recipes and memories.

me & my stepdad, bill. 1983.

i can't cook. this is no big secret. it is, however, a big joke with lots of my friends and family. of course the verb "cook" in and of itself is somewhat subjective. after all, anyone can follow a recipe, right? and i am perfectly capable of making basic (read: less than five ingredients) meals. you know: spaghetti; taco salad; grilled chicken (a staple in my home). seriously. there are so many options for grilled breasts of chicken. i've also developed some pretty mad skills when it comes to party foods, mostly due to my affinity for all things pampered chef and tastefully simple, but also due to my affinity for things that are quick, easy and yet, still pleasing to the eyes and appetite. oh, and parties. (if you haven't tried tastefully simple, put it on your list - a to the sap).

i grew up in a home where my mother cooked two meals a day. for as long as i can remember. even though she worked full time. and we lived in the boon docks. how dinner was on the table at six after her 60 mile round trip commute each day, i know not. how i missed out on learning how to cook even one good "country-home-cooked" meal, i also know not. although, admittedly i spent way more time in my room than i did in the kitchen. i also joined weight watchers my junior year of high school and somehow, struggling with my weight so early on in life didn't make me too overly eager to learn exactly how to fry okra or batter chicken. i see this as an easy out on the cooking. if i'd spent half as much time in the kitchen as i did, oh, say thinking about boys, i would likely be a fanastic, morbidly obese cook.

i was well into adulthood before i asked either of my parents for any of their recipes. although my mom did most of the cooking, my stepfather, bill, was a fantastic cook. in 2001, we were living in atlanta and when the weather turned cooler, i wanted chili. not just any chili. bill's chili. and bill's mexican cornbread. becaused i missed it. and i missed my parents. he emailed me the recipe and i broke out my cast iron skillet (probably for the first time ever) and made my first batch. it took a few batches to get it *just right*, but after a few phone calls with bill regarding quantity of milk and such [this was all very amusing to him], it wasn't long before i was churning out the most beautiful cornbread you've ever seen.

on december 13th, 2002, my mom and i headed out for our annual last minute christmas shopathon. we shopped all day long and all over town. bill was going to run some errands and that evening, we'd all have dinner at their house. bill's chili and cornbread. it was cold and rainy that day and that was just what we needed to warm us up after a day out in and out of the cold.

it was late in the afternoon, we were standing in the gap, i was holding a stack of denim in one arm, shopping bags in the other and mom holding two armfuls of bags. christmas music was blaring over the speakers so loud that it was still audible, even in the midst of the crowd. my cell phone was ringing. the voice on the other end was coming out in fragments, words drowning in the music and voices: everyone had been trying to reach us; mom's cell phone was off; there had been an accident; we needed to come home. and then, deafening silence. and heart wrenching agony. i looked at my mom. i was standing right next to her, but we were suddenly in different worlds, separated by the knowledge of life-changing tragedy. knowledge that i would have to share with her. i dropped the stack of denim. "we have to go home."

the next few hours would be the most agonizing of my entire life. nothing in childhood or adulthood even comes close. it would also be the moments when any doubts i ever had about who God was would be completely diminished forever by a sufficiency that could only be supernatural in its source. we walked into their home. everything looked so different. everything felt so different. and eerily empty. there was already a crowd of people: loving friends; the sheriff's officers; the sheriff's chaplain; my parents' pastor. i stood in the kitchen to allow room for them to gather around my mom. and there on the table - sat all of the ingredients for bill's chili and cornbread. he had come home from the grocery store in between errands and left out the items he had planned to use for dinner. i hurriedly put them away.

bill and i had a [very] strained relationship throughout my childhood and adolescence. this was not his fault. i was a spoiled brat at age 7 when he entered the picture and he was quick to dethrone me as reigning princess. he was such a quiet and peaceful man and i, well, i was always the opposite of quiet and peaceful. i've always considered it a testament to how much he loved my mother to have put up with all of my antics the first decade of their marriage. but, as i entered adulthood, something strange happened: we began talking. we started liking each other. i started dating chris and we started spending time with my parents. not out of obligation, but because we enjoyed it. i am so thankful and so very grateful that i grew to know him and to love him so dearly before his death. i praise God that i do not have to live with the constant regret that would have plagued my heart otherwise.

all of this to say, i am also so thankful and so grateful that he taught me his delicious cornbread recipe. this has to be reason the term 'soul food' was derived. it's more than just good for your soul; the smells and tastes that derive a tangible link to something or someone you deeply miss.

so ya'll break out your cast iron skillets and make some cornbread! in loving memory of bill, for those of you who knew him - and just because it's *delicious* for those of you who didn't:

Bill's Cornbread:

ingredients: 1.5c yellow corn meal; 1c flour; 1 small onion; 2 jalapeno peppers; 1 egg; 1 8oz. can creamed corn; milk; 1/2 pound smoked sausage; olive oil.

directions: preheat oven to 450. mix first six ingredients in mixing bowl adding enough milk to make batter. slice sausage into 1/4 in. thick slices and add to batter. pour in skillet coated with olive oil. bake about 30 min. or until golden brown on top.

halloweenopalooza.

earlier today, we're standing in the midst of the costumes staring at the price tag on this little get-up. i'm trying hard to mentally justify the cost of batgirl. fortunately for chloe, the nanna was with us. "well, i'll get it for her, but it is a lot for just one night" she says. and then i realize, it's not one night. it's boo at the zoo, trunk or treat, ballet class costume party, and halloween. not to mention hours of random play at home with her brother, spiderman. suddenly, the price seems so... reasonable. even when nothing else about this particular holiday does.

when i was a kid, halloween was one day. one single day. one single event. one night of trick or treating. and for this one single night, i had one single costume. this is no longer the case. halloween has somehow evolved into its own season, culminating with a weeklong series of events. a halloweenopalooza.

chloe - in perfect chloe-like fashion - decided on her costume months ago. and chloe - again in perfect chloe-like fashion - changed her mind. more than once. most of the time, she was debating on which disney pricness she wanted to be and narrowed it down to ariel, cinderella and snow white - which was of no grave concern to me since she has a closet full of disney dress up dresses to choose from and even a tinkerbell outfit, for good measure. i wouldn't even have to buy a costume.

enter batgirl. apparently after some "consulting" with her bff neal at school, she declared to me last week that she "had to be batgirl" for halloween. "how do you even know who batgirl is?", i asked. "well, i don't. but neal is going to be batman so i have to be batgirl." "well, batman can be friends with snow white too, you know," i try to convince her. "no, mommy. batman is only best friends with batgirl!".

more photos of my superhero children to come soon. :)

fireproof.

i [finally] went to see this movie last night. and while i wouldn't typically post something as generic as a movie plug, this is simply one of the best films i have ever seen. even more so when you consider the shoestring budget and volunteer cast/crew (with the exception of kirk cameron - who has come a long, long way since the days of growing pains). this is so much more than a movie about marriage. every man and woman should see this movie, regardless of circumstance or marital status. end of story.

oh. and yes, this is - indeed - what my friend paige refers to as a "God movie". the irony of her humor is the truth that it really is just that. the implications and message of this film transcend any stereotypical genre and stereotypical audience. as a whole, it epitomizes the gospel.

me loves! so GO SEE IT before it's theater run is over!

for lack of the blog.

eleven days. eleven days without a single blog is weighing on me like the enormous stack of my children's unfinished creative memories albums in my closet. each passing day pressing down harder. the only difference is those albums are something i felt like i should have done or should do... someday. there is more urgency in the writing, which - as i've already expressed - isn't so much out of choice or obligation as it is necessity. that said, it isn't as though i've had nothing to blog about. while it's occasionally the case that i am so bogged down in mind-numbing day to day survivial, i mean, life... that there are no words, just a gaping void of unoriginality and a consequent lethargy that plagues my ability to form sentences... or take the time to sit and type them out.

enter work. i could blog on about the numerous blessings that came with this little [God-given] part time gig that i managed to land. but compensation, benefits and permanent three day weekends aside, the real benefits come with the organization of chaos and the solitude of a cubicle. after being off work for an extended amount of time, coming back to the office is almost downright refreshing. and i am refreshingly sorted, ever monday - after being all out of sorts on the weekend and extended vacations. mondays are such a paradoxical state of both dread and elation.

i have a lot going on (or is it going down?) in my life right now. and since whatever is within me inevitably and effortlessly flows out through my fingers onto the keyboard of my laptop, some of it will invariably, reveal itself. it’s difficult for me to filter through the shades of gray, distinguishing a line between transparency and honesty in the midst of my personal matters. after hiding behind a façade for so long, i initially overcompensated by sharing too much – naively believing that was somehow the route to transcend honesty and reach some ambiguous level of authenticity. needless to say, i eventually came to the realization that neither honesty or authenticity require complete transparency before the world. there are some aspects of our lives that – in adulthood – we refer to as “private” or “personal” and i regret that it took me thirty some odd years to realize some things are just that. learning how to silence the part of me that longs to yield explanations and definitions is still, and likely always will be, an ongoing process.

rethinking suburbia.

for two solid decades i have consistently berated my parents for having ripped me from the comforts of suburbia and thrusting me into the rural realm. when i moved out of their log cabin in the woods [for good] i vowed that i would never go back. i didn't want any acreage for myself. all i wanted was an apartment in town and maybe - someday - a nice lot in suburbia. but i would never go back. oh, i would go back to visit of course. i would live relatively closeby. maybe. but living [out] there was never - in my mind - an option.

until today... when i stepped out of the local dairy and cheese store to see this. and just like that, i'm rethinking suburbia. and everything else.

milestones: welcome and unwelcome

chloe's first smile on camera - march 2004

the first smile. the first word. the first tooth. the first step. all welcome milestones in mommyhood. these are the ones i cherish. the ones i thank God that i was there for with each of my children. then there are the other milestones. the not so welcome milestones. the unwelcome milestones. the first injury. the first hint of rebellion. the first time they use the word "hate" towards you. this is a milestone that - in my mind - was still years to come. (everything really is so different - in my head). i shouldn't have been so naive. especially regarding chloe who - in perfect chloe fashion - has met every milestone slightly early.

thursday night she was in trouble and about to be sent to time out when, in angry defiance, she blurted out "i hate you!". i paused, mouth agape with shock. instead of continuing to instruct her to time out in my stern voice, i dropped to my knees, face to face with her. i pressed my hand on my heart as i would if i were feigning chest pain. only i wasn't feigning at all. i whispered to her, almost gasping, "whaaat did you just say to your po00or, p00oor mommy?". she looked at me and you could visibly see the defiance turning to despair. her big brown eyes filled over with tears and she immediately held out her arms to hug me, sobbing.

i asked her not to ever say that to anyone again. she nodded. i could tell she thought she was off the hook for whatever she was in trouble about initially. "...but you still have to go to your room for time out." angry defiance quickly returned. she took off up the stairs grunting angry little grunts with each step. i followed to watch her and halfway up the stairs she stopped, whipped around and said - through angry tears - "mommy! you DO NOT look beautiful!!". i had to crack up. she was trying so hard to come up with something - anything - to verbalize frustration without making me fall to my knees.

mission accomplished

oversized pink hairbow: eight dollars

cream colored sweater vest: twenty dollars

the relief washing over mommy: priceless.

if you missed my pre-picture day post, it lives here.

the jonah in me...

i can actually feel a blog coming on. its not completely unlike the the preemptive sensations of a sneeze. in fact, sometimes it is exactly the same order of sensations: a sudden urgency and then the pause, perhaps a moment lost in thought, and then repeated urgency until at last, you sneeze. hard. and just like that, relief washes over you. you certainly don't go on about your day wondering if you'll ever sneeze again, but there are some days i find myself lost in mind numbing wordlessness and i wonder, "will i ever blog again?".

ernest hemingway famously said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down and a typewriter and bleed." all writers at heart (good or bad; great or terrible; famous or unknown) can agree. writing is not a choice. but a necessity. you know, in much the same way sneezing is a necessity when the urgency of it arises. choosing not to sneeze isn't an option. quoting an earlier blog, i said: "it seems that whatever i bury deep within eventually overflows, rarely out of my mouth, but much more frequently down the length of my right arm into my hand and by a mysterious osmosis, into the pen and out onto the paper." although, these days pen and paper are about as archaic to us as a typewriter to hemingway - but it certainly sounds more poetic than "keyboard" or "blog".

all of that said as simply a preface to the heart of this particular blog about... my church. after two years, i finally made the decision to become an "official" member. having grown up in a tiny rural church, i never thought that this particular church, given its massive size, would ever feel like home. two years ago, as the cardboard shards of my life were falling down all around me, i sought refuge in anonymity of a large crowd. i fled to this place where i didn't have to get dolled up in my sunday best or put on my sunday face. i could show up in jeans and my favorite brown flip flops. i could be nameless. faceless. hidden. safe. i didn't have the strength to feign normalcy anymore. i didn't have the strength to feign anything other than stoic anonymity.

the massive sanctuary was a refuge from the storm and i was like jonah, at first, futilely hiding in the hull of a ship. concealed from human recognition. but not God's. so much like jonah, only when the storm became unbearable, did i cry out to say, "Here I am, God!", (as if I were really cluing Him in). from that point on, the sanctuary was no longer like the belly of ship, but the belly of the whale. dark, yet safe. and like jonah, i had figured out that this whole "running and hiding from God" thing was, ultimately, not going to pan out.

i read the story of jonah to my children often. i've never thought about it until now, but i've always imagined that these events took place over, oh, i don't know ... over the course of a few consecutive days: boarding the boat on tuesday, tossed out and swallowed by a whale on wednesday, spat out onto the shore on thursday... you know, all in time to hit the sand running and arrive in Ninevah on Sunday, maybe even in time for early service.

these are the kind of unrealistic expectations that deter so many of us (read: me) on our christian walk. we grow up hearing about lives changed in an instant (and that is certainly the case for some); but for the rest of us, allowing the Lord to radically change us doesn't come so easily. the reality is, jonah was on a boat heading to opposite side of the meditteranean sea. a three thousand mile journey - even in the belly of a whale - had to have taken a while. i wonder if jonah spent countless hours just as i spent decades making "this time" promises that i couldn't keep to God. "if you can just help me - this time, i promise, i'll do better"; "this time is really it"; "this time, i'm really going to get it all together". every single time relying on myself to do better. getting up and trying harder instead of falling down and surrendering all. saying "here i am" instead of "here am i". amazing the difference reorganizing a three word statement can bring. i like to think jonah, finally, in kicking and screaming reluctance bellowed out in the belly, "Here am I!"... and just like that, dry land.

(i love this illustration that capitalizes "THEN" jonah prayed, alluding to the theory that maybe he did a lot of proverbial nothing prior to that.)

and so, here am i. over two years after boarding that large, ambiguous ship that eventually became the belly of whale: spat out onto solid ground in an unfamilliar land. and i'm still so much like jonah standing on the shore: shaken. frightened. filthy. but permanently changed - never to doubt (or run) again.

the first place i walked on my own to feet was into a small group. there was urgency in my steps. i didn't bother cleaning up before i showed up. (in fact, i was likely wearing the same brown flip flops i began the journey with.) i didn't know these women, but God did. more importantly, he knew i needed them. peeling back the layers of whale goo and anomynity, i opened myself up to a group of women. without hesitation. without reservation.

it is the first time in my sixteen [tattered - sometimes sporadic] years of church life that i have been amongst such, for lack of a better word, realness. i think this is exactly the kind of authenticity that paul spoke of in galatians when he gave the instructions to "bear one another's burdens". how can we possibly bear burdens that are concealed or unspoken?experiencing and sharing life: the good, the bad, the hideous - and everything in between. this is life sharing - and faith sharing - at its very best.

every path is so very different; paved with so many different milestones and each step so varied in pace. for so long, i felt i had to walk alone. or crawl. or sit in the belly of the whale in darkness.... alone. i am so grateful the Lord has placed others to walk alongside me and placed me in a faith family where the refuge is no longer in the anomynity of a crowd, but in the peace of His presence. :)