No Wake Zone

(photo taken by hunky hubby last summer at Grandma's lake, which is, incidentally, the very best place I know to slow down)

I often feel lately that I have forgotten how to enjoy myself. I do many things, many things I am quite good at, and I have the rare blessing of truly being very much in control of my time. So why is it that I feel always in a hurry? Always rushed, always crammed, always scrambling at the last second. Is it really because I have so much to do or is it because I see each thing as a task to be accomplished as efficiently as possible and then crossed off and move on to the next. No time for savoring, no time for pondering, no time for reflecting or genuflecting or anticipating anything....just rush rush rush because the faster you get over with the better. Even the good things we should really enjoy doing become one more thing to get done.

I don't enjoy that about myself. While "making the most of every moment" I am not truly creating moments worth remembering. Efficiency doesn't garner me leisure, it simply leads me to wonder why my leisure moments can't be handled more efficiently. Why can't I slam through a book in one afternoon, why should I linger in prayer over this precious baby blanket when I could finish three more rows in that time. The faster I finish this dinner the quicker I can dash away to the next thing on my agenda, no need to waste time digesting, or even tasting the food...

It's madness this constant quest to cram the most into every day. Does it matter who experiences the most when we are so focused on the next experience that we're barely even part of the present one?

Madness.

And here's my solution: I quit.

It isn't going to be easy. I have a mindset, a value system, a list of habits a mile long that will work against me daily. But I simply will not be part of the more more more mentality. I can't have it all. I can't be it all, and I sure as hell cant' do it all.

And what's more...I don't even want to.

Take that, world.

Buttermilk Summer Squash Soup

One of the joys of endings is the taking of time to pamper friends with delicious foods as we share a last meal together. This soup is light and perfectly delicious. I like to dip lightly buttered french bread in lieu of using a spoon.

a generous splash of olive oil or (3T.)knob of butter

3 large shallots, chopped

a couple pinches of fine-grain sea salt

pinch of crushed red pepper flakes

3-inch sprig of rosemary

1 1/2 pounds yellow or green summer squash, cut into 1/2-inch thick slices/chunks

3/4 pound potatoes, un-peeled, cut into 1/4-inch thick pieces

3 medium cloves garlic, chopped

3 cups lightly flavored vegetable stock or water

2/3 cup buttermilk*

garnish with: fresh herbs, toasted almonds, a generous drizzle of olive oil/ melted butter, and/or some crumbled feta

Heat olive oil/butter in large thick-bottomed pan over medium heat. Stir in the shallots, salt, red pepper flakes, and rosemary. Saute until shallots are tender - a couple minutes. Stir in the squash and potatoes, and cook until the squash starts to get a bit tender - a few minutes. Stir in the garlic, remove the sprig of rosemary, and then add the stock (or water) to the pot. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer, stirring occasionally until potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes.

Puree with a hand blender. If you like a silkier soup feel free to pour the soup through a strainer. Slowly whisk in the buttermilk, taste, and adjust the seasoning - adding more salt if needed.

*If you don't have buttermilk on hand mix 1tbs of white vinegar with 1 c. milk and allow to stand a minute or so. Voila-buttermilk.

The Ends of Things

(Grandma's Lake last summer. In May we said goodbye to her, too soon)

I am a person who has mixed feelings about the ends of things. I love new beginnings and new beginnings necessarily must follow endings of some sort. However there is an unfathomable difference between the ending of something that has required much of you and that which is finished well and ending which come unexpectedly and often, rather painfully. This has been a week of endings, it seems. Some physical, some relational, some emotional. I find myself lightened, saddened, and again, changed.

I've come to realize about myself that there is very little that I do half heartedly. I tend towards passion (and perfection) and so with each ending, a little part of myself it seems is left, or damaged, or lost. The ends of things signal readjustment, reflection, and deepening for me, processes which are both painful and revealing.

Saturday night I bid goodbye to my third (but not final) Disciple 1 class. I was so rewarded to hear as each person shared what God had revealed to them over the last ten months, and even more so to hear how they planned to carry those lessons forward into their daily lives. It was an ending, in a way, but even more so a beginning as these amazing lives are forever changed by the One who is the author of our days. Perhaps the most touching, for me, was the comment that "I feel I know more fully who God is, and that I can trust Him."

Yes.

Through every ending, and into each new beginning.

Mushroom Casserole

Mushroom Casserole

Use any cooked grain you like. Feel free to use low-fat cottage cheese or sour cream if you prefer.

1/2 pound (8 ounces) brown mushrooms, cleaned and chopped
1 large onion, well chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 cups cooked brown rice, room temperature
2 large eggs
1 cup cottage cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 teaspoon fine grain sea salt
1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
a bit of fresh tarragon, chopped

Preheat oven to 350F degrees. Rub a medium-large baking dish with a bit of olive oil or butter and set aside. The pan I use is slightly smaller than a classic 9x13 baking dish - just grab for something in this ballpark.

In a large skillet over medium-high heat saute the mushrooms in a glug of olive oil sprinkled with a couple pinches of salt. Stir every minute or so until the mushrooms have released their liquid and have browned a bit. Add the onions and cook for another 4 or 5 minutes or until they are translucent. Stir in the garlic, cook for another minute and remove from heat. Add the rice to the skillet and stir until combined.

In a medium bowl whisk together the eggs, cottage cheese, sour cream, and salt.

Combine the rice mixture and cottage cheese mixture in a large bowl, stir until well combined and then turn out into your prepared baking dish. Sprinkle with 2/3 of the Parmesan cheese, cover with foil and place in oven for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for another 20 or 30 minutes more or hot throughout and golden along the edges. Sprinkle with the chopped tarragon, and the remaining Parmesan and enjoy.

Serves about 8.

My youngest daughter Olivia is not as confident in the water as her sisters are. She feels that she can't swim as well. She also doesn't trust that the ocean seems to sometimes come from nowhere, pick you up, twirl you around, steal your air and toss you up gasping and disoriented on the sand.

Frankly, I have the same feelings about life itself generally.

The day these particular pictures were taken, we went into the water together with her boogey board. After some time just floating she kicked off on her own and shortly afterwards she caught the most perfect wave ever and rode the crest of it screaming and laughing all the way to shore.

The next wave absolutely creamed her.

She came up gasping and choking, no idea which way to shore or what to do next. She began to panic until she realized that her feet still touched the bottom and her board was holding her up. She locked eyes with me, took a deep breath, and turned to wait for the next wave.

There's a lesson to be had here except for the fact that I know that sometimes you get thrown around and when you come up for air, you're in way over your head. Sometimes what lurks in the wave is even more sinister than the wave itself. Sometimes there isn't anyone waiting to grab you, if they see you aren't ok on your own.

Some days are like that.

And some days you ride the wave laughing and screaming all the way to shore.

Change

(Photo by the ever-hunky, Hunky )

I, the Lord, do not change. Malachi 3:6

That is a comforting thought. In all my wanderings and wailing, my waxing and waning, He is constantly, unendingly, enduringly there with His promises, His plans and most of all, His inexplicable, undying love for me. He just doesn't change.

I change, daily, hourly, sometimes moment by moment. I change for the good, and I change into the flesh-filled monster of self. I change my mind, my thoughts and my shoes. I change the color of the paint in the kitchen. Some change I initiate and some change He initiates in me. I am reaching the end of a fourth year leading disciple and a recent conversation I had was regarding how very much, how very deeply the daily immersion in God's word for so long has utterly and completely changed me. I know nothing more than the tiniest fraction of who God is, but that fraction is infinitely so much more than what I knew when I started this journey. That's the amazing thing about God, the more I know, the more I realize the breadth and depth that lies between who He is, and what I am even capable of understanding about who He is. He's an amazing God, not a comfortable God, not by a long shot, but I have come to the conclusion that I don't really want the Lord of the Universe and the Savior of my Soul to have a lot in common with my cozy sock monkey slippers.

He can be trusted. He doesn't change. These things comfort me even when I am desperately uncomfortable. When I'm struggling in every way to find my footing once again, I know that He, my Lord, will constantly be there, planning my footsteps, giving me hope and a future, building a mansion for me, ordaining my steps even while I seek to find my path.

Catching the Light

The sun shone in so perfectly today, and Bailey was fascinated by it.Isn't she wonderful? I found it a nice touch that the home school shelves as right behind her and she studies...