Getting Away, Turning Away

 

Getting Away draft 2

A week and a half ago I sat on a small balcony in Hollywood Hills in the shadow of the iconic Hollywood sign that hovers over Los Angeles. Tourists travel up this street hoping for clear shots of the Hollywood sign and perhaps the one in a million sighting of a movie star.

The trip came at a point where I most needed it. The winter has been long and much of what transpires doesn’t make it into my blog – nor should it.

But for 5 days I rested. I rested with palm trees before me and a sun overhead. Long walks, harder hikes, and gastronomic delights filled my days. Getting to know our son and his wife in their own space was our great joy. Los Angeles, a city that can chew you up and spit you out, has given them tremendous opportunities and they are grateful.

We went to the ocean on Saturday, first taking a walk on an open, sandy beach. The air was chilly so we wrapped ourselves in sweatshirts to ward off the cold. Waves, sand, peace – my soul deeply needed all these.

Perhaps the older you get the more grateful you are for these times of peace. You have learned how to cope through the late night phone call that announces a crisis; you have learned how to live through tantrums and fevers; you have learned how to live through job losses and job promotions, times of less and times of more. But in all this it’s critical to also know how to find and appreciate moments of peace, times where you turn away from all that seems important and toward the more lasting, moments where all of life stands still and you breathe. 

A quote I recently read says “In order to understand the world one has to turn away from it on occasion.” Being away helps me understand more of the world that I live in, helps me to relax and identify what is urgent and what isn’t, most of all revives me and reminds me I can do this thing called life.

I am back – the weather is a coast away from what it was in California and life accosts me with the urgent and the important. But turning away was a gift. Standing still in peace and rest restored and revived.

How about you? Where have you been able to turn away in order to better understand your world?

Monday Muffins: Stacy brings us Pesto Feta Muffins today and they look amazing! Head to http://www.foodlustpeoplelove.com/2014/03/pesto-feta-muffins.html for the recipe.

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The Story of a Soup

 The Story of a Soup by Robynn

It was years ago God gave us the Wilson family!

John and Kamala Wilson ran a guest house in the small mountain town of Coonoor in South India. We first checked in to the guest house when our Bronwynn was only 2 months old. We had come, our bedraggled family of five, for rest. We left two weeks later with so much more than that. We had found new friends, a new family! “Uncle Wilson” and “Auntie Kamala”, as our kids came to affectionately call them, invited us into their hearts and lives. They loved us generously and deeply. And it was ever so easy to love them back.

Kamala had been raised by two British missionary women. These two women adopted several girls and raised them as their own. Kamala learned from one to cook and bake and create delightful delicacies in the kitchen. From the other she learned to play the piano and to play games. She became good at both! John grew up in an Anglo-Indian home, thus his very English name. The two of them met at Bible school and married soon afterwards. They had three lovely children, Timothy, Gauis and Sharon.

The guest house, under Wilson and Kamala’s special care, ministered to the bodies as well as to the souls of those who passed through.  Afternoon tea was staged out on the lawn, surrounded by the green tea plantation fields, if the weather allowed.  Kamala always baked up special treats for tea. There was always fresh bread and homemade jam or lemon curd. There was cake or biscuits (of the British variety), a salty snack and of course the tea! In the evening after dinner, there was more tea and a Bible reading and prayers in the sitting room.

Auntie Kamala loved to bake and cook. She collected recipes from various cookbooks but also from international guests that haled from all over! Family recipes for shortbread or lamington or lemon squares, pavlova or trifle were shared with Kamala. She tried out recipes for casseroles, soups and pasta dishes. Each recipe was written down in a little note book or kept in a scrapbook. Each recipe was tested in her little kitchen.

It was there at Coonoor that we first tried Curried Pumpkin and Bacon Soup. We were the only guests and Uncle Wilson had given the staff the day off. Auntie Kamala made us supper that evening. Fresh bread and this amazingly thick consoling bowl of soup! Although it had “curry” in the name, it really wasn’t an Indian recipe. My memory may fail, but it seems to me that Kamala had found that particular recipe in an Australian cookbook that a former guest and friend had gifted her. Here we were South Indians, Americans, Canadians basking in bowls of thick stew-soup who’s recipe had likely been developed with the nostalgia of British “curry” deep down under!  It was amazing.

It was the type of soup that sticks to your ribs and glues friendships together.

Later after we had left India and I reflected on our departure I wrote this about our last visit to Wilson and Kamala (who had since moved on from the guest house):

After packing up and leaving our home for all those years the girls and I flew south to some dear friends where we stayed for one week. I was still physically recovering from staph infection, severe amoebic dysentery and 18 days of antibiotics, let alone the heat, packing, good-bye parties, 1000 last-minute errands and details. Spiritually I was battered and beaten down. Emotionally I was ruined.

Wilson and Kamala were the perfect people to collapse with. They took such gentle care of the girls and I. Auntie Kamala played games, held tea parties, provided crafts and crayons. I took long naps. Wilson fixed hundreds of cups of tea. I sat in a chair in the middle of their sitting room and pathetically cried through nine complete Gaither Homecoming DVDs. In the past I’ve made fun of that music, the hairspray, the makeup, the dramatic, the crescendo—now it was the balm that soothed. Kamala fixed delicious meals to tempt my appetite again.  Their adult children Sharon and Gauis came to visit. There was lots of laughter, lots of love, lots of space to begin to heal.  (Expectations and Burnout 2010, p213)

It is with joy and memory that I can commend this soup to you on this chilly autumn day! It’s best enjoyed with friends and fresh bread.

Curried Pumpkin & Bacon Soup

  • 500 gr pumpkin
  • 3 potatoes
  • 3 strips bacon
  • 2 onions
  • 2 cloves of garlic
  • ½-1 teaspoon curry powder
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • ½ teaspoon sugar
  • 2 cups water, milk or cream

Cook pumpkin and potatoes. Brown bacon. Add onion and garlic and butter and spices. Cook until the onion is clear. Add vegetables and liquid. Roughly mash with a potato masher. Add more milk or water if desired. Garnish with bacon.

(*This recipe is incredibly versatile. I’ve used sweet potatoes, Indian Kohora, carrots or a combination of the three with pumpkin or in place of pumpkin. I’ve used fresh pumpkin or a tin of pureed pumpkin. I often just use bacon bits instead of cooking up strips of bacon….or I’ve omitted the bacon altogether for vegetarian or Muslim friends. However you cook it –this soup is good for the soul!)

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In Praise of Idle Moments

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 The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done. “Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do,” wrote Thomas Pynchon in his essay on sloth. Archimedes’ “Eureka” in the bath, Newton’s apple, Jekyll & Hyde and the benzene ring: history is full of stories of inspirations that come in idle moments and dreams from Tim Kreider in “The Busy Trap”

It’s a Thursday morning and I am blurry with a post World Series hangover of sorts. For the many of you who are not from the United States, the World Series is an annual event crowning the baseball season. Among sports enthusiasts in the U.S. this is a Big Deal. And this year the team who came out shining is the Boston Red Sox. This is My Team. I am not a sports enthusiast, but one of the things I’ve done in recent years is to try to understand the excitement that baseball garners in this part of the world. Call it an anthropological study if you will. This team, whose home field is walking distance from where I live, was my maternal grandma’s favorite. I needed to understand something of the magic if I was to live here, just like I needed to understand the love of soccer in Egypt, or cricket in Pakistan. And a surprising thing has happened– one that has taught me some good lessons about living cross- culturally in my passport country. It turns out I like this game they call “baseball”! I’ll write more on that in a later post because I think there are some good lessons to be explored.

But for now I’m taking a break.
It turns out that my post from Tuesday on the security blanket of busy touched an unexpected nerve. The words “I’m so busy” are deeply ingrained in our vocabulary, more so our actions. My cousin, Judi, said this “It’s more than ingrained…it’s like it is revered, prized, valued.” 

But beyond the words is how embedded this is in our psyche, in the fabric of who we are and the damage this does to our health, our creative abilities, and our friendships.

CS Lewis says “We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.

I will be honest — I have lacked inspiration for just about everything lately. I am doing mediocre work at my day job, I don’t feel I have much to share in person, and I am struggling to find inspiration in writing. I have glorified busy and I am reaping the fruits.

Perhaps you feel the same.

I think I need some idle moments. In idle moments I can step back and “see the whole” not just the fragmented parts. In idle moments I can gain wisdom and a heart for people. In idle moments I can hear God.

So I’m going to give you a bit of space from my writing, and me some necessary space from my own voice, and I am going to idle. I am going to have some idle moments and dreams!

How about you? Do you need time to be idle in the best possible way? To read and dream, to hear the voice of God? 

Word of God speak
Would You pour down like rain
Washing my eyes to see
Your majesty
To be still and know
That You’re in this place
Please let me stay and rest
In Your holiness
Word of God speak

Blogger’s Note:  Robynn’s post from Friday will be published as planned on Friday – and I will see you soon! Thank you so much for entering my world through reading and commenting. It is a gift.

Take Off Your Heels and Stay Awhile!


“Mom, you have your heels off!” this from my daughter. She turned to her friend “That means my mom is really relaxed. She usually has her shoes on.”

It’s true. Practically the minute I get out of bed I put my shoes on. It’s a thing I do. I have to be ready for what comes my way, for the day.

Having my heels on says “She’s ready. She’s armed. She can do this thing called life!”

And my kids have realized this: Mom rarely takes her heels off – there’s always something to do, somewhere to be, something to think.

But right now I have my heels off. I have taken off my heavy backpack, kicked off my trusty ‘buy one get one half off’ Payless heels that take me through the streets of Boston, from home to work to church to people. I have a son and daughter-in-law visiting and time away from work. There is time to rest and read; time for long, sunset walks and sleeping in, time to reflect and pray.

A time to remember my “God-given desire for the Divine”.

Taking off our heels and staying awhile is a gift and I know that. I will cherish this and soak in the moments.

So this weekend, whereever you are – I hope you can take off your heels and stay awhile.

O Lord Jesus Christ, open Thou the eyes of my heart, that I may hear Thy word and understand and do Thy Will, for I am but a sojourner upon the earth- St John Chrysostom

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Invitation to Breakfast

I love eating breakfast out at restaurants. Perhaps it’s because I rarely do it, but when I do, it’s always a vacation feel – a sense of the unexpected.

Israel, Sea of Galilee (Lake of Tiberias)

So it was with new eyes that I read the line “Come have breakfast” in the gospel of John.

The verse comes after Jesus has been crucified and has risen, appearing to different people. First he is seen by Mary, then by the disciples and finally by others. He’s on the banks of the Sea of Galilee watching the disciples fishing in a boat on the sea. They have fished the entire night and they’ve caught nothing. Their nets and stomachs are empty. But this man on the banks of the sea tells them “Just try it one more time.”

Just one more time.

So they do it. Weary, frustrated, hungry – they still try one more time. And the result does not disappoint. They catch so many fish that they can’t even bring the full net in. It’s too heavy. You can picture it – fish jumping around in the net, strong men trying with all their muscles to hold the net but they have to throw some back.

And that piece is amazing – this picture of trying one more time and filling a net.

But the compelling piece is on shore where Jesus takes the fish and fixes it for them – those hungry, weary humans. Those men who he has eaten with, walked with, stayed with for three years. He knows them. He knows their frame, he hears their hearts – and he invites them to breakfast.

“Come and have breakfast!”*

Said with full knowledge of all that the invitation means. Come rest. Come sit. Come and be filled. Come – have breakfast!

It’s an early morning here in Boston. The quiet of the city morning is broken by a raucous group of homeless who are waking to the day. Except for coffee shops and a brand new Walgreens that boasts a 24-hour day, all businesses are still closed, their steel barriers down from the day before.

And I have an invitation to breakfast from One who will give rest on a weary Monday.

Maybe you haven’t fished all night – but maybe it’s something else. Maybe your worries have kept you up to the wee hours, your mind occupied with so much that concerns. Maybe something else has kept you up all night – tears flowing because it’s safe when no one can see them. No matter – you have an invitation to breakfast from One who gives rest.

*John 21:12

Invited to Rest

This weekend I was invited to rest. In a camp retreat center located in snowy pine trees beside a grand lake, 135 of us gathered to learn the “unforced rhythms” of grace.
The verse was taken from “the Message”

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me Watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of Grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

It was time set aside to think about prayer, play, and work. I’ll be blogging more about the weekend in the week to come, but in the meantime may you be invited to rest with grace-filled abandon.

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