honey&salt

little ditties | february 3, 2012

// God sends comfort to the afflicted, not the ones playing party games on a Friday night.

// This week I told myself I needed to stop reading blogs that made me feel bad about myself, my life, the way I eat, where I live, how I live, my hair, my face, my clothes… Any blog that’s not feeding me truths or leaving me more thoughtful and encouraged than before I read it needs to go. A stronger person could probably stand up to all these depictions of perfection, but I can’t. Right after I decided that, I saw this. Man, Teddy Roosevelt! He knew what was up.

// I am so close to the end of Kristin Lavransdatter, I can taste the celebratory lefse. My opinion of the title character has gone up and down throughout the series, but this morning I read this paragraph and the impact of the entire 1,050 page story came into focus:

She had not come to God with her [bridal] garland, nor with her sins and her sorrows–not so long as the world still held a drop of sweetness to mix in her cup. But she came now, now she had learned that the world is like a tavern–where he who has naught more to spend from is cast out at the door.

Ah! That paragraph is exactly why I love reading so much. Novels are one of the most clear ways of sharing Truth.

// And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have something in common with Kristen Bell. Not her love of sloths (which is hilarious), but this: “If I’m not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, I’m crying.” GIRL. Me too.

no-bake chocolate oat bars

We are two whole foods people (and two Whole Foods people) living in a world that by and large doesn’t really know how important what we put in our mouths is. I don’t say that to condemn, I say that to point out that when you’re meeting up with your regular crew for movie night, you have to bring your own treats.

Brad was craving a rice krispie-esque treat, so we brainstormed how to make it happen. The only thing we could come up to get close to that crispy factor was toasting oats. Lo and behold, as I looked through the recipes I’ve bookmarked recently, this one popped up. I made a few changes to make it work better for us, but this satisfied his crispy-ish craving (and my perpetual chocolate one).

no-bake chocolate oat bars
adapted from Left on Amelia
makes one 9″ x 13″ pan

Wait, does this say “no-bake”? You do have to turn on the oven briefly to toast the oats. Gray area! I cooked the almond butter, coconut oil, and honey over the lowest possible heat so the honey and coconut oil would arrive in our digestive systems with as much of their benefits intact as possible. And these measurements are approximate–I just put a spoonful or so of everything in the pot. Scientific accuracy is not my strong point.

2 cups rolled oats
1/2 cup raw almond butter (next time I make walnut butter, I’m setting some aside for this)
1/4 to 1/2 cup raw honey
1/4 to 1/2 cup coconut oil
1 3.5-oz. bar of organic dark chocolate, broken into pieces
1/3 to 1/2 cup unsweetened coconut flakes
pinch of sea salt

Preheat the oven to 415 degrees Fahrenheit. Spread the oats on a baking sheet and toast until pale brown, about 8 minutes.

In the meantime, place the almond butter, honey, and coconut oil in a saucepan and melt on super-low heat. Remove from heat and stir in the oats, chocolate, coconut flakes, and salt until all the bits of chocolate turn glossy and melt (I love this part).

Spread in a 9″ x 13″ pan lined with parchment paper. Refrigerate until hard, preferably overnight. Or, put in the freezer because movie night starts in 4 hours and Sherlock Holmes waits for no chocolate bar to harden in the fridge!

little ditties | january 27, 2012

Brad told me last night he thanked God for the parts of our bodies we often take for granted, particularly the five senses. If just one of them were suddenly gone, our existence would be so different. That thought inspired me to think about what I’m experiencing with my five senses lately.

// Seeing: A glorious pink and purple cotton sunrise this morning. The “Blue Marble” photo of Earth in near tree-defining resolution.

// Smelling: Lollia’s Flowering Willow and Lotus handcreme–it’s girly but not cloying. I’m not usually one for scents, but when I put this one on, I feel like a woman. Also: apple cider vinegar. I’ve been using it as a toner on my face a few nights a week. Makes me feel less like a woman and more like a salad.

// Touching: Brad’s cheeks with my lips (that’s right, I went there). Piano keys. Book pages.

// Hearing: The Civil Wars, over and over and over again. Today, it’s this one. And this one. With a side of this one. And this one is an unexpected delight. And if you don’t start moving when you hear this one, you are a stone. By the way, welcome to Brad’s world, because this is all I talk about at home.

// Tasting: Chocolate Oat Bars, the recipe for which is coming your way this weekend, if we don’t eat this entire batch before we photograph it (again).

losing at the library

Those of you who know me as a rule-following goody two-shoes are about to be shocked by what you read. In this post, I will reveal myself as a true rebel. (Sort of.) (Not at all.)

If you follow me on Goodreads, have been to my house and glanced at the coffee table, or peeked into my purse any time in the last two months, you may have noticed I’ve been reading this book called Kristin Lavransdatter for a really really long time. It’s a three-book epic series set in medieval Norway. There’s really nothing more I can say about it to summarize.

The volume is more than 1,000 pages. I am at page 876. The book was due last week. I’ve already renewed it the maximum allowable times, but that didn’t faze me.  I admit, I thought I could charm the librarian into simply checking the book in and immediately checking it back out to me again. I mean, the book was published in the 1920s. It’s set in medieval Norway (have I mentioned that yet?). I’m pretty sure there’s not a line of people behind me to read it. And I assume the person behind the desk is a fellow book-lover and KNOWS what it is to be almost 900 pages through an 1,100-page book and so close to finally being finished with it! One more weekend, people. That’s all I need.

But did this librarian even show me pity? No. Ice cold.

Do you want to see something pathetic? Then I’ll show you a 26-year-old woman wilting at the front desk of the library, fumbling for her phone to make a note of her page number before taking her worn letterpress bookmark out of the tome to tuck into her purse.

(I thought about snatching the book off the counter and running for it.)

my hero

I am the oldest girl in my family, the big sister. (Parenthetically, I’m convinced this is why I don’t know how to do my hair or makeup. Where was my big sister when I needed to learn these vital skills???)

I am truly myself when I’m with my sisters. There’s no filter, no need to impress, no need to hide, no need to explain myself. And the laughing! We’re like a pack of hyenas. It’s really quite disturbing (for everyone else).

Today I need to talk about Jill. She’s the middle girl, the one with The Voice, the worship leader, the youth leader, the kick-A nurse (I can’t believe I just wrote that), and the funniest person I know. Jill is the one who came over to watch Beauty and the Beast with me when Brad gave me the blu-ray (straight out of the vault, people). We turned on the sing-along version and if you think we didn’t dance around my living room and sing along to all the songs, you are dreaming.

But the thing to know about Jill is that she’s my hero, and not because she persuaded me to go see Dolly Parton* with her in concert even though I hate country music though it wound up being one of the most memorable and moving performances of my life. It’s because Jill is the seer and lover of the outcast. She feels and shows Christ’s love and compassion to all the people who get left out, left behind, and are difficult to love. She finds the wounded and patiently speaks truth to them.

She doesn’t just seek the Lord. She hungers for Him. She chases Him and stubbornly won’t stop going after His promises.When I look at her, I see Christ. She’d say that’s a lie, but she’d be the only one.

I look up to her so much. Her devotion, her struggles, and her strength point me to our shared Savior. When I think that someday, she and I will dance and sing around His throne as sisters and daughters of God (and you know we’ll slip a little “Be our Guest” in there), I could weep.

Anyway, all this to say–remember when I wrote this about bitterness? Jill did it much better. Thank you, little sister, for showing me again what true humility, brokenness, and victory looks like.

I have so many excellent photos of us together, I don’t even know where to begin. These are just from my youngest sister’s baby shower. Wait. Y’all read that again: My sister is having a BABY! And you can see her bump in the photo of all three of us below. That bump is everything that is good and right in the world.

Jessie, me, Jill (all with our best did you take the photo yet? face)

* Jill and I are going to go see the Dolly Parton movie Joyful Noise tonight because it has everything we love: Singing, choirs, gospel music (we hope), and Dolly. DOLLY.

P.S. We do have an older brother, too. But he’s single and so good-looking that posting his photo would be inviting far more readers than I’m capable of handling this weekend. So ladies, all in good time.

P.P.S. How my sisters learned to be so pretty with their hair and makeup is beyond me, since clearly I didn’t teach them.

P.P.P.S. Things have been so deep around here lately, no? I’ll work on another riveting book review. Or something.

a letter to myself

Just after New Year’s, we got test results that confirm my Lyme diagnosis. Bummer! I began treatment and all is going well, especially since I don’t have any physical symptoms from the illness (and let’s keep it that way!). In the days after getting the news, a million things were running through my head. I started writing some of them down. So yes, I’m publicizing my habit of talking to myself.

These are things I don’t want you to forget. You went through a hard spell, and there will be more icky days like those in the future, I’m sure. While you’re bobbing up and down emotionally, a bit of light, hope, and perspective will help. I mean, do I know you or do I know you? Listen up.

First of all, you have to know the dreams you and Brad have for your future are still there. God is still the dream maker and the dream fulfiller, and He is still crafting a future for both of you.

Sorrow isn’t bad–it has its place. This is where healing begins; this is where He meets us. But don’t fall in love with sorrow or with the feeling that it makes you special somehow. Instead, fall in love with the Comforter who catches your tears.

Remember the lost feeling you have when you don’t read the Bible or spend time praying and reflecting. Even better, remember the peace reading the scriptures gives you. Remember the joy in encouraging Brad with what you’ve read. Remember what a privilege it is to have access to those words.

Keep losing yourself in worship. God uses it to strip you down and make you vulnerable and ready for refinement. Keep allowing Him to use that time in that way. It’s ok to cry in front of people because you’re in the throne room of God, so it’s not about you or them, it’s about Him.

You have an awesome husband. Probably the world’s best. And you get the honor of praying for him, rejoicing with him, laughing with him, and helping him. Your attitude can steer his attitude. Because you love him, keep yourself in prayer so you can be the support and the joy he needs. Yes, that’s a big deal and it’s a big responsibility. But it’s all kinds of wonderful, too. Keep loving that role and loving him. And seriously, do the dishes for him more often. He does them a lot and you do them, like, never.

Yes, your job is relatively meaningless and sometimes a little silly. Embrace it. You need a little bit of the wackadoo in your life.

God hasn’t forgotten about you. You don’t have it the worst out of everyone in the world.

Never forget you are the Lord’s dear one and you are never out of His grip.

And remember these:

O Lord, remember earnestly my affliction and my misery, my wandering and my outcast state, the wormwood and the gall. My soul has them continually in remembrance and is bowed down within me. But this I recall and therefore have I hope and expectation: It is because of the Lord’s mercy and lovingkindness that we are not consumed, because His tender compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great and abundant is Your stability and faithfulness. The Lord is my portion or share, says my living being (my inner self); therefore will I hope in Him and wait expectantly for Him.
Lamentations 3: 19-24 (Amplified)

But as it is written, ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.’
1 Corinthians 2:9

 And finally, get excited. God’s remedy is coming.

it is well (we pray)

We got some discouraging news this week in our battle against the loathsome Lyme bugs. I’m not ready to share yet, but know that this hymn (one of my favorites) is on my lips and in my heart this week as a fervent prayer for Brad and I. If you think of it, would you join me?

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

further up and further in

Happy New Year!

I have one resolution this year and it is this: Further up and further in.

frailty

Merry Christmas, everyone! I love this magical week in between Christmas and New Year’s. It’s hard to take anything too seriously when you’re going to movies during the day, eating fudge with every meal, and playing card games with your sisters while laughing like a lunatic.

I have a gift for you all. It’s this song.*

It’s an incredible song about a relationship that needs to end and while I do have a story that parallels the song closely, that’s not what always grabs me when I listen to this (over and over and over again because I’m obsessive like that).

It’s the phrase carry me in grace. I can’t get it out of my head; it’s been my prayer for the last two months. I normally invoke it when I’m worried about getting all the day-to-day things done with the right attitude, but this week I’ve been thinking about how Christmas is grace.

Our Creator, our Lord, our Warrior, our Healer orchestrated events so He could also be our Savior. He loved His frail creation so much, He came here to be with us, to live what we live, and save us.

And all that’s required of us–of me–is to accept that and continue to pray carry me in grace, carry me in grace.

*Written and performed by Jon Rand, one of my brother-in-law’s close friends in Montana. He’s good people. (With an appearance by my sister, Jill, whose voice is ohmygoodness amazing and my favorite thing to listen to in the whole wide world).

spelt pie crust

A good pie crust is a point of pride. I mean, Laura Ingalls Wilder could probably make a darn fine pie crust and let’s be honest: I want to be Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I made a test pie crust out of spelt flour that was just all wrong. Too much butter, it wasn’t worked into the flour enough, it was too sweet. It was the worst kind of disappointment because I thought pie crust-making was a skill I had previously mastered. (Incidentally, the leftover disk of that “all wrong” pie crust became the absolutely delicious vessel of turkey pot pie the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I need to be easier on myself.)

For the real deal, I abandoned my touchy-feely rub the butter in with your hands method and decided it was time to get down and dirty. I processed my pie crust, and it turned out great. If that’s not lazy enough, I didn’t even deliberate over a new recipe, I just turned to the open magazine page on my counter that had Sara Foster’s recipes on it and made her pie crust, too. Here’s the winning number.

Spelt Pie Crust
adapted from Better Homes and Gardens November 2011
makes 2 disks

This recipe is pretty standard, except she calls vinegar instead of vodka for flakiness. That’s right, Ms. Foster makes a point of replacing the vodka. I say, I have precious few reasons to pull vodka out in my kitchen, why give up this one? So into the pie crust it goes.

2-1/4 cups white spelt flour
generous pinch of salt
1/4 cup sucanat (optional)
1-1/2 sticks of unsalted butter, cut lengthwise and then in half
1/4 cup cold water
1/8 to 1/4 cup vodka

Add all ingredients to a food processor and pulse until the mixture resembles crumbs. (About 12 pulses.) Divide the dough and form into two disks. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour or freeze for 30 minutes. Roll out and use.

(Turkey Pot Pie: Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a saucepan; add 1/2 onion (diced), 2-3 stalks of celery (diced), 3 carrots (diced), 1 sweet potato (diced), 1 cup frozen peas, 2 tablespoons dried parsley, 2 teaspoons oregano, salt, and pepper. Saute until vegetables begin to soften. Add 2 cups water or broth, 1/2 cup milk, 2 tablespoons spelt flour. Bring to boil, simmer until thick. Stir in 1-1/2 cups diced cooked turkey. Pour into prepared pie crust; top with another. Bake at 425 degrees Fahrenheit for 15 minutes, then lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and bake 20 minutes longer. Or just throw in whatever you want and bake until you think it’s done. That’s usually what I do.)