I found while rummaging through my things at home.
It is my sister's wedding day and the rain pours. I am sitting in the dark with a head full of wet hair and no power to dry it. Jess puts on a brave face and we laugh at the disastrous circumstances: the semi-outdoor venue will not shelter us from sideways rain, hail, and lightning that have been forecast for the entire day and well into the night. The photographer hasn't returned a call in days and this morning persists in evading us. As I leave another message on his voicemail, I realize I neglected to charge my Blackberry last night and it is dangerously low on power. Too late to charge it now. Jessica is beautiful, natural, calm, and as low-key as ever. It is the perfect day for a wedding. This is a perfect chapter in their story.
Getting to that wedding complete with makeup, hair and unsoiled dresses was quite an adventure. The hair stylist worked her magic via generator during a critical 3-hour power outage, and we made use of the natural lighting on the deck (under the covered walkway and out of the rain) to apply makeup and finishing touches. The dynamic duo of bridesmaids (including yours truly) provided escort with a host of supporting cast in the safe and unspotted transport and upkeep of the lovely bride in and out of cars, golf carts, and cave paths. Helpful hint: Keep a supply of baby wipes handy on your wedding day- they work miracles.
It was a perilously perfect day, complete with the impeccably-timed whine of tornado sirens during the vows. (Who wants wedding bells when you can have tornado sirens, anyway?) We sent them off with waves of handheld sparklers and collapsed into exhausted, joyful tears. Would that every bride's day might be half so momentous; would that every bride would weather (pun intended) the minor catastrophes that might arise on her wedding day with half so much grace and ease as Jess.
XOXOXOXOXO
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)