September Reads

Generous Justice | Keller: I picked up this one at a book swap.  I'd never heard of the title or the author at that point, and I didn't have big expectations (but someone else had already snagged the book I'd had my eye on, so...).  But wow.  I've never read another book like it - one that attempted to address social justice issues (and Christians' relation to them) with such faithfulness to God's Word.  Much of my adult life, I have seen people primarily respond to these issues in one of two ways.  This book brought the focus squarely on Scripture and presented a profoundly different approach.  I finished it yesterday and find myself mulling it over and already wanting to re-read it.

Kitchen Table Counseling | Cook & Volkhardt: I'm still trying to evaluate this one in my head.  There were some helpful things I gleaned.  It seemed to have a fairly well-balanced and Scriptural approach to the issues it covered (which included anger, grief, depression, difficult family members, abuse, singleness/marriage, anxiety).  I'm not sure if something was missing or maybe it just wasn't as helpful overall as other resources I've found, but I don't know that I would read it again.

The War for Mansoul | Bunyan & Barrett: A re-read.  We had a well-worn copy when I was growing up, but it had been years since I'd read it.  This is seriously the best allegory I've ever read - even more insightful (and moving) than Pilgrim's Progress.  Even if allegories don't sound like your cup of tea, I'd still recommend this book.  It portrays the ups and downs of spiritual life so vividly, realistically, and personally.

Ode to Cider Days

Hello, fall.

Hello, cider that somehow captures the essence of both the perfect apple and the season itself in every blissful sip.

Hello, darling wee pumpkins and hearty mums at the farmers market.

Hello, gray hoodie and extra quilt on the bed.

Hello, pinch of cinnamon in my coffee.

Hello, flickering candles and earlier sunsets.

Hello, crisp scent and chill in the air.

Hello, soups and chilis and thick bread slices.

Hello, dry rattling cornstalks, honking geese, burning leaves.

Hello, warm and cozy, with a touch of festive thrown in.

Here's to celebrating this season to the fullest!

When Heaven is Silent

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. -Matthew 7:7

- - -

I'd always heard that God gave three answers to prayer: yes, no, or not yet.  It fit in well with my tidy life and my tidy theological framework.  I pray; God gives me an answer.  Simple formula.

So I did a lot of praying about a lot of things.  People, situations, things I wanted or didn't want, decisions I was facing, big things, little things...you name it.

This "three answer" idea gave me the subtle illusion of control.  Even if I didn't get the answer I wanted, God was still bound to give me the definitiveness of an answer.

One prayer came up again and again.

There was no "yes".

There was no "no".

There wasn't even a "not yet".

Just deafening silence.  Weeks melted into months, months strung along into years, and soon the better part of a decade was gone.

I knew He could hear me.  I knew He hadn't abandoned me.  He was working in my life and He wasn't silent in response to other prayers.  Just this one.

Scripture told me to be persistent, so I kept on asking, kept on seeking, kept on knocking.

Though I stormed the gates with my prayers, Heaven was silent.  No answer.  No direction.

Was there something missing?
Was something wrong?
What was I supposed to do?

The realization began to dawn on me: I might find myself praying about this for another decade and still be no closer to resolution than I was thus far.  The Sovereign God did not owe me anything - not even an answer to prayer.

But one thing I was convinced of: He was immeasurably good.

In the silence, darkness, and uncertainty, He was there.  And I began to learn that He is enough.  He, Himself - without the answers, without His gifts - is enough.

How did it all end?

It hasn't really ended - not completely.  But He is true to His promise.  I sought and I did find.  Not an answer, as I was expecting, but something far better -

A sweet, dear friendship with Him, worth more than all the answered prayers or clear direction in the world.

So I keep on asking, seeking, knocking.  Even when He's silent.

Love: A Risk

There's a picture frame on my dryer.  It was taken before I moved to Senegal: me on the couch with three little ones who called me Auntie, all of us big smiles for the camera.  I'd been part of their lives since the beginning and loved them and their parents fiercely.

They were at the airport with the rest of the family to see me off to Senegal.  I remember waving and waving, blowing kisses and going a few feet further, then waving again until I couldn't see them anymore.

After I left, things started to change.  Choices led to more choices and eventually their family was heading down a very different life path.

When I came back two years later, they weren't at the airport to welcome me back.

When I moved here, they cut off contact entirely.

Love carries the inherent possibility of pain - of loss, of goodbye, of betrayal.

Sometimes I shake my head when I think of the many hours they spent around our kitchen table - the warmth, the laughter, the inside jokes, the shared convictions.  They had been so deeply a part of our family.  It makes the betrayal sting that much more.

But love is worth the risk.

And love hopes.

Hopes - in spite of what they believe right now, in spite of what they may tell the kids, in spite of what they are surrounded with - for the truth to break through.  What seems impossible to me is not too hard for God, the One of relentless grace and love.

I look at the picture and wish there was a happy ending.  Right now there isn't - and there may never be.

Still, I can choose love.

The Car That Didn't Like Fall

It happened the first fall I was here - the first fall I owned my little car.

The alarm would go off at seemingly random times (I theorized that perhaps something about the changing temperatures freaked the wiring out or something).  It would be annoying enough if it were an ordinary car alarm, but mine sounded like a dying animal or huge bullfrog being tortured.  Croaaakkk.  Croaaakkk.  Croaaakkkkkk.

Awful.

Particularly awful when it would wake me in the middle of the night.  I'd jump up, heart pounding, grab sandals, and bolt outside to turn it off before it could disturb the neighbors.

The same thing happened each year, around the same time.  The weather would get a little cooler, and the alarm would start to go off again.  I'd panic and have a hard time falling asleep at night.  What if the stupid thing goes off tonight?

This year I'd had enough.  A car alarm shouldn't rule my life or my sleep, shouldn't be enough to make me quake and quiver.

But the problem was I'd already given it so much space in my head, letting the fear become a habit.  I couldn't just will it away or talk myself out of it.

I'm thankful God doesn't mock or belittle me when I come to Him with things like this.  He is sympathetic, ready to help, and invites me to bring whatever is troubling me.  Even a car alarm.

 

Water from the Rock

They're working on our street right now - half of it has been torn up for a few weeks, and they're turning off the water for today.

As odd as it sounds, I'm thankful because it reminds me of a key experience in my friendship with the Lord.

Five Septembers ago, I was in Senegal.  I'd been there only a few weeks.  French class had started, we were in the throes of hot season, and I was staying with a missionary family until they found an apartment for me to move into.

I woke up on a Monday morning, dizzy and feverish.  Thus began The Worst Week of My Life.  The fever took away my appetite and the bed was so lumpy that I slept fitfully, perhaps only an hour total each night.  But a bigger storm was brewing.  The pipe carrying most of the water into the city broke.

Water - one of the most basic human necessities.  I'd largely taken it for granted up until that point, and I had no idea how deeply desperate the lack of it would make me.  Even now when I remember that time, I can still feel the fear, so raw and strong.

It was all too much for me.  Though it was almost never my response to difficulty, I got angry with God.  After all, He was the One who'd brought me to Senegal in the first place.

In my journal, I wrote:

"Last night I went to take a shower, only to find there was no running water.  I emailed a few people and put something on Facebook and began to pray myself, desperation outweighing my anger.  'You know, God, You brought water out of the rock for the Israelites, You can give us water, too.'"

Faith wasn't really in the picture at that moment, but I could at least remind God what He'd done before...

"In the middle of the night, I woke up to hear something above the fan.  I went into the bathroom to check, and sure enough, the tap (which I'd left on purposely) was running.  I don't think I've ever been that happy to hear the sound of running water.  I went to bed again, thankful and relieved.  My alarm went off, I turned on the water heater [a luxury I wouldn't have once I moved into my own apartment], and dashed off a couple emails saying, 'The water's back on!'  About 15-20 minutes later, I went to take my shower.  No water.  What kind of a cruel joke is this?  I cried.  I was defeated.  Disappointed.  Let down.  Why would God snatch away an answer to prayer at the very moment I am ready to receive it?

This week has been a wretched blur.  I've had so little sleep and I've eaten so little.  I feel so empty and lost and out of place.

I want to run away from everything that seems to make up my life right now."

It would be several more weeks before a consistent water supply was re-established in most neighborhoods of the city.

- - -

There are moments in our lives when we reach turning points, after which nothing can ever be the same.  One came that Saturday, after we'd moved my things up to the fourth-floor apartment and they'd all gone.  Weak and still far from healthy, I knew I needed to eat something or I'd probably pass out.  So I sat down on my kitchen floor with a banana and before I knew it, I was sobbing brokenly -

"Lord, You brought me here - why?"

"So I can show you who I am...and who you are."

And that's what He did.

The pursuing army and the Red Sea parting, the hunger and the manna, the sun-baked desert and the water from the rock - He is God in all of it.  There is purpose in the desperate circumstances.  His miracles don't always come when or how we want them to, and yet He can be trusted.

I know Him better because of the desert, thank Him more for the miracle of the water for having been so deeply thirsty.

What I would have never chosen is His grace to me, unexpected yet exactly what I need.

Saturday 9.15

Morning fog blanketing the city

Two dozen blueberry orange muffins

Golden beets, dressed with the simplest of vinaigrettes

Sink full of dishes

Droopy succulent (will it live?)

Passionfruit papaya tea

Brothy pinto beans bubbling on the stove

Generous Justice

Laundry hang-drying above the shower

Homemade hash browns, crispy and salty

Zinnias in a green mason jar

Much-replayed video of darling little Avers

Sunlight filtering into the living room through the tree branches

Free at Last

Free.

My heart always leaps at that word, because it's glorious and because I remember how it used to be - back when I was a foolish Galatian, a Pharisee of Pharisees, the older brother out in the field.  Anything but free.

Some days the old chains still rattle in my ears.  The clock is my enemy and the to-do list is a tyrant.  The voice of the law shouts, urging me to do more, try harder, perform, perform, perform.

And I remind myself a thousand times: I don't have to listen to that voice any more.

I am free.

Grace untangled me from that mess of self-effort and self-reliance.  There's a better way.

There is freedom from the condemnation, the exhaustion, the fear, the pretending, the striving to make God happy with me.  There is freedom to sing, to dance, to celebrate.  There is freedom, yes, even to stumble, because He catches me.

A new Voice speaks, offering rest - oh, how I've needed it.  He offers hope and joy and peace.  He offers assurance, blessed assurance...Jesus is mine and He's so much sweeter than the old way of the law.

Free.

I'll sing this song forever.  How can I help it?

The Turning

Since moving here, I think, I've decided that summer is my favorite season - and this, this has been my favorite summer of all.

The days stretched out in quiet, unhurried wonder.  I drank it all in, the insect songs, the fireflies at night, the grill-outs, the smell of cut grass, the blissfully slow sunsets, the best blueberries I've ever had.  The Saturday trips to the farmers market, the smaller piles of work in the office, the time to think and celebrate and make memories.

Oh, it was glorious.

August came, the semester was underway, and a shift began to happen.

I knew it was coming - because of course it comes every year - but I felt quite sad about the end of summer.  While everyone else seemed to be awaiting the arrival of "sweater weather", I was grasping, hanging on to the last bits of summer.  One more grill-out.  Extra blueberries to freeze.  Rejoicing over the thunderstorms and the random 90° days.

And yet...

Squirrels are burying acorns.  I always stop to watch and laugh to myself (maybe I laugh out loud?) because they're so funny about it - tails twitching, front claws scooping dirt frantically, furtive glances around.

The sun goes down earlier and the cloudy days are becoming more frequent.

Even the wind sounds different in the trees.  The edges of the leaves are starting to wither, giving the tiniest rattle to the breeze instead of summer's soft rustling one.  I'll need to rake soon.

Yesterday, soup and bread and spiced tea all seemed perfectly fitting.

Today I went to the farmers market for what the sweet lady at the table told me was going to the be the last of the blueberries.  I broke down and got raspberries too - they're my favorite berry, but they feel so expensive compared to other fruit that I just never get them.  I decided that it would be a shame to go a whole summer and not have any raspberries at all.  There were mums and different squash and half pecks of apples sitting in neat paper bags.

My windows are open just a crack, instead of wide open like they've been since spring.  I wore my flannel shirt and even considered socks.

It didn't happen all at once, just a slow turning, a change I can't control.

Seasons.

God promised we'd have them as long as the earth endures.

And so it is, just like He said.

This...

This is from that thing called summer, when we had salad lunches every other Friday.  Fun times.

This is that time the kids and I found a cicada in the process of shedding its skin.  We watched the whole thing, and boy, was it cool!

This is when its wings were finally all flat and ready to use.

This is a little girl I love heaps and heaps.

This is a sweet little brother-sister moment.

This is a new hat she really loves.

This is one of his silly faces.

This is his typical smile, which makes me smile too.

This is that mops of curls I can't get enough of.

This is from a month ago or so when we got a half bushel of peaches and canned jam and made pie and cake and froze diced peaches.  It was a lot of work, but so worth it.  I eat the diced peaches straight from the freezer, just a few at time, savoring the perfumy sweetness.

This is when I performed a radical surgery on my dying Boston fern, hoping I could get some stems to root...or that I could at least enjoy the remaining healthy stems for a bit longer.

The rooting strategy didn't work.  Oh well.  Worth a shot.

This is from last Saturday, when I made mafé for the fam.  I was so pleased with how it turned out - every time I feel like it gets a little better.  I was even more pleased with how much they liked it.

I love people, I love food, and I love when my people like the food I like. ;)

This is 25lbs of rice from Sam's Club...because mafé and cheb and fried rice and Mexican food and because I'm my mother's daughter.

This was only part of the mafé.  We all ate heartily the first night, I gave some to Tamara for the next day, and then I had it for three days after that.

I will never, never tire of mafé.  It's in my top five favorite foods.

This is the new wall hanging for the stairwell.  I love, love, love it!  It adds so much to the space.  Can't wait to show you the quilt (same fabric and pattern) when it's finished.

This is Jonah's 2nd birthday.

This is a fabulous progression...Jonah and The Cupcake.

This is opening presents.

Oh, Jonah.  Darling little Jonah.  I am so glad that you're alive.  I love you more than you can imagine.

Saturday 9.1

New quilted wall hanging opposite my front door

Rain in the air

Squirrel in my tree seeking shelter from the rain drops

Birthday texts and gifts, because two very special people were born today

Homemade bread for breakfast

Two quarts of blueberries to freeze (because it's nearly the end of blueberry season)

Birds squawking at each other from trees across the street

Brats to grill

The comforting smell of freshly washed-and-dried sheets

Insects chirping still

Salty Triscuits

Fingers stained from chopping beets