Oven

oven turkey

We bought an oven when we moved here. It was expensive–a luxury in a country where most people cook only using a gas-powered two-burner stovetop. I can count on one hand the number of people I know here who have an oven of any type. One of my expat friends has an electric oven; another has a large metal box that she puts on top of her burners to bake the occasional cake. Neither of those options fit within my image of what my kitchen should be like. I wanted a gas oven, one that I could rely on through power cuts, one that I could turn to a specific temperature and reasonably expect the oven to maintain it. My husband was on board. He counted out the stacks of cash for the men at the store. I think he couldn’t imagine having a kitchen where freshly baked cookies weren’t an option. My expectations were a little broader. I envisioned cakes, roasts, lasagnas.

Oppressive heat, pre and postnatal joys, inaccessible ingredients, language learning, workworkwork–it all limited the products of my oven. I’ve used my oven here for plenty of things–even for my first turkey, but I haven’t been keeping our home constantly stocked with from-scratch sourdough or regular roast chickens, as I at first imagined. Many things about life here are like life at home; one similarity is that I have plenty of other things to do than spend most of my spare time in the kitchen. My mouth waters for multi-step, multi-hour meals, but my mind, my time rarely seem to accommodate the necessary preparations.

These kitchen dreams and tendencies reveal deeper truths about myself. My mind–in novels, in relationships, in family life–gravitates toward the marinated, the roasted, the slow, the purposeful, the invested, the worthwhile. I realized last night, though, as I struggled to pull not-yet-tender beef for barbecue, that I usually settle for the microwaved, the pan-fried, the quick, the easy.

Maybe I think it hurts less if a shorter term investment doesn’t pay off? Maybe I think quantity, variety is more satisfying than a subtle melding of flavors in a product or relationship that took time to develop? Maybe. More likely, I’m just impatient. With myself, with others, with God.

I want to be more of an oven-y person. I want to be someone who takes time to invest in relationships, to really understand and love the people with whom I interact. I want to commit to things for the long-haul, to start something because it’s worthwhile and to finish it for the same reason. I want to see the projects I accomplish, the games I play, the dinners I cook, the diapers I change, and the conversations I have as ingredients in a bigger dish, as a part of a whole life lived with joy and purpose. What will it take, this switch? Time, energy, motivation? Isn’t that what I have? Isn’t that all I have, by the grace of God and the power of His Holy Spirit?

Oh, and by the way–I got a bread maker, a beautiful bread maker, for Christmas. It’s waiting for me in America. I just might be able to accomplish some of my domestic dreams with its help. ;)

Input

Intake Output Formula

When we were getting ready to leave our home country, our sending agency gave us some readings and assignments to complete in order to prepare ourselves mentally, emotionally, and spiritually for the transition to life and ministry overseas.

Many of these assignments emphasized being intentional about caring for your spiritual health. I appreciated this emphasis. I liked following the structure they suggested to create a plan for such care. You start with a goal, something you want to achieve, study, or practice. You then plan your intake that will help you meet that goal. Intake consists of all of the different means through which you take something into your spiritual life. There are many different forms of intake, but two of the most basic are listening to God through the Bible and through prayer. You next decide on what kind of response you will give to what you’ve heard and learned; this could be something personal like journaling or something relational like sharing with a friend. (Note that a response can be intake or output, depending on the type of activity and how it draws on or adds to your mental and spiritual reserves.) Then you take note of the output you will engage in during the period of this plan. The documents I have define output as “those times when we are giving out spiritual, emotional, mental, and/or physical energy in ministry to others.” Output is an important part of the life of every believer in order to be obedient to the call of Jesus in the Great Commission.

I’ve made a few plans following this format. As is often the case for me, though, I’ve been much more interested in creating the plans than I am dedicated in following through with them. The plans I’ve made have mostly just sat in my hard drive as I’ve made my own way, day-to-day, in my personal relationship with God and my ministry activities. And, you know? I think that’s ok. There’s no need for me to hold myself, perhaps legalistically, to any program, method, or schedule.

However, something happened, months ago now, that caused me to look back at these spiritual care guidelines: I just stopped blogging. After a month of excitement, dedicated writing, and collecting of inspiration, I had a hard time motivating myself to start a post. It felt like too much effort, like it would take too much out of me, drain resources that I didn’t feel I had available to give.

When I had a chance to analyze my reasons for not writing, I realized my problem; I was on the wrong side of these spiritual health equations, taken from the documents given to us by our sending agency:

Intake ≥ Output = Spiritual Health
When the spiritual resources I take in to my life are equal to or greater than all that I give out in ministry, I will experience spiritual health.

Output ≥ Intake = Spiritual Decline
When what I give out in ministry is equal to or greater than the spiritual resources I take in to my life, I will experience spiritual decline.

These formulas made sense; they explained my feelings. I was giving much–in ministry, in writing, in family life–without taking enough in. I was trying to serve sacrificially without sufficiently drawing on the Fount of every blessing. These equations are quite subjective–obviously you can’t quantitatively measure just how much Bible reading and prayer you need in order to write one blog post or have two deep conversations with friends, but they’ve been really helpful for me to keep in mind, especially as I’m starting to feel burnt out or lethargic. The fact that I wasn’t motivated to write, to share, to explore was a warning sign that I needed to do more feeding on the Word, more remaining in the Vine, more coming before the throne of grace.

I took some time and recharged. After two months of lacking motivation to write, I started getting inspiration, seeing stories, and making connections. So, I wrote…one blog post. Life, pregnancy brain (and exhaustion), and a seemingly constant rotation of sickness got in the way of writing.

I think perfectionism also took its toll. I only wanted to write something if I thought the idea was lofty enough, inspiring enough, beautiful enough. I’m not sure what standard of “enough” I was holding myself to, but it only took me two more months to realize that my standards are unrealistic for my situation and stage of life. The things I think about these days aren’t really lofty by the world’s definition. I think about how to mother a little boy, about moving back to America and learning once again how to live on a student’s income, about the best strategies for keeping my house clean for a family of four, about how to encourage little minds to love God and their neighbors. These are the things I’m researching, thinking about, planning for. I recently realized that they’re probably the things I should be writing about if writing is what I want to be doing.

Which leads me to the other thing I recently realized: I do want to be writing. I think I need it.

Even though I’m an introvert, I am an external processor. I need to write things out or talk things through with someone like my husband or my mom in order to feel like I’ve gotten my mind around something. I realized this tendency in myself just this year. I’ve found that if I’m feeling unsettled about something, I need to write out my prayers in order to feel like I’ve really released the situation to God. If I’m researching a purchase, I like to make an Evernote for each option, compile a comparison chart, and talk through all the pros and cons with my husband. If I’ve learned something new, I like to teach it to someone else.

So, for me, writing can be a response of input because it forces me to really think through the things I’m learning, to internalize them, to make them my own. As I put my thoughts in a form fit for wider distribution, I’m able to clarify my positions and pull together the best of what I’ve found. Writing also helps me be a better consumer of truth, goodness, and beauty because I more readily notice the glory in the details and the weave of the big picture when I’m looking at life through the lens of a writer. I think a discipline of writing might even encourage me to be more consistent in my seeking after input from the Word and from prayer, as long as I carefully monitor my energy reserves, because I’ll feel the need for real spiritual meat to back up my musings.

I’m looking forward to letting my voice breathe once again. It might sound a bit less poetic, at times a bit more worn (a little BOY?!?!). I pray it sounds more and more like a disciple of Christ, a consumer of Truth, a daughter of the King. I think I can safely say, though, that it will sound more.

A Taste of Home

loving those beans

It’s a labor of love.

I take my black beans from Thailand, my fresh produce from South Asia, my chipotle and vinegar from Florida. I soak and simmer, choose and chop, sprinkle and season, until I come up with something that’s close to my memory, that’s close to home.

Where I’m from in Florida, we eat Cuban food all the time. We eat Mexican and Spanish, too, but Cuban will always taste distinctly of home to me. Whether the plate of pork, beans, rice, and plantains is from a bricked Ybor City institution, a hole-in-the-wall near my house, or a friend’s kitchen, its warm, tangy flavors comfort me.

Tonight, I serve up plates and a highchair with simple piles of rice and beans. The only condiment on the table is hot sauce. My daughter digs her pudgy fingers into her beans. Some of the food makes it in her mouth. Most makes it on the floor. It doesn’t matter, though. She gets a taste. She’s forming her own tastes of home, guided by my memories and my cooking.

The next night, I make black bean cakes, held together with cheese and cornmeal, piled high with salsa and sour yogurt and avocados. My husband jokes that we eat beans so that we can afford the expensive toppings we like with them; avocados, jarred salsa, and cheddar cheese are all pricey special treats here. He’s sweet to me. He knows one of my love languages is food.

Dinner is too late this night for Baby, but I leave her some small cakes for lunch the next day, along with some precious slices of avocado. I want to make sure she gets exposed to these flavors. I want them to lodge in her memory, like they are in mine. When she tastes them for the first time in Tampa, I want her to get a bite of longing and comfort along with me.

I have more to teach her. Much more. In the coming months and years, I’ll be helping to shape her into a little girl and then a young woman. That eighteen-year-old I’ll send out into the world seems so far away now, but I’m sure, when she’s here, these highchair days will seem like yesterday.

What kinds of things do I want her to love, to remember? What kinds of things do I want her to feel are a part of her identity? What kinds of things do I want her to pass on to her own children because they’re just that important to her?

I do want to teach her a passionate hunger, an unflagging yearning, but not (just) for Cuban food.

No, I want her to hunger for Heaven. I want her to so long for her true home that she works hard, sweating and striving in love, to make parts of life taste as much like Home as possible.

It takes a change of focus, this living-the-Kingdom-now kind of work. I think Peter says it well: “Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” (I Peter 1:13). When our hope is set on the grace of Jesus and our desires are trained on the full revelation of His glory, our minds are prepared to to think clearly and our wills are prepared to love dearly.

I’ll be her first teacher in this cuisine. I’d like to show her what it looks like to live here while longing for a heavenly home. I want to teach her what ingredients she needs to bring Kingdom shalom to the people around her.

To be prepared for this work, I need to stand humbly under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. I need to refine my palate to recognize the Already of the Not-Yet when I taste it. I need to set my own focus on Christ and my own will on His. I need to have such a strong assurance of and yearning for my living hope that I go out of my way to share it with others.

It’s a labor of love.

Over the years, I’m sure we’ll find some of those tastes of joy and samplings of hallelujah. And when we catch them, by God’s grace, I pray I’ll see wonder in her eyes and hear praises on her lips as she recognizes her true Home.

Rooftop Reflections

We sit on the roof. The clouds haze most of the view above us, but I can still make out a few stars.

He points out a satellite.

“It’s not a plane?” I ask.

“No. It’s too far away, moving too fast.”

The breeze dances over us. It feels much cooler than September in South Asia should. Something stirs inside me. “You know what this reminds me of? Watching the stars with you in the cold.”

“Oh yeah?” I think he smiles at me.

“Yeah. Like that once, in that field, when we were staying in the mountains with your family. Remember that? We were so cold.”

“I think so.”

“Or the many times in college that we watched the stars. In trees, sometimes. On the hood of your truck, too.”

The call to prayer sounds, echoing off the tall buildings around us, counterpointing with calls from other mosques, hauntingly hanging in the thick air. We sit in silence.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask after a bit.

I hear his voice, deep with reflection and the remnants of a cold: “Lots of things. What our future will look like. What kinds of jobs I could apply for. But the call to prayer interrupted me.”

I nod, but I’m not sure he can see it. “Me too.”

I think about all the people around me who are stopping their lives right now to pray. Maybe they’re in the middle of cooking dinner. Maybe they’re sewing clothes in a nearby factory. Maybe they’re studying for an exam. Then, they stop.

Their stopping stops me. I pray for them. I pray for us. I pray for me.

I look around at the other roofs, the plants growing on some of them, the construction sites on top of others, the neon signs sitting on some further away. I breathe deeply. The air somehow seems fresh up here.

So, I bring some things out to air: the habit of “prayer without ceasing;” the habit of stopping, staring, reflecting; the habit of remembering the past and trusting Him for the future; the habit of loving those around me right now. These moments of simplicity and silence out here on the roof have reminded me of the joy of discipline, of the importance of vigilance.

“Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord” (Romans 12:11 ESV). Yes. Please.

Later in the evening, as we drift off to sleep, I ask him, “Can we go out on the roof again soon?”

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Hello? Mornings?

I skipped last week’s promised HelloMornings post, mmm, because, um I-have-totally-and completely-failed-in-meeting-my-HelloMornings-baby-steps-for-the-past-two-weeks.

HOWEVER (please note the big ‘however’), I can say that I have made some improvements:

  • More often than not, I’ve been in bed before 11 p.m.–sometimes well before!
  • Even though I’ve not often woken up with enough time for exercise or devotions in the morning, I have woken up in enough time most days to get ready for work without feeling hurried or, on the days I’m at home, before the point when I absolutely must get up.

If you are my mom, my husband, or my blow-drier (when was the last time I used you?), you know just how big these steps really are for me.

I’ve realized, though, that if I’m every going to get to my goal of a 5:00 a.m.-ish wake-up time, I need to reevaluate my priorities. So, I’m asking myself these questions:

  • List: What things are important to me to include in any given day?
  • Prioritize: Out of those things, what goals are most important? least important?
  • Analyze: What needs to happen in order to achieve each goal (especially the more important ones)?
  • Scrutinize: What goals fit together or are dependent upon another? What goals don’t realistically fit into my day?
  • Plan: How can I change my current plans and strategy to better fit with my stated priorities?

I think this exercise might motivate me to wake up earlier in order to better align my actions with my desires, such as making time with God a priority and creating time for blogging that doesn’t interrupt family time. I also think this mental exercise will help me reject any guilt I might feel if I’m staying up later than my bedtime to hang out with my husband or if I’m sleeping in a bit in order to feel well-rested and fit for optimum service.

Because, really? I’m not taking this challenge out of some legalistic drive to measure up to some undefined standard of the perfect wife and mother who balances work and home without a hitch. No. I’m taking this challenge because I want to make a conscious, daily effort to prepare myself to better serve and love my family and my community. I think I would be irresponsible and self-indulgent for me (read: me, not necessarily anyone else) to not give this waking up early thing a go. At the same time, I want to remember that a formula–even a flexible one–will not always help me achieve my goals, especially when love is involved.

How about you? Do you regularly evaluate your priorities? How do you translate your priorities into prioritized action?

HelloMornings

Love Is Itself Unmoving: Part 3

loving that camera

For the past two Mondays, I have been meditating on love, using a quote from T.S. Eliot’s The Four Quartets, as a starting point. You might want to read part 1 and part 2 to get the background to today’s thoughts. Next week, I’ll still be mulling over related ideas.

Technology fascinates my baby. She has no toys that require batteries, but she’s managed to claim our computers, our cell phones, our camera–everything that makes light or noise–as her rightful replacement.

She uses all of her effort to scoot towards a bright computer screen. Her little hands still don’t have very good aim, but sometimes I’d swear that she’s purposefully turning off the computer’s volume or pausing our dvd with her wavering swats. She stops making cute faces when we bring out the camera and simply stares blankly at it. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, she’ll sometimes stop crying when she sees the light on one of our phones as we check the time.

The (early) perils of raising a twenty-first century child?

The other night, I was working on my computer. My sweet husband was holding the baby. He grabbed his phone to make a call and baby predictably swatted at it. She started to fuss once he took it away, and since I was busy, I handed her my phone to hold. The (early) perils of being a twenty-first century parent.

Something–the Holy Spirit, probably–caught me. I asked, “When does it stop? At what point do I stop giving my child what she wants just to keep her from crying?”

God graciously used this small episode to teach me a big lesson: love is hard.

I know that it’s not loving to let a child have whatever she wants. To love her is to teach her to love, to teach her to be patient and kind. But when I’m busy and I need to concentrate, giving into her desires is much easier than any other option.

“Love is itself unmoving, / Only the cause and end of movement,” Eliot said. If that’s true, then actions, not apathy, should result from love’s unwavering presence.

Really loving is hard. It means setting aside my priorities, forgetting about my comfort, not settling for the easy way out. Really loving my baby might mean setting aside my work (and perhaps going to bed later as a result) in order to play with her or feed her. It might mean listening to her cry for a minute while I work. Really loving my baby means doing something consciously out of love for her, not mindlessly doing things in order to keep her from disturbing me.

Real love has consequences. 

It attacks my goals, my preferences, my conveniences.

It makes me consider another’s best at the expense of my own.

It strips me bare, leaving me with nothing but the cross of Christ on my shoulder.

It destroys my plans, leaving me with nothing but His steps in which to follow.

So thankful for these beautiful, marvelous, everyday gifts:

64. a healthy check-up for baby
65. a successful new recipe
66. rolling over!
67. and over!
68. and over!
69. friends here who really care
70. a husband who lets me buy coca-cola at the grocery store whenever I pretend I need it
71. someone who loves my baby to watch her when we’re gone
72. hymns
73. lots of lovely blog comments
74. a 5 1/2 hour stretch of sleep!
75. enough time to finish my work at work
76. homemade play dough
77. homemade pizza dough
78. big and small dreams
79. a good novel to ponder over
80. my silly parents as silly sock puppets
81. mama-baby coffee shop trips
82. using my gifts in new ways
83. air conditioning at night

84. the Church–past, present; near, far; known, obscure

I’m counting my gifts from God with others today:

Hallowed Hush

The voice of the Lord echoes above the sea. The God of glory thunders. Psalm 29:3

“Be still, my soul! Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul! The waves and wind shall know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.”

from the hymn ”Be Still My Soul” by Katharina von Schegel; Psalm 29:3 taken from the NLT

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Change

I finger and twirl the split ends, thinking it’s time for something new. I could add more layers, maybe frame my face a bit better.

I scan search results on Western restaurants in Bangkok. I tell myself I need this trip later this month, for fresh views and thoughts and experiences. Family bonding, or something like that.

I flip pages in cookbooks and click through my digital recipe collection, my mind quickly figuring out which recipes I can easily adapt using locally available ingredients. Nothing’s looking good.

I’m hungry for the novel, but I should be thankful for enough.

When I go to the grocery store this evening, I’ll be driven on a rickshaw by a man who bicycles people around all day in order to make nine? maybe ten? dollars a day. I’ll probably see a man without any legs. He’ll have sat on that bridge in the sun all day, hoping for enough money to have beans with his rice tonight. I might see a boy selling fruit to the many passers-by. He’s good at bartering; I always pay him more than I would any other fruit seller. I wonder whether he has a dad to give him the bear-hugs he needs, whether he has a sister who will laugh at his jokes.

There is at least one change I really need. I pray: “Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10, NLV).

Five Minute Friday
It’s Five Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo’s, “Where a beautiful crowd spends five minutes all writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.” Join us?

Love Is Itself Unmoving: Part 2

Old Church Stairs

Last Monday, I was meditating on love, using a quote from T.S. Eliot’s The Four Quartets, as a starting point. You might want to pop on over there to get the background to today’s thoughts. Next week, I’ll still be mulling over related ideas.

I’ve been turning these words over, trying to smooth out the edges, trying to see how they fit into my world.

“Love is itself unmoving, / Only the cause and end of movement” (T.S. Eliot, The Four Quartets).

As they rattle around, they plink of truth.

In the first line from the poem, I hear echoes of familiar words: “Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance” (I Corinthians 13:7 NLT). These ideas give me much to think about–how do I grow love’s roots deep enough to ensure its steadfastness?–but they’re not what have caught me this week.

“Love is . . . the cause and end of movement.” My analytical mind kicks in when I think about poetry, and I’ve been thinking about these words on and off for a week.

I’ve asked myself, “If it’s true that love does not move but is only the cause and end of movement, is it also true that all movement has love–of some sort–as a cause or end?” Certainly many actions are not motivated by love as Paul defines it, love which “is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude” (I Corinthians 13:4-5 NLT). But I think it’s true to say that all actions are driven by love of something. Many of my movements are caused by love of self in order to gain something that will satisfy and corroborate my love of self.

But if that’s true, that all of our actions are motivated by love of something, things get complicated. A single action–going to grad school, for instance–could be motivated by almost any type of love. In the past, I’ve decided against getting an advanced degree in literature because I knew I was driven by love of self; however, I could just as easily have decided to pursue that degree out of love for others or love for God. My motives, actions, and ends would just look different.

My husband and I have a lot of big decisions to make in the next few months. We are trying to be conscious about not making decision simply based on comfort and convenience. In most of our decisions, there’s no inherently right or wrong answer. We’ll ultimately have to make a judgment call based on circumstances, desires, and God’s direction. No matter what we decide, though, we want to be driven by love for God and a desire to serve Him.

I realized that it would help us now, while we’re praying for wisdom and direction, if we really meditated on what our thoughts and actions would look like if we were motivated by love of self, love of others, or love of God. I created a simple worksheet–I’ve called it  a “Motive Meditation Tool”–that can direct us towards honest evaluation of ourselves, our motives, and our actions. I hope that as we use this tool to think about our next steps as a family, we’ll be able to keep ourselves accountable to our desire to love God first and foremost in our words and deeds. I can imagine us pulling out our completed worksheets in a few months, once we’ve made some decisions, and talking about where we’re on track and where we’re slipping into selfishness.

I’m making this tool available to you, as well, in hopes that it will encourage you to think more deeply about what kind of love is driving your actions. I’ve also filled out a sample worksheet, based on my example of grad school, so that you can see how I use the tool.

 

Motive Meditation Tool (Click Here to Download)
You might want to fill one “Motive Meditation Tool” out for one action and another sheet for any other options you might have to decide between. This tool isn’t necessarily meant to help you make any decisions; it’s just meant to help you think honestly about what a particular action would look like when motivated by different types of love. Use it for planning, prayer, and accountability as the Lord leads.

A couple more notes:

  • The tool includes love of others as a possible motive.  Loving God leads to loving others, but many people are driven by love of others that is not founded on love of God. Maybe use that space to think deeply about what it would look like to be driven for love of others without first loving the Lord your God?
  • I 100% acknowledge that our motives are always mixed in this life. Oh to be more like Jesus! I don’t think analyzing the outworking of different motives will change this fact. I just hope that honestly meditating on our motives may help us hear the guidance and conviction of the Holy Spirit a little more clearly.

Remembering that perfect Love and yearning to pour myself out as generously as He does. Just look at these precious gifts from Him:

43. a quiet day of writing and reflecting before the school year starts
44. a good morning nap for Baby
45. hot coffee in the early morning
46. transportation
47. hymns of praise in the early morning–is there a better way to start the day?
48. 17 giggles while we stand under an umbrella and chant “U says u, u, u.”
49. A new butcher, providing steaks for dinner. Yum!
50. Laughter with a friend a world away
51. Time to rest when I have a cold
52. Teeny eyebrow raises
53. Shoulder massages
54. Another batch of burnt okra–one step closer to edible ;)
55. Said okra not even costing 10 cents
56. Sweet, helpful, competent colleagues
57. Dirty handfulls of ramen noodles offered to me at snack break; innocent generosity!
58. a warm, soft head to kiss
59. the guidance of the Holy Spirit; He did not leave us as orphans!
60. the ability to love my friends and family through prayer
61. a school bus with a/c
62. hearing little ones sing about how our God is so big!
63. laughing like kids with the love of my life

I’m counting my gifts from God with others today:

Hallowed Hush

“Whenever we are privileged to eat the bread that Jesus gives, we are . . . satisfied with a full and sweet provision. . . . We have drunk deeply; we have thought that we could take in all of Christ; but when we have done our best, we have had to leave a vast remainder. . . . Yes, there are graces to which we have not attained, places of fellowship nearer to Christ that we have not reached, and heights of communion that our feet have not climbed. At every banquet of love there are many baskets left.”

from Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon

Psalm 37:3 quoted from the NKJV; don’t you just love the imagery?

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