Blueberry Muffin Bread

I love the smell of summer fruits and vegetables in the kitchen. Ten pounds of blueberries sat in the kitchen sink, washed and ready to be frozen. Little packets of goodness will be pulled out later in the winter, and fresh berries will waft the sun warmed smells back into the house. While most of the berries went into the freezer, some stayed out to make fresh blueberry muffin bread.

As the oven is preheating to 350 degree Fahrenheit, pull the butter out of the refrigerator and let it start warming. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Add to this mixture the liquid ingredients of milk, vanilla and eggs. Mix in the remaining ingredients of baking powder, salt and flour.

 

Once everything is thoroughly incorporated, slowly add in the blueberries; taking care to gently fold them into the batter. Lightly grease a nine inch round pie plate and pour in the mixture.

Ingredients:

1 c. butter

1 c. sugar

2 eggs

1 ½ t. vanilla

2 t. baking powder

1 t. salt

2 c. flour

½ c. milk

2 ½ c. blueberries 

Let the bread cook until it turns a golden brown. Pour the coffee, set out the plates, serve up the bread and enjoy.

Sharing food from the kitchen has always been my mom’s gift. Someone comes to the house and eventually there is an offer of food. It is a skill I have learned, using food to share friendship and caring. Over the years, my collection of trusted recipes that will be served friends has grown, and each bring back memories of special visits.

There is simply nothing quite as warming as sitting down with a fresh baked food, a cup of coffee, and time with a friend.

The Right Destination

An elderly woman, tiny in frame, sat at her dining room table. In quiet tones, she told me about serving as a missionary in war torn countries. She told me of how bombs had dropped in her yard and potential kidnappers had followed her. She told me of the people she loved serving, and how she went to bed and slept in the middle of a war zone. Frail, petite and quiet; to look at her, this would not be the expected paragon of broad shouldered strength. Yet, she had found the right destination to lean on during troubles and in the celebration of victories. She taught me that to share our burdens with each other was not a weakness but a blessing; it both diminished our luggage load and let others be blessed by helping to carry some of that same weight.

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” Galatians 6:2

It was said to drop the distractions at the door on Sunday. Leave those disruptive troubles, hopes and plans on the stoop so that I can concentrate on the rituals and teachings of the day. But the swollen knot of stress, grief and hope that sits between my ribs and is choking me does not magically dissolve at the door step. I try, I stand there and wait for it to dissolve. I catch myself questioning, am I really just trying to be more self-reliant and self-protective rather than Christ reliant, more detached from the body of Christ rather than linked into the bond of family?  

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.” John 13:34

Let’s not leave our disruptions at the door. Instead, let’s carry them in and set these burdens, both light and heavy, down at the altar. For those loads too heavy, large or grand to be carried by one, let us help one another carry them in and set them carefully on the altar. Then, once these things are at their right destination, let us place them safely into the care of the fixer, the dream maker, the healer and author of all good things. It won’t be easy; I know that I am not always so spectacular at making myself vulnerable. It can certainly be uncomfortable for most of us at any moment in time. But especially when this is baggage we have carried with caution and watchfulness, because it is important to us.

Carrying the burdens there, sharing our burdens, loving one another – it is like a city at night, the lights will come on and we will find that we have companions on our journey.  

Taking It All With Me

The trip is winding down, and here at about a half-way point between the Black Hills and home in Iowa, it’s time to get some sleep.  Packing up this morning, rarely my favorite thing to do, I was consoling myself that even though I was leaving a beautiful place, I was going to take many things back with me. 

The buffalo herd moves across the grasses, mostly in a slow and loose conglomeration of shaggy creatures.  Babies test out their legs, and discover hopping and running to their great joy.  The mamas look as if they hope the babies will do several more laps to be naptime ready sooner rather than later.  The herd sentries grunt back and forth; passing along directional, pace, and herd behavior instructions.  Rolling in the dust, sturdy buffalo legs stretch in wallowing holes to take dust baths.  Tiny cow birds gather around the buffalo, partners in their environment.  The calves stretch out next to their mommas, soak in the sun, and wake recharged and hungry.  They try to add their own grunts, with baby voices that are much higher than the adults surrounding them.  I will take them with me.

Antelope, elegant creatures of patterned colors, perch high on hills and low in the gullies.  They tend to pretend that human viewers are simply not there, conspicuously ignoring the person within view.  Watching the antelope, quietly munching the grasses and moving along the hill lines, I love their patterned looks and the sounds of their quiet grass clipping.  I will take them with me.

Sylvan Lake, Legion Lake, Stockade Lake, and several other lake spots reflect the pines, snow, and rock formation.  The ducks and geese that make their homes in the waters take turns honking and quacking at each other, flapping around in a merry chase of territorial nesting crankiness.  The air is full of pine smell, clean and sweet.  The water, still frozen in some places, is cold with spring snow melt.  Little fish dart in and out of the cattails.  Tiny birds played as they move in and out of the reeds.  An osprey dipped and dove into the waters.  The trails around the ponds and lakes are each different.  The Sylvan Lake path leads past the waters framed in low rocks to a path sided by tall rock walls.  The pines and birch trees close to the rocks are still encased in thick snows.  Higher up, where the sun is hitting, the snow has melted to form icicles that glow in the sunshine like jewels.  I will take them with me.

Blue birds perch on the fences and bird houses.  Tiny spots of sky blue, they are like little sky streaks that dart around.  The females are toned in browns, like little paintings that reflect the good soils and stones around them, delicate in coloring and well disguised in their environment.  The meadow lark sings the most beautiful song, loudly and joyfully from tree branches, fence posts, and anywhere else they can find.  Yellow, with a swirl of black on their chest, these birds are as beautiful to see as they are to hear.  Magpies, white

and dark blue, dart about as if they are the supermodels and everyone else should pause to watch.  They are beautiful, and I do pause.  A strutting turkey, fluffed up and gliding over pine needle covered ground attempting, all in the attempt to impress a hen was a beautiful sight.  She was even chasing him for a few minutes, so apparently it was working.  The gobble gobble and cluck cluck of the turkey was fun to hear.  The pheasants, hawks, burrowing owls, and noisy crows were all there and all so wonderful to see.  I will take them with me.

I have met wonderful people.  A woman on an adventure who displays warmth and caring in her work, will have a collection of stories that is worthy of writing in a much shared book.  A local small store owner brings Bob the Manager to the store each day to “work” as a greeter.  Bob is a liver colored lab who likes belly rubs and to show off his big blue toy bone.  The Custer Chamber of Commerce awarded Bob as having friendliest customer service; all because his person brought him to work and let those who visit the store enjoy that personality.  Another woman has picked up the pieces of her life and found a passion for photography that has inspired her to make more than a so-so existence, but to enrich the lives of others around her.  I felt as if she was looking to share, as one who cares about an art wants to share it with another.   A gentleman is warmly greeting guests, even as he is a guest here.  I hope that he feels as welcome

in the Custer area as he made us feel.  A retired rancher, working at the Wild Horse Sanctuary, let me see the plains through his eyes.  Grasses, sustainability, the balance cycle of predator and prey, water conservation, and the joy of spring’s arrival from the presence of a burrowing owl were only the frosting on the cupcake.  His love of the horses and caring for them and their preservation was something that could be described more as a passion than a job.  People who have greeted, smiled, welcomed, and been kind – I will take them with me.

Snow falling so gently while enveloped in the heat of the steam and water of a hot tub, watching deer eat their dinner just beyond the pines from the same hot tub, and the sound of migratory ducks and geese as they fly over - they are all cabin memories.  Tucked near an outcropping of rock, the cabin was a quiet landing place at the end of a day.  With a gas stove fire started, the living room was toasty and the perfect place to end a day flipping through pictures.  A kind hearted woman owns the cabins and so wants to share her joy of the cabins with those who stay there.  I will take these with me.

These are just a few of the things I will take home with me.  I packed them all so gently in my luggage and have them with me even now.  They are many more, and those also I will take with me.

Waltzing Matilda

“Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me…” That song has been quite literally stuck in my brain for the last twenty four hours. I woke up yesterday with it in my mind and it has stayed there since. At odd intervals, I – the person who really does wander grocery stores and choir lofts alike singing aloud, I have had a hard time not bursting out with a billabong or coolabah tree. But somehow staring at the work in front of me, I don’t think that all my fellow office sitters would appreciate my vocal interruptions. Oh well….

   Isn’t it strange how a song can lodge in your mind and just stay there? How does that happen? Did I dream of Australia the previous night? But some songs will just stay there, as if they had actually been written on me with indelible ink. If songs and words that became stuck really did become written on me with indelible ink, I wonder what would show up. I know what I would like to show up, maybe something similar to Paul.
   The Apostle Paul went and worked among the Jews and Greeks. Then, Silas and Timothy came from Macedonia but were opposed to Paul and he drew his boundaries and headed out a different way. I think that that must have been a difficult thing for Paul to do. Here he is, devoting himself to a work that he believes in and now is forced from it. When Paul left, he had a vision from the Lord. Paul was told “Do not be afraid; keep on speaking, do not be silent.” Paul had something stuck in his head and heart, words from God. No, he had never heard Waltzing Matilda, but his song was one of salvation – a message of hope and life. If we could have seen those words, it would have been “keep speaking”.
   Hopefully, this song will be done with me soon and move along to someone else’s brain. I’d be happy to share. But, the thoughts of “keep speaking”, those I will cling to, holding on to them and wrapping my fingers into the fabric of God’s word as tightly as I can.

If

   If I could live anywhere, regardless of how far it is from everyone of my friends and family… it’s a nice dreamy thought. Someplace with mountains and a lake, pine trees, and quiet woods. Or perhaps it would be a warm breezed bluff over a beach, with palm trees and the sound of the water lapping on the shore below. A windy plain with high grasses blowing back and forth, and enjoying the subtle colors of grasses and flowered blooms, this might be nice as well. Of course, these are just ifs.

   Thanksgiving is coming in a few days, not really an if. But, for some it will be an if just because it will be if they have something for that meal, if they have something to help mark a special day, if it is a special day. Today we have the chance to help some people remove the if. A mobile food bank is setting up and delivering food to the community as it needs it. I can only imagine the change of discussion from if dinner is had, if even a full meal will be had, to an excitement of how the materials can be dispersed and planned. The if changes to when, the excitement builds, and a hope is rekindled.
  The power to overcome the if, that is a power indeed.

At the Bus Stop

   There is a bus stop across from the driveway, where students gather to go to the high school. They congregate in little groups on a frosty morning, two or three that are standing close together and still manage to look as if they are standing in part of the larger group. One girl stands twenty feet away, watching. As I drove past, I wondered what she was thinking. It could be a lonely spot, where she is not included in the morning conversation. It could be high school ostracizing, which we seem to learn naturally as people at a young age. It could be simply someone standing back to take it all in, to view the group as a whole. Maybe she didn’t feel like talking to anyone yet, still sleepy in the early hours. While I would like to think that she was pondering or thinking some wonderfully creative thoughts, she looked alone.

   I’m not meaning to head down some sob story depressing path, but how many times have you seen a group or been part of a group and catch the one person out of the corner of your eye that is standing there looking slightly apart? How many times have you walked past without even an acknowledgement? We learn very early to pay attention to our friends and family. That is a good thing. But, somehow along the way, we also learn to separate out others and remove them from our group which is not such a good thing.
   If you were take on a challenge to love your neighbor, be it the girl at the bus stop or the co-worker in the next cubicle or the neighbor who actually lives next door, what would it look like? A wave, good morning, sharing a tray of cookies, a sidewalk sweep, a hug, a conversation, the opportunities are limitless.

Fall Festival

   Today, a yearly Fall Festival occurs at our church. It’s not really all that fancy, but it’s a fun day of music, friendship, food, and activities. I’ve helped at all of these festivals that I’ve been around for, and each one has had its own personality. One of the first memories I have is the weather being so hot that I ended the day standing in a pile of ice. Then, there was the festival that I really couldn’t walk because I had a bum leg. I remember the donuts being a big hit, they were freshly made and so yummy! A fire truck comes, which is a favorite with the kids big and small. A scarecrow contest has been held a few times, which showcased some amazing creativity!

   It’s not about anything fancy, anything terribly elegant. It’s about time together to have fun. It’s a lot of work, but with many helpers the load becomes much easier to bear. I’m looking forward to today, even though by the end of the day my feet will be blistered and I will be so ready to see my bed. If you are around, come on out! And bring a can for the food pantry, you can help serve someone in need, because hunger is a terrible thing.

Stay Out of My Purse

   Have you ever wondered why women don’t want you poking around in their purse? I mean, even the best of friends will hand each other their purse to find something – and these are the same women who will go through all of the drawers and cabinets in the house to find something. We blanche when someone even looks at our purse in the I need something in there, I know it’s in there, and I’m going to go get it face.

   Why? Well…..
   As for my purse, it’s a mess most of the time. They hand me a receipt at the store, it goes in my purse. Wrappers when there is no trash can handy, ticket stubs, shopping lists, and to-do lists – they all take up their own place and position in amongst the actual purse type things. So, I don’t really care to have you rifle through my mess. It’s my mess, I’ll do it.
   It’s also my pocket of information. We all need a place that is ours, and this is mine. Normal purse documents are there, but also things like a little book and a card I carry. When I see those special things, even when rummaging for the two pounds of spare change in the bottom, they trigger my memory and I remember exceptional friends and unique happenings.
   I’ll share a lot with you, perhaps – if I know you really really really really well, even my straw. But, stay out of my purse.

On the Other Side of the Table

   I had an opportunity to help pass out food to around two hundred families last weekend. With around 10,000 pounds of food shared, approximately 800 people were helped. It was a beautiful experience. The mobile food pantry works by a truck loaded with food coming. The food contained inside on palates is a combination of canned goods, fresh produce, and items which are considered extras by many grocery budgets - like large bags of walnuts and juices. There were large ripe tomatoes that were bagged up for easy delivery. A family even had picked a truckload full of sweet corn the night before and it was also bagged and added to the stock of food.

   People started lining up about two hours before the registration could even begin. Workers came approximately an hour early to help unload the truck and set up the tables. Registration began and people passed through. Soon, grocery carts were filled with food and people were loading their vehicles full of produce.
   One of the discussions I heard going on was being on the other side of the table. It is a joy being on the giving side. It is a beautiful thing to hand out milk, tomatoes, corn, cereal, soup, and a variety of other foods. It is not always so easy to be on the receiving side of the table. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t gratitude there, but there may also be wounded pride, embarrassment, and feelings of failure. It is not always easy to be on the receiving side of gifts. Especially gifts you cannot pay back.

   And yet, isn’t that what grace is?

Staged Face

She stood on stage. She had the smile perfectly practiced. Her poise came through and she seemed to speak calm and sweetness. Every movement was practiced, the way the microphone was held, the tilt of the head. To the most casual and even slightly mediocre observant watcher, she appears content and happy. It is in the eyes that you can catch a glimpse of the girl who is hiding behind the stage face. The doubt of her self-worth, the pain of hurt, and the uncertainty of growing up are present behind the mascara and eye-liner.
She is beautiful. And she doubts this. She is capable. And she doubts this. She is loved. And she doubts this.

I saw through the stage face. I have worn one as well at times. It is the face you put on when you don’t want people to comment, to state the platitudes which are well known and overly used. They are handy things, perhaps not good – but handy. Especially when having to face a crowd that is hostile, overly emotional, or just blasé. It is a helpful skill when stage lights are in your eyes and you can’t see the crowd at all. Yet, they think that you have singled one of them out specially. It is useful even when dealing with other tasks, which are unpleasant and require some sort of interaction. Yes, useful – but not always good. It isn’t always good because there is no one to disrupt the influence of the lie, to help us relearn truth.
Look beyond the stage face, look in the eyes. Let someone see past yours. Then, the healing can begin.

Sharing Cookies with Jesus

My house smells like oatmeal cookies right now. Oats, sugar, apple sauce, eggs, butter, cinnamon, and salt all mixed together in a bowl and then placed on a cookie sheet. Heating up the oven to 350 degrees, and placing cookies inside soon the whole kitchen smells sweet.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of making cookies with a young girl who loves discovering the outdoors and playing chess. She mixed and measured, adding sugar and butter. When I handed her the apple sauce to mix in, she made the funniest face. Apple sauce in cookies? The cookies turned out nice and sweet, but it was nothing compared to the moment when our discussion of loving our neighbors (Matthew 19:19), took a twist. She wanted to share cookies with Jesus.
It struck me how we often make worship such a complicated thing. We want the music to be just so, the sanctuary to look just so, dress just so, but in reality worship is something that is not about the style of music or the look of the sanctuary or those great new shoes. It’s about acknowledging God and sharing our gratitude with him. It’s just offering the oatmeal cookies up.

Relay for Life

If you ever have a chance to attend a Relay for Life event, I would highly recommend it. It’s not the best speaker you may ever hear or perhaps as entertaining as the most wonderful concert, but the people are worth listening too. What the Relay for Life is a platform for storytelling, for people who have walked through similar situations to walk laps together. One lap is for survivors, another for caregivers, a lap in silence for memories, a lap to celebrate the eventual defeat of cancer.

I think one of the thing about these events that always strikes me is that this is a moment of leveling. There are very young and very old, those who have been free of cancer for many years and those who are still fighting. But, everyone who walks the first lap of survival, everyone who walks the second lap of caregivers, everyone who walks for fundraising or just to show solidarity, they all have a story to tell. From the individual who is still feeling the effects of chemo or another prescriptive treatment, to the family and friends who have stood with another in the fight, they are all part. Relaying together, walking together, it is such a wonderful reminder that we are not alone in the fight. There are others who are walking on the track with us, others who have lost sleep with worry, who have undergone surgery, who have waited in the waiting room.
I love the signs you see when you walk in to the track. Reading left to right, you see Celebrate, Remember, Fight in bold and bright colors. I walked the track with my mom as part of the caregivers lap after watching my dad watch the survivors lap. I celebrate the days I have, I celebrate the medical research that has allowed him to still be here and part of my life. I celebrate the life lessons we have learned as a family. Not easy lessons to be sure, but good ones. I celebrate the friendships made, the hugs that have been shared. I celebrate that I can now walk with someone else through this and be a little more understanding, not just empathetic. I remember the look of my dad in the hospital. I remember when a lap around the hospital floor was a great victory. I remember the days of tears and worry. I remember the prayers that were shared, the phone calls and cards, e-mails and messages. I remember the friends and family who showed such amazing support. I remember capable nurses and doctors, home nurses and even nurse friends who leant their support and expertise. I have been part of the fight, fighting against infection by washing door knobs and phones. I have been part of the fight by demanding, sometimes on the verge of tears and fury that a positive attitude be kept. I have been part of the fight to demand of myself to be a help where I can.
Let’s Celebrate, Remember, and Fight Back – relay on together.