A Sunday Morning Devotional

Ever wonder why they put political commentaries on tv on Sunday mornings, right before everyone goes off to church (or, in many cases, to serve as a poor substitute for church)? I don't watch them "religiously" but find that when I do, even for a few minutes, they get my blood pressure up. I start arguing back at the talking heads and scrolling ticker messages. What is it that stirs so much emotion?

This morning I just glanced up for a second from the kitchen sink and saw something about the battle between the two sides over finances, and felt that same surge of anger. I didn't even have to hear a word of the dialogue. I suddenly realized what it is that bothers me so much.

The whole thing makes me feel like a kid whose parents are on the verge of divorce, who is afraid of having to choose which one to go and live with. A kid who has seen the struggle, the incompatibility, the disunity, for years, but only in short glimpses because they always seemed to keep it under wraps better than they do now. A kid who has gotten used to the power struggle and learned which parent to ask for what when the other isn't in the house. A kid who thought she could muddle through the controlled chaos until she was old enough to leave home and get some fresh perspective, but suddenly finds she may be forced to do it sooner. A kid who can't choose one flawed side over the other and just wants to get as far away from the whole thing as her little rattly piggy bank will take her. A kid who realizes that she is, at least for the moment, on her own, because the people who are supposed to be looking out for her well-being seem to only be concerned about themselves and winning the argument right now. A kid who one day will look back with the wisdom, experience and compassion that comes with age and realize that the forces tearing her family apart are not flesh and blood, but spiritual powers she hadn't yet begun to understand.

And then I snap out of it. I remember that the political parties of this nation, no matter how much sway they may hold over the lives of others, are not my parents. This is not my home, not this city, not this nation, not this world, nor the systems devised by its best and brightest. My home is somewhere I've not yet been, yet I feel a nostalgic longing to return there. I cling to this. I ignore the signposts of this world and set my compass in this direction.

Romans 8:18-24 I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved....

Dirt Under My Fingernails

November - June = 7 months since I've written. That's a sign that I've been busy and certainly not bored!

This year has been a very different year from last year. Last year I chomped at the bit, hating having been uprooted from the cool, comfortable black dirt soil of my lifelong home and transplanted into the foreign, hot, humid, red clay soil of the south. My roots couldn't move, couldn't find water, couldn't breathe. The harder I struggled, the harder it became. When I finally stopped fighting and relaxed, I started to understand how to operate in this new environment.

Now I've come up for my second season in this garden and I'm seeing all kinds of beauty that was lost on me the first time around. It's been good for me, I just didn't know it at the time.

I've made friends. I've grown. I've laughed. I've loved. My roots have found water.

Cooking Up an Epiphany

The other day I found an Asian grocery here in Huntsville that's a lot like Minneapolis' United Noodle was before it expanded. I can't even describe the feeling it gave me, but after 6 months in a town with nothing but Walmart's "ethnic foods aisle," I was as giddy as a little kid at Christmas. B. was laughing at me as I ran around giggling and filling the basket with treasures like curry pastes and chili-garlic sauce and nori and some big soup bowls and matching ceramic spoons like you get at restaurants. (Hey, all our stuff is still in storage in Minneapolis, and there are no large bowls here!) On the way home I figured that the real reason for my excitement had more to do with the fact that finding more similarities to Minneapolis made Huntsville feel more like "home." After being more homesick than ever in my life, it was a good feeling.

Now that I'm all set up to crank out fine Asian food, however, I had a hankering for something different tonight, something kinda Greek. I had a cute little eggplant that I picked up at the farmers' market that fit into the palm of my hand. I sliced it into thick rounds and drizzled it with olive oil, pepper and sea salt, and roasted it in the little toaster oven, then flipped them over, sprinkled some fresh parmesan and browned that for a bit. I had a couple of avocadoes that I'd been saving for guac, but as I pulled out the yogurt and cumin I started thinking a tzatziki might go better with the eggplant. I hopped online and found this recipe for Avocado Tzatziki - the best of both worlds! Except I used more yogurt and mint and added some cumin. Yum. B. (who made himself some ramen noodles in one of the new bowls instead) is going to kill me for eating garlic again.

But I had a sort of epiphany as I chopped fresh mint for the dip. I had mixed it up per the recipe and decided I wanted more mint in the mix. So I was pinching these cute little baby leaves off the stalk and wondering if they felt sad to leave their little perch and go off into the unknown (yeah, I tend to personify things quite a bit!). Then I thought, "but it's for such a good cause! They're going into this fabulous mix of flavors and they're what makes tzatziki so wonderful!" I thought of the verse about how the clay doesn't tell the potter what it wants to be made into, but the potter calls that shot. The mint is at my mercy to do something worthwhile with it. And that's why I am here in Huntsville, Alabama in the mix of people and places and things that I'm in. God sees the bigger picture. I'm just going with the flow, letting the flavors meld and we'll see how it all turns out!

Dinner was even tastier than I thought it would be. I'll make it again with some cous cous and maybe a dessert. I was trying to think what would go well with the strong flavors and thought something mild, but wasn't sure what. Then I had the last swig of my honey tea - mildly sweet and - ding! - that was it. Baklava. But of course.