Butter Me Up

I’ve gotten bitten by the Spring Cleaning bug in a beastie way. I’m tackling drawers, closets and rooms that have evaded my purgation all winter long. I’m being ruthless in my disposal. It’s all going, going, gone. Bwa-ha-ha.

I am not a hoarder by any means. I prefer to go lightly through life tossing the old, the outgrown, the no-longer-useful. But with a family of five, you collect quite a few of the olds, the outgrowns, and the no-longer-usefuls over the winter months. Now that I have a bit of time and inclination, I’m sorting and stacking like a preschooler on caffeine.

Yesterday I attacked my Cookbook Cabinet with relish and gusto, prepared to part with at half of the forty-odd cookbooks I’ve collected over the years. But in the end, I could only say good-bye to six, and even that just about killed me. I have a great emotional attachment to my cookbooks. Each comes with stories, a piece of our family’s history, and an ample amount of food stains. I find many of my recipes on-line, yet I still use about ten of my cookbooks regularly. But the rest are too precious to part with. They would probably only net a few dollars in a garage sale, but they are priceless to me.

The ones that didn’t make the cut still haunt me. One was a cooking-for-one book that I purchased when I moved out from my parents’ house and into my own apartment at 22. Determined to begin living as a responsible adult, I came home from my nursing job at Children’s every night to cook a hot meal. I cooked through the entire book, sometimes sharing a meal with a friend or a date. That book was my teacher.

There was a basic cookbook that came into my marriage with Super Hubs. He cooked for me for the first time on our fourth date, which coincided with Valentine’s Day. He made such a wonderful veal piccata that I was intimidated by his mad culinary skills. I had no idea his mother had talked him through each step by phone.

I parted with a vegetarian cookbook, when I went through my brief Earth Muffin stage in the 90s. I served my husband and toddler a form of tofu almost every night until Super Hubs put a stop to it. I haven’t opened the book since.

I gave away a couple of Martha Stewart’s because I don’t care for her cooking style. (Sorry, Martha.) And remember Oprah’s cook, Rosie, who was launched into 15 minutes of fame and came out with her own cookbook? I never actually tried anything in it, so out it went.

Every other cookbook will remain safely in the cabinet, until either we move or I die and my offspring decide to purge my non-valuables. I guess I won’t need them at that point.

Keep Watch, Dear Lord

Sometimes, I have no words, even in prayer. My heart simply bleeds for the people of Japan, beloved children of God, as events go from bad to worse. Earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear power plant meltdowns.

I offer to the injured, the grieving, the homeless, the frightened, the workers, the caregivers, this classic prayer. To all who suffer:

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.

Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

(From the night service of Compline, The Book of Common Prayer)

Hello, Gorgeous!

I’ve got spring fever, my friends. Yep, I’ve got it bad. The snow has melted, the days are lengthening, and yesterday I saw my first crocus popping out of the earth. It’s always a big day for me when I spy my first crocus. It gives me hope and makes me long to grab my flip flops.

I happened upon a sweet little poem that describes my sentiments perfectly.


First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus -
Crocus.  ~Lilja Rogers

The Bright Sadness

I just returned from a three day retreat for my Spiritual Formation program. This fourth retreat marks the half-way point. It’s been a full year since I began the journey with these fellow sojourners, and I have another year to go. The little book case in my library is filled with the twenty books I’ve purchased and read so far as part of this program. Some have been required reading, and some of the books I’ve been drawn to and subsequently devoured vocaciously. They’ve challenged me, filled me up, and acted as spiritual companions; authors who have been seasoned in soul formation and will “walk alongside me” whenever I pick up their books.

My other spiritual companions are the fellow retreatants whom I see at the quarterly retreats. I’ve grown to truly love some of them. We’ve quickly gotten beyond the surfacey talk to deep soul matters, and they are closer to me than family. Each time we meet, though, is bittersweet. I’m thrilled to see them, catch up, and hear how God is working in their lives. But each retreat flies by so quickly. My heart feels heavy during the Leaving Service on the last day, knowing we’ll soon say good-bye; someday for the last time. But then again, I have hope that I’ll see them all in Heaven.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day that ushers us into the Lenten Season. It is filled with the bittersweet knowledge of our mortality and sinfulness, yet with the hope of redemption.

“A journey, a pilgrimage! Yet, as we begin it, as we make the first step into the “bright sadness” of Lent, we see~ far, far away~ the destination. It is the joy of Easter, it is the entrance into the glory of the kingdom.” (Alexander Schmemann)

A wise mentor has suggested that the Lenten season is a time to seek God with all of your heart. Is there a way that you are holding back from God? What is one step you can make to begin to return to Him? I am using this season to fast from something personal that has been “cluttering” my soul. My hope is to create more space for God’s presence, so I can love Him with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength.

May God fill you with hope, my friends.