I’ve always nuked my corn tortillas in the microwave using a tortilla steamer. I’m fully aware this is neither authentic nor mind blowingly good, but it sure is convenient.
Then we had dinner at my neighbor’s house.
Our neighbors are from Mexico, and they heat their tortillas up on a long pan that sits over two burners on their stove. They flip, and flip, and flip until they are soft, then keep them warm in a towel on a plate.
Tortillas were brought out from the kitchen throughout the dinner, and we filled them with homemade salsa and shredded meat from a whole chicken.
I was about ready to obsess over a search for one of these long pans when Bryan simply cleared off the stove (because any use of the stove requires it first being cleared of clutter) and dropped a few tortillas on the burners.
It’s a little more time consuming, but I will never go back to the microwave.
My son immediately mistrusted my motives. The more he thought about it, the more the word seemed better and my intentions seemed worse.
Knowledge is power. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
I totally saw myself in this post. I’m pretty quick to mistrust motives and question intentions. Especially when it comes to Bryan, who, ironically, has never displayed any evidence of malicious intent (though he can sometimes be a jackass by accident). I also need to know every detail of What Went Down – I’m never content with a conversation summary because there just might be a detail I need to know!
And my son? Oh boy. He takes it personally when I don’t know the answer to one of his (very complicated and insightful) questions, like I’m out to sabotage his ability to know.
It’s very easy to get caught up in a need for knowledge, but the desperation of it can be poisonous to our faith in the One who knows everything. Really appreciated this post.
These are soundbites from some of the conversations I’ve been having lately. It’s a bit agonizing to know that I can’t fix the complex web of other people’s problems, that I can’t solve it and make it better with more talking and little wine.
Some things will simply remain broken.
I love hearing stories of restored marriages, of recovery from addictions and healing from serious illness. What a great time to be on Team Jesus! He’s so awesome to mend our broken lives!
But then sometimes sin and selfishness corrupt a marriage so deeply that we reject the mending; the idols of our desires are so strong we are not open to being rescued; the tragedy of Adam so final that our bodies do not heal.
It’s more difficult to see Jesus working in these situations. Sometimes I don’t want his comfort because I’d rather he fix it. I don’t want to mourn a loss but rejoice in the miracle of restoration!
We sing a song in our church community called We Have Overcome, and recently – the day after I first heard one of these soundbites from a friend – this particular lyric stood out to me, and I burst into tears:
“…a savior who turns tragic endings into love stories, this is the God I know…”
Some of the endings to our stories are tragic. They crash and burn or slowly smolder; they sometimes catch us by surprise. But thankfully we are not in our own story – we are a part of God’s story, and his stories always end lovely even if brought through a tragic climax.
This is the God I know.
”
Image of invisible God
Stretched across a tree
And all to take my place
Oh, the divine mystery
A savior who turns tragic endings
into love stories
This is the God I know
Chorus:
You have overcome, You have overcome deathʼs sting
Celebrate the rising of a king
You have overcome, You have overcome, letʼs sing
The power of an everlasting king
Recently, Ruthie came home from school with a 8.5×14 sheet of construction paper and was tasked with folding it up and seeing how many books we could stack on top of it. Thomas really got into this, and emptied my bookshelf.
It holds at least eight books!
TWENTY books!
A stack of books as tall as Bryan!
I can’t remember how many books finally crushed the paper, but it was, like, TEN HUNDRED, according to Thomas.
We believe it is God’s will that all mankind should BBQ with charcoal. It’s the only way. Cast away your pansy ass gas grill and BBQ like a real man.
Here’s how the ZugHaus does Salmon:
First, we soak a cedar plank in water, then layer it with green onions. This raises the salmon off the plank and allows the smoke to penetrate even the bottom.
We marinate our salmon in teriyaki sauce. If we’re really organized, we freeze it in teriyaki sauce. But if we accidentally leave the fresh salmon in our fridge before leaving town for four days, we frantically toss it into the freezer when we get home on the expiration date. *cough*
Then we smoke the salmon on the plank over coals and mesquite chips.
(We do not mess around).
We also grill veggies in a grilling basket – usually asparagus, or broccoli, or brussel sprouts.
Leave a comment if you’d like to partake in one of our famous House of BBQ’s this summer.
Certainly the faith that has empowered the persecuted church for two millennia isn’t as thin and boring as “Say you’re sorry,†“Be nice,†and “Don’t be like them.†Why would anyone want to deny himself, lay down his life, or suffer for something as inane as that?
I really struggle in sorting out my role vs the Holy Spirit’s role when it comes to my children’s conscience. My parenting style is built on a solid foundation of being a control freak, so I end up requiring some sort of proof that the kids are really truly sorry for what they’ve done.
This has turned them into great actors – Ruthie especially. She gets that striking George Clooney gaze from the top of her eyes thing down really well. And sadly, this often satisfies me. I know it’s highly possible she’s just telling me what I want to hear, but in my lazy moments I’m okay with that.
(If I haven’t mentioned this before, parenting is hard. It requires effort. I don’t always feel like doing it).
It’s only recently that I’ve admitted to myself I’m not actually the Holy Spirit.
I wrote that last sentence before I found this post from THREE YEARS ago, so I guess this is something I’m fairly slow at learning (ya think?!). Here’s an excerpt:
My first instinct when Ruthie gets this stubborn is to make her life as miserable as possible until she cries UNCLE and repents. In my imagination we play a game of chicken to see who lasts longer – me or her. Forcing behavior seems to be what I am most comfortable with, though I know intellectually it’s the worst way to parent.
I had a revelation awhile ago. I realized that Ruthie is a person, not merely an object I own or control. She is a person with a conscience who can feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit. Or not. I realized there are more consequences to our actions than just the circumstantial ones, that she is growing up not only in body, but also in faith. I realized that I won’t always be able to make her feel sorry, that sometimes she will rebel against repentance and have a hard heart, and that there’s not really anything I can do about it in the moment.
I’m ready to be over the whole control freak thing. It’s what makes me take things so personally and respond with unholy anger. I’d much rather just parent obediently and trust Jesus with the outcome.
Every once in awhile I put this song on repeat and turn it up to eleven. I can’t speak to why the song writers feel okay, but it reminds me of the peace I find in Jesus no matter what stresses me out.
Lately I’ve been inspired by a friend who’s had to make some very tough decisions and accept new life circumstances that are out of her control. But even though she spent many years fearing and resisting this situation, she’s walking through it with grace and peace.
In Jesus, she’s okay. Even if we lose it all, as the song says.
falling down in the dirt
we’re okay
we are tired we are hurt
we’re okay
crashing cars dying stars
I can love you like you are
hit the wall have to crawl
even if we lose it all
we’re okay
I love this recipe because it’s super quick and easy. Plus I love rosemary, and pork in the crockpot grosses me out for some reason.
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Total Time: 40 – 50 minutes
Ingredients:
2 pork tenderloins, about 2 pounds
3 tablespoons fresh rosemary, or about 1 tablespoon dried
3 tablespoons minced garlic
salt and pepper to taste
Preparation:
Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking pan with foil or parchment paper. Trim fat from pork tenderloins and butterfly the meat, cutting them nearly in half lengthwise. Open the pork tenderloins and lay out, pounding to flatten with the palm of the hand or the bottom of a heavy skillet. Chop rosemary if using fresh, combine with minced garlic, rub on both sides.
Place pork on baking pan and roast for about 20 minutes (about 155° to 160° internal temp). Remove and let stand 5 minutes, then slice.
What happens when you let your children have it all their own way?.
A friend posted this to Facebook and a discussion ensued. It’s an interesting experiment, but I think it spoke to me more about my own bitchyness than it did my kids’ ability to govern themselves. After all, it’s our job to shepherd them in the right direction, but we can’t do that if we let them do whatever they want.
I’ve seen first hand the logical conclusion of that lifestyle.
But I think this mom had the same realization I would have had – that I say NO a lot simply because I’m lazy or inconvenienced by my kids’ request. I can’t say YES all the time, but I know I could say it more. Here’s an excerpt:
Experiment nearly over and I feel I have proved a point — one that is very interesting to all of us.
For a start, by the end of the week the children are imploding. My acquiescence to everything has meant that they are not only buzzing with e-numbers and sugar, but are exhausted, too
But I have also learned some important lessons. The hassle of clearing up the kitchen after they have made a cake is nothing compared to the joy I feel when I hear them laughing so freely.
They just wanted to have fun, to laugh more; to not have every request quashed by a negative.
They also, I think, really started to understand why I create boundaries in their lives, because as much as they don’t like them, they are lost without them.
Recently someone said to Bryan, “I heard the Jews killed Jesus. Is that true?”
Bryan leaned in and replied, “No. The humans killed Jesus.”
I forget this sometimes. And when I do, I act like Jesus is pretty lucky to have me on his team. And when I act like Jesus is pretty lucky to have me on his team, I’m more self-centered and less generous.
But Joe Day came into the shuffle the other day and reminded me that *I* killed Jesus.
oh my soul
oh my Jesus
Judas sold you for thirty
I’d have done it for less
oh my soul
oh my savior
Peter denied you three times
I’ve denied you more
Last night we did a ZugHaus cleaning bonsai together. When we were done, Ruthie decorated the table with flowers from our wisteria vine and invited us all to take a photo. What a great idea!
Yesterday on our way home from a weekend retreat in the mountains, our car broke down on I-90 in the middle of nowhere. Here’s a list of events as I remember them:
As we left Sundcadia lodge, The Teenagers we had with us said they were hungry. Ice cream seemed the best remedy, so we stopped at Dairy Queen in Cle Elum .
I ordered a small MudPie Blizzard after considering whether or not we’d be home before my dairy intolerance issues kicked in.
Bryan asked, Which way to the freeway? And I said, Turn left. And he said, Left? And I said, Yes, left. And he was all, Okayyyyy. And when we got to the freeway entrance I was all, SEE, I TOLD YOU IT WAS LEFT.
Five minutes into the drive Bryan says, Whoa! The car is overheating! And a billow of white smoke from the engine engulfs us and I’m all OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH THE CHIIIIIIIILLDREENNNN!
We pull over and I yell EVERYBODY OUT! EVERYBODY OUT! QUICK, EVERYBODY OUT! because I think the car is about to explode Hollywood style. And we all get out except for Ruthie who is crying hysterically in the way back while holding her hot fudge sundae because she’s stuck under a pile of pillows and sleeping bags.
I evacuated my laptop bag before rescuing my daughter. But in my defense I thought she was fairly self sufficient to save herself, and did go back to get her.
I am completely incapable of making decisions under pressure by the side of the freeway, especially when my husband is talking to me AT THE SAME TIME as the tow truck guy, but aforementioned husband will not simply talk to the tow truck guy himself because his ears are clogged with pool water.
Small town auto parts stores close at 3pm Sundays, or 5 minutes before you break down. Whichever comes first.
I began to wonder if my diary intolerance issues would kick in as we waited by the side of the freeway.
But I was thankful it wasn’t pouring down rain like it was the day before.
Enterprise Car Rental in Ellensburg is not open on Sundays, but Dollar is available 24/7.
God bless Rodeo Town Taxi who shuttles the drunk and stranded around Eastern Washington.
My kids screamed at every horse, cow, and barn between Cle Elum and Ellensburg – about 25 miles of open road. We are DEEP into the city life, people.
The guy who owns the Dollar Car Rental in Ellensburg is a one-man show. As we signed papers he said, “Just bring her back with a full tank and make good choices between now and then.” To which I said, “Sounds like you have kids that are driving age.”
We ate dinner at Perkins. Equally horrifying, the only cheese they have is American Cheese, and they do not serve beer.
This is where my dairy intolerance issues finally kicked in.
I drove home (see previous comment re pool water in Bryan’s ear), and we listened to dance music.
Thomas the Chatterer never stopped talking during the whole ordeal, ate pancakes for dinner, then totally crashed after a berry syrup sugar high.
Ruthie can hardly wait to tell her friends at school what happened.
This had the potential to be The Worst Day Ever, but it was actually kinda fun. Except for the part where Bryan was all Did you call the tow guy? Did you call the rental company? Did you find out when the auto parts store closed? Did you call a taxi? and I almost took a Dairy Queen spoon shank to his pool water infested ear.
Last Sunday I wrote about my new two-week menu plan and had a few inquiries re recipes and how I chose to set it up. It’s definitely a work in progress, but here’s a little background…
Ruthie has Taekwondo on Mondays and Wednesdays. We don’t get home until after 5pm, so I made Mondays a crockpot meal and Wednesdays a George Foreman grill meal – both are super easy for nights when I don’t have a lot of prep time.
On Thursdays we host a small group from our church community after dinner, so on this night I scheduled quick one-dish meals that are easy to serve and easy to clean up.
On Fridays I’m usually exhausted, which makes me more tempted to spend money on take-out or eating out. So on these nights I rotate spaghetti and nachos, which is pretty much all about opening up cans and boxes. These are also easy meals to push to the weekend should we have something more exciting come up.
Tuesdays are the only night I have time to prep dinner at dinnertime, so these meals are a little more labor-intensive (though still easy).
In regards to the actual meals I chose, I put a little thought into those as well.
I started by listing the meals I make often because everyone likes them.
Then I coordinated them so I could be efficient with perishable ingredients. For instance, I use sour cream for a Friday and Monday meal, and cilantro for a Tuesday and Thursday meal.
Then for extra credit, I kind of did a themey sorta thing. For instance, Monday’s meals are both served with corn tortillas, Wednesdays is grilled meat, Thursdays are main dish salads, etc.
I figure once I have the routine down, I can easily swap in different meals when the seasons change or if I get bored. Or I may blow it all up if I have a mid life crisis. But for now, it seems to be working.
I’ve noticed a repeated theme in Christian lingo – a metaphorical cliche. It’s the idea of a journey, or path, or roadmap. We follow a path to salvation, we’re on a journey as believers, the Bible offers a roadmap for how we are to live.
I don’t find this metaphor very interesting anymore. I think there’s a better, more compelling story to be told.
Mumford & Sons touches on this in one of their songs, and this lyric in particular stood out to me the other day:
It seems as if all my bridges have been burned,
You say that’s exactly how this grace thing works
It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart,
But the welcome I receive at the restart
At the heart of the gospel is this idea that even if we blow everything up and burn down all our bridges, Jesus still says, “Please come home. I’m waiting for you. The BBQ is ready!”
Every minute of every day provides me with the opportunity for a new start.
As someone who struggles with losing her temper, this is amazing. No matter how quick I am to rage, I can always stop, repent to God and my kids, and start over.
As someone with a husband, two feisty children, and a heart open to community, this is sobering. The responsibility of receiving others at their restart is heavy. I like to wallow in my bitterness and stew in my justification, but Jesus calls me to welcome those who repent, and he calls me to shepherd my children into a lifestyle of repentance.
This is far more compelling to me than the journey itself. Anybody can get from Point A to Point B, and a lot of people do it without Jesus. But Jesus is the miracle behind a heart of repentance and forgiveness, the power behind our ability to give and receive a new start.
pumpkin
trees
Map
