A Cold Sabbath

Some things in life force you to slow down: an incredibly beautiful sunset as you're walking into your home, little children begging you to play with them, traffic when you're already late...the world's worst cold.

That one would be the one I'm thinking of most today. I was attacked by this mean little virus last Monday - and a solid 8 days later, I am still holed up in bed, sipping hot tea and homemade lattes and wondering whether it's possible to overdose on vitamin C and echinacea. The first few days of my cold, I refused to be slowed down - I took Advil for my headache, downed a water bottle every couple of hours, and kept right on going to work, church, and social events. I thought I was getting better by Thursday - and maybe I would have been if I had listened to my body and actually slowed down and rested - but I kept right on pushing all the way through Sunday. I stayed out late with friends on Friday night, eating the world's spiciest Thai food (even C agreed it was hot - a nearly impossible admission to draw from his lips); Saturday morning, I went hiking with some girl friends, cleaned the house and had a friend over for coffee, then went to an evening church service; Sunday morning, feeling a lot like death warmed over, I took my zombie self to teach 2-4 year-olds about Naaman and the importance of obedience, sharing my charming determination and indomitable will almost as successfully as the germs precipitating from my person in seemingly all directions.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon, determination failed me and I admitted my defeat: I put myself to bed at noon. And peace reigned. C came over and forced me to stay on the couch with my tea and blankets, graciously ignoring that I went through half a roll of toilet paper by myself in the few hours he was over. He even told me I looked cute - despite my bleary eyes and Rudolph nose.

I had things I wanted to do this weekend - people I wanted to see, cleaning I wanted to accomplish, lessons I wanted to learn in different languages. But I didn't even have the energy to eat, much less do anything more useful.

As part of my daily Bible reading, I've been reading through the Pentateuch - those first five books of the Old Testament that tell you exactly, in excruciating detail, how God wanted His people to behave, what their identity was in Him, and how He was going to respond to them when they did or didn't do what He had specified. Some of the laws seem a little extreme ("Someone with one leg shorter than the other cannot come into My presence" - huh?) - others seem down right strange (explain to me again, why can't I wear clothes that have a mixture of cotton and wool?), but one thing I've definitely noticed is that God took care of all the details - straight down to ensuring that people took regular times of rest. They had one day a week that was a "no work allowed day" - and the punishment was a little bit stronger than getting grounded from going to work the next day. They had different feasts on different months that were holy parties - one of them lasted for a week. They had fasts on certain days - and rests on others. And while it may seem like a lot to keep track of, one thing I really noticed this time reading through is not so much that God had a lot of rules - but God had a lot of rules that took care of His people at all levels. Those days of rest and fasting and partying before Him were filling them up spiritually, emotionally and, yes, even physically. And most of the time His people then did the same thing we do now when we read those long lists of "Thou shalt's and Thou shalt not's": ignored them as too many rules that are too hard to follow. But I think I usually miss the big picture: God cares for His people; He is good and kind and wants what's best for us.

And yes, I have to wonder why putting blood on the right big toe and the right thumb and the right earlobe mattered - but when I step back from the details and look at the whole, I see lots of ways that God was caring for His people holistically... that I often try to ignore as important in my daily life. Like taking regular times of Sabbath rest to spend time with Him and not work.

I didn't want to take the day off of work on Monday and spend all day yesterday and today in bed. But that's what I needed to do. And if I had been paying attention, and had prioritized setting apart - ie, making holy - time for rest and recuperation, maybe I wouldn't still be hacking up a lung. Maybe a Cold Sabbath was exactly what I needed to remind me that I serve a loving God who wants me to remember that He's doing just fine at running the world, and that what He really thinks is best for me is to sit back, spend time with Him, and rest. 

Maybe that's even a lesson in obedience.

I should tell the 3 year-olds - but not until I'm over this cough...

Hot, Hot, Hot – Hot Chocolate!

Well, so far, I've already broken a couple of my New Year's Resolutions - one of which was to write at least one blog post per month. Honestly though, I've had this post in mind for at least two months, so that should count for something. Maybe my laziness in writing down my ideas. Still, there's always time to begin again.

Over the Christmas holiday, I went to visit my family in Estonia, a small, quiet country in Northeastern Europe. They've lived there since October, so by the time I got there at the end of December, they were all settled in and ready to show me around.

One of the little places we visited was a Hot Chocolate Restaurant that was down a back alley:

And had this on the back door:

Inside, we all had some of the most decadent hot chocolate we had ever tasted in our lives. Noah got one that was laced with ice-cream.

But this layered beauty of "Vanilla-Sea-Salt-Honey-Cocoa" was my own special treat. I was in awe. Who knew that honey and chocolate could go together? How did it have all of those layers? Was that steamed milk foam and whipped cream I was tasting? If it hadn't been my last day in Estonia, I am positive that I would have paid 3.50€ multiple times just trying to figure out the secrets of this rich, drinkable dream. (This first one was a gift from Mom - or was she just trying to increase my addiction to cocoa?)

Since, however, it was my last day, my pocketbook is happy to announce that I did not squander its contents on European melted chocolate confections, but instead on ample amounts of American possibilities for Stateside reproduction. 

With a little creativity, I began trying to make my own version:

I melted dark chocolate chunks with a little bit of boiling water and some vanilla.

I drizzled a tall glass with honey and sprinkled it with kosher salt.

                          

In went the melted chocolate, followed by a few ounces of steamed milk thanks to my espresso machine.

Finally, I topped it with homemade whipped cream (well, technically, I used half and half...which, yes, you can whip) and sprinkled it with a little cocoa.

Voila! My attempt at Estonian Cocoa.

It wasn't quite as decadent - or quite as hot as it should have been to be a perfect match. Turns out, making a perfect cup of cocoa with milk foam on top takes years of practice. Maybe thousands of times of steaming milk and melting chocolate to really get it perfect.

And that's alright with me - because imperfect cocoa made with a desire to create, experiment and learn is still amazing. 

And learning that imperfect can still be delicious is more amazing still. 

So here's to a new year full of learning and trying and doing and being and failing - and enjoying growing up and making life delicious, even with all its imperfections. 

Wonderment Daily

I think I keep waiting for the "perfect" thing to blog about. If my words are going to be out for people to read, well, then I guess they ought to be deep and profound, right?

But here's the thing: being alive is deep and profound. The concept baffles everyone, everywhere - no matter their religion, social status, country of birth or mother tongue: "I am alive - and that means something. Not sure what most of the time, but it does." Isn't that what we all think?

So my pursuit of the perfect blog topic is rather silly - when I've got crazy amounts of real life just slipping through my fingers untyped.

Take today, for instance. I can't say today was one of those life changing God experiences where I am stunningly aware of my place in creation and His power over my life. Actually, today was, well, pretty mundane. I got up and ate breakfast, drank a cup of my dad's good coffee, took a shower and washed dishes. I made curtains and exercised and went shopping. I did normal, everyday, routine stuff.

There's a verse in 1 Thessalonians 4 that says:

Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you. 

I'm not going to lie: I don't always like that verse. Sometimes - maybe even a lot of the time - I want a loud life, one that is full of bold days full of adventure.

But today, I made it my ambition to spend the day quietly - to look around for little ways to serve and to seek out ways to connect with my siblings.

I took my 15 year-old sister Eleanne driving in a parking lot. We chatted up turn signals and parking brakes, steering wheels and gas pedals. She even backed into a parking space and drove on a real road with double yellow lines. We made it up to 35 miles an hour - and neither of us died.

If riding in a car with a brand new driver isn't adventure, I'm not sure what is. But it was nails-in-the-seat-bite-lip-don't-focus-on-the-grass-on-the-passenger-side quiet adventure.

For dinner, my family and I sat on the porch and ate leftovers in the early fall weather - and I leaned against the house and looked out over our front lawn and watched my sister and my brother hold hands during the prayer and my dad and my baby sister Grace snuggle and chat on the front steps. 

The world there was quiet and we were minding our own business, leaving the business of others in the hands of God through prayer.

After dinner, I went on a bike ride with two of my brothers through the neighborhood across the street. The rumor is true: you never forget how to ride a bike. I would not however, recommend trying to ride with no hands after not having ridden in nine or so years. Seeing my brothers take turns leading the direction of our paths was something to smile about. They're growing into men and leaving boyhood behind them with grace. And my world was still there - quiet and peaceful - with the wind twirling my hair and the sound of pavement whirring under us.

When we all sat down together to read the bible, I traded foot rubs with my mom and listened to everyone read in their turn and my Dad talk about the text. I didn't read tonight - even though I usually do when I'm home with my family - I was quiet. And it was good.

Daily life isn't easy. Being caught up in the rituals of the mundane gets really, well, boring. You know, mundane?

But maybe there's something profound enough about being alive that's worth sitting quietly and minding our own business and working with our hands and enjoying the day that the Lord has made.

Maybe it's even something worth writing about.

To daily life - in all its boredom and wonderment!