A good Christmas

When we bought this North Carolina house, we loved the woods around it.  We did not, however, examine these woods very closely.

While we were moving into this house, we went out on the screen porch to sit and rest a bit.  I noticed that the woods were closer than I had realized.  One tree in particular was incredibly tall, and close.  Sitting on the screen porch, I had the feeling I could reach out and touch that giant tree.  Of course I couldn't, but it gave that feeling, a very, very close feeling.  It shot up like a telephone pole, only farther.  It had no branches until it ascended above the canopy of the other trees, and then it extended a small bush of greenery like a plume above a hat.

I noticed, on that move-in day, that the giant tree swayed forebodingly when the wind blew.

I loved that tree, but I was also afraid of it.  I thought we should take it out, but I couldn't bear the thought.  On stormy nights, it always haunted me.  I often prayed that it would not fall on our house.  I once read an Anne Tyler book about a man who lost his wife when a tree fell on their house.  That book came back to me many times, as I lived under the shadow of our tallest tree.

On December 23, we had strong winds.  I told Shawn that I would really like a generator for Christmas, and asked if he would find me one, "today." 

I ought to have prefaced this by saying that we did not do much about presents this year.  I am completely over the whole Christmas present tradition.  We are so rich, as a culture; we have everything we want or need.  Whenever we want or need something, we immediately get it for ourselves, usually from Amazon.  There is no delayed gratification, no waiting until Christmas like there used to be in the old days.  We have so much stuff, we actually have a much greater need of getting rid of things than of procuring them.  Our houses are stuffed to the gills and need to be cleared.  There are entire books, blogs and "courses" devoted to teaching people how to purge useless material items from their lives.  This year I decided to get my kids something very small but hopefully fun or useful, so they would have a package to open, and then accompany this with a monetary gift in (I hope) a significant amount.  So anyway, Shawn and I had agreed to not buy anything for each other.  But on December 23, I felt a deep desire in my soul for a generator, and I asked him to get us one. "It can be our gift to each other," I said.

Shawn headed out to Harbor Freight. Shannon had graced us with her delightful presence, flying in from Boston, so she and I headed to the gym. Shannon and I arrived home before Shawn. I was in my bedroom, cleaning up post-workout, when I looked out the window and saw Shawn in the backyard.  It surprised me to see someone back there, but my startled nerves calmed when I saw that it was my own husband.

He came in after a bit and asked, "Have you looked in the backyard?" I replied, "I saw you in the the backyard." Well, turns out he was in the backyard because, upon driving up to the house, he noticed immediately that our tall tree had fallen.  I ran to the window, and joy flooded my being: The tree fell, and it fell away from the house.  Shawn is sad because he loved that magnificent tree. But I am tremendously relieved that it is down.  Also, now we will be able to measure how tall it was; I've always wondered.

Also we were the proud owners of a new generator.  And the next morning, Christmas Eve, we woke up to a power outage and had to use our generator right away.  We made coffee, connected the internet, plugged in the refrigerator, and even started up a little space heater.

What a great Christmas! And due to the downsizing of gifts, there was never any big mess to clean up, either.

I have struggled to wrap my heart and mind around the true meaning of the birth of Christ this year... not that I don't believe it.  I absolutely do believe!  It's just that my affections were not engaged the way I would have hoped.  I will write about this more, in 2023.

Thankful for a November Miracle

God works things out in the most interesting ways.

For instance, He saw to it that Christmas would be correlated with the winter solstice, the day when light first, almost imperceptibly, begins to increase against the darkness.  I mention this often, because it continually amazes me.

God likewise connected the spring equinox with Easter, that glorious celebration of Jesus' victory over darkness.  Not only is light increasing, but the spring equinox marks the day when there is more light than darkness in each day.

We can also ponder how Thanksgiving, and other harvest celebrations, happen when light is decreasing the most, when there are more hours of dark in a day than hours of light, and the darkness expands until the winter solstice--the birth of the Messiah--signals the awaited change in light.  But in the weeks before the winter solstice, when lack of sunshine symbolically represents our earthly brokenness most clearly, we find ourselves exhorted to give thanks and look forward to when the tide of darkness will begin to turn back.

Of course, these things only apply in the northern hemisphere. Yet, approximately 87% of the world's population lives in the northern hemisphere.  Nearly 90%.  This is surely worth pondering.

Speaking of the days leading up to the winter solstice, my mother was born at the beginning of November. She turned ninety this year.  Ninety years ago, a tiny baby girl was born at the end of a harsh Minnesota autumn, into a world of bare-branched black trees and bitter blowing winds.  She was the final hurrah, the ninth of nine in a large, depression-era family, a fragile speck of almost invisible beauty and hope in need of all the warm, worn blankets they could scrounge up for her.

Now she is ninety and can't remember very many things when she tries to recall them, although she remembers quite a lot when she is able to relax and allow the memories to drift into her mind.  She is fragile and tiny once again, but very industrious, even though it hurts her back when she gets down on her hands and knees to wipe the floors.

I was there for her birthday, back in the home where I grew up, the one place that has remained the same all these years while I have moved from state to state, selling, donating and discarding so many of the random artifacts that signified my life.  When we left New York, I worked as hard as I could to winnow properly, but ran out of time, the net result being that the stuff from the main floor and upstairs were mostly adequately curated, but the boxes from the back of the basement were loaded up and moved as they were, so we ended up with an odd assortment of the things I wanted and valued most, strange objects from a past I could hardly remember, and some legitimate rubbish.  When we left Illinois, we had to pay for the move ourselves, so I parted with breathtaking portions of our belongings, including many things I sorely miss when I see them in photos.  I can easily slip into grief if I think about it, although of course we have more than enough to meet all our needs, and a number of new things besides.  

All this to say that there is a sort of comfort in going back to my parents' home and living amongst the familiar: children's books that Dad read to me when I was a little child, and the Oneida Twin Star silverware, the same pattern that First Baptist kept in their church kitchen.  Gold plastic cups my brother brought home from a plastic factory where he worked during college, a painting of penguins I made in 5th grade that has hung ever since on the laundry room wall.  The closet in the bedroom where I slept as a teenager contains a row of dresses my mom sewed for me.  We used to go to Minnesota Fabrics to pick out a pattern and fabric together, and she made the dresses I wore to church.  There they still are, cotton print memories with full skirts.  The green shag carpet my parents installed in my early childhood bedroom is still on the floor, more than 50 years later, and it has been vacuumed more than 5,148 times (I used a formula to arrive at that number).  I still remember the joyful disbelief I felt when they were willing to install green shag carpet for me, because I had always dreamed of having a floor that looked like grass.

I was nervous about flying to Minnesota by myself, although I wanted to go, and I thought the Lord also wanted me to go.  I had a 6 a.m. flight, so we got up in the middle of the night and left our house at 4:00, planning to arrive at the airport by around 4:30 because Shawn always says you don't need to be at the airport two full hours early, regardless of official advice.  Usually when we fly, Shawn handles both of our tickets on his phone.  When I have flown alone, Shawn has always printed out my boarding pass so I can hold a paper copy.  For some reason, this time I told him not to bother printing me a boarding pass, so on the way to the airport, I practiced navigating to my boarding pass on my phone until I felt confident.

We arrived at the airport after having to take a detour to a different exit off I-40, and we navigated through a maze of construction cones in front of the terminal.  Shawn heaved my 45 pound suitcase out of the trunk; I gathered myself and my wits together.  We said our good-byes, Shawn driving away into the dark pre-morning, and I heading inside to check my bag.  I approached the kiosk to print out my luggage tag and, needing my ticket, reached into the pocket on the side of my purse where I keep my phone.  It was empty.  "What?" I whispered, "Please, God."  The pocket was definitely empty.  I unzipped my purse to check inside, rummaging through a number of times, soon realizing that no, I did not have my phone.  My first instinct was to call Shawn and tell him, but of course I could not do that.  

I quickly scanned my surroundings and saw a very normal and kind looking man in line a few feet away from me. "Pardon me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I seem to have left my phone in my husband's car, and he is driving away right now.  Do you think I could borrow your phone?" I desperately blurted out.

"Oh, no problem," he said, handing me his phone.  I fumbled around and dialed Shawn as quickly as I could.  There was no answer.  I left a message, telling him, "I don't know when you will get this, but you have my phone." Then I helplessly told the man, "He didn't pick up," irrationally fearing that he would be cross and not allow me to try a second call to my phone.

"Call your phone?" he suggested.

"Yes," I said, "Yes, thank you.  I'm sure he'll see it.  It will light up."  I called my phone, but the call went directly to voicemail.  I was stunned.

"It will be okay," the man said, "You can go get in line, and they will print you a paper ticket.  And you can have your husband overnight your phone to you with FedEx.  You'll get it by tomorrow.  It will be okay.  Don't worry.  We used to fly without our phones all the time, and we were fine."

I thanked him and moved to get into the line.  He asked if I was traveling internationally, and I told him no.  He pointed at the sign above us and said, "This is the international line." Then he pointed across the way, "You need to go over there."  My heart sank as I saw how much longer the domestic flight line was, but I went over and stood in it.  The man called after me, "I hope it works out for you!"

Signs all around me repeated the phrase: "Pre-tagged bag drop."  All the other people in the line had tags on their bags.  The last time I flew with a checked bag, I had approached the counter without a tag on my bag, and the man behind the counter had yelled at me to go back and tag my bag.  I stood in line and thought, "Am I going to get yelled at again?" and, "How will I coordinate with my brother-in-law to pick me up at the airport, without my phone?" and, "I wonder when Shawn will realize that he has my phone?"  I observed the three different people servicing the counter, noticing that the one on the far right seemed significantly more sympathetic than the other two.  I prayed, "God, please let me get the nice one."  I felt completely powerless and dependent.  I prayed, "Thank you God that I am right here close to home, and if I can't reach Shawn, I can borrow another phone to call and ask David or Ashton to come and get me.  I am not stranded in a strange place.  Thank you.  I thought you wanted me to go to Minnesota for my mom's birthday, but if you don't, that's okay.  I won't panic.  It will be okay.  I do not know what is going to happen, or if I am going to see my parents, but you do, Lord.  All I can do is wait and see how you will work this out.  I will wait and see what you do."

Then I was at the head of the line, and it was the nice lady on the far right, motioning me to come over.  And just then I looked over to the far left, and right outside the queue stood Shawn in his blue-green Under Armour shirt, so tall, with his right hand high in the air waving my phone at me.  "I got your message," he called.

I ran over and retrieved my phone from Shawn, and then the nice lady at the counter--she was so kind--helped me tag my bag and get it all squared away.

So it was a miracle, but you have to hear the other side to realize how exquisite a miracle it was.

Shawn, as I said, had driven away into the pre-morning dark.  He was uncharacteristically edgy because of the construction and the detour, and he was trying to concentrate on how best to get back on I-40 west.  He knew he would need to take a right exit, but there was another car on his right, blocking him from getting into the right lane.  He tried to speed up and get ahead of the car, but it matched his speed and sped up, too.  So he tried to slow down and pull in behind the car, but when he slowed down, it also slowed down.  No matter what he did, it matched his speed and blocked him. He was feeling a building sense of annoyance at this "jerk," when he saw my phone lying on the passenger seat.  He thought, "She needs that."  And he realized that he must formulate a plan.  As he was trying to decide what to do, the car on his right swerved left, and he had to swerve left to avoid it, and this maneuver catapulted him onto the left exit that goes straight into the airport parking garage.  So, he continued on into the garage, found a convenient spot to park, and sprinted to the terminal with my phone, hoping he would find me.  Which he did.

After I dropped off my bag, Shawn walked with me to the security line.  We squeezed hands, talked about how thankful we were (although we didn't have a chance to exchange the details of our stories until later), and exchanged hugs (perhaps also a kiss).

The reason Shawn did not hear either of our phones ring is because we always set our phones to "do not disturb" overnight, and it was 4:40 a.m.

But it was okay.  Fear was gone.  God had reaffirmed the trip, His presence, His power, and His compassionate mercy.  In fact, when Shawn left the parking garage, he'd been there for such a short time, he didn't even have to pay anything!

God is always good, but I am especially grateful when He is good in tender and attentive ways that are easy for me to recognize and appreciate.  Miracles make my heart sing.

You are worth more

 

It took me awhile to decide to write about this, but I need to remember.

On the last day of August, I was recovering from a very long road trip.  My gardens regretted the absence of my vigilant care over the course of two extremely hot weeks.

After a day or two of avoiding the garden issue, tending instead to unpacking, laundry, and shopping for groceries, I finally plucked up courage to venture out and have a look at the damage.

Immediately outside the garage, a white chiffon rose-of-Sharon (hibiscus syriacus) stood, prolifically blooming, and also prolifically dropping spent blooms onto the mulch below, in an ever-widening circle.  Duffy loves to eat these dropped blooms; indeed, he is tremendously greedy.  Unfortunately, when he gorges himself on hibiscus flowers, he gets sick, and he never learns. So, with some urgency, I prepared a large cardboard box for gathering plant trimmings and detritus. I knelt at the base of the rose-of-Sharon and began scooping up withered white blossoms.  As I worked, the breeze meandered around me and the sun shifted bright dapples through swaying leaves.  Some sunlight caught a brilliant glimmer of green and blue down in the mulch.  I glanced quickly towards it, expecting to see a dragonfly launch itself and fly away, but except for the light, there was no movement.  What? I whispered, and reached out wonderingly, pulling away the faded white flowers surrounding the radiance.

It was a hummingbird, a tiny, lustrous, fallen hummingbird, lying stone-still on the ground, reflecting green-blue beauty in the midst of a sea of browning white hibiscus petals.  Sadness gutted my heart.  I felt guilty, as though I caused the death, and I felt ashamed for seeing such a tragedy.  Who finds a lifeless hummingbird at the bottom of her shrub?  Isn't this a rhythm of nature that should be private and hidden?  "No, God," I said, "Please, no. Why?"

Still feeling guilty and ashamed, I used a layer of flowers to pick up the almost weightless body without touching it directly.  The tiny head drooped under the weight of the long, elegantly curved beak.  I will never forget the slender black beak, so long in proportion to the body, jutting out from smooth, shining plumage.  I wanted to save this morsel of creation, but how?  I placed it in the cardboard box, on top of a layer of blossoms, and continued gathering, scooping blossoms, filling the box, covering the hummingbird many times over.  In the end, I walked back and forth a number of times before tossing the obscenely full box into our garbage can.  A dull ache in my stomach, a shuddering in my chest, I left off gardening for the day.

The next day I received information that something was going wrong for some people I love dearly.  There was a need for a doctor visit.  I thought of the hummingbird and I prayed, "Please God, no."

Please God, no. Please God, don't let it be.

But it was.

Why? I asked. We all asked.  Why do we have to lose such preciousness?  Why do beautiful, tiny things have to leave us?  Why does life have to be so sad?

Why did the Lord prepare me with the hummingbird?  

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not, therefore; you are worth more than many sparrows.  ~Matthew 10:29-31

A sparrow is a common bird, but a hummingbird is a treasure and a delight.  If God sees little gray sparrows fall, of course He sees a tiny, exquisite hummingbird.  And other things even more exquisite.

Why?

"In this world, you will have trouble," Jesus told us.  "But take heart.  I have overcome the world."  ~John 16:33

He has overcome.  He laid down His life to make a bridge for us to reach paradise.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.  And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new."  Also He said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."  ~Revelation 21:4-5

Yet, during this time after Jesus won the victory, but while the New Kingdom gestates slowly within believing hearts, before our future glory appears, Jesus hurts for our brokenness.  The already and the not yet swirl around us in a tension of loss, hope, devastation and beauty. Tension brings strain, and stress, and confusion. He knows. He has compassion for us. He has empathy.

Jesus wept.  ~John 11:35

Jesus weeps for us, His beloved creation, caught in a continuum of sin-stained time that hurts us deeply despite the precious surety of His great promises.  Jesus knows our pain, for He entered time Himself and lived with us.  He has experienced all the pain of life, all the pain of death, and all the pain which is the consequence of all the sins that have ever and will ever be committed.  He knows how painful earth has been for Him, Jesus, God, the perfect, powerful one.  He knows how weak we are in comparison, and how impossible it is for us to bear up under the burden.

Thus, our Lord invites us to trust Him.  He encourages us to come to Him.  He promises to give us rest by coming under the yoke alongside us, bearing the weight of it for us, with His strength.  He loves us.  He longs to gather us into His arms and comfort us.  He promises that He is our strength, our joy, our sufficiency.  He promises that all the pain will be made up for, a billion times over, redeemed perfectly and completely, beyond our wildest imaginations.

We only need to trust and wait.  And the waiting is for a good purpose.  Everything the Lord does is for a good purpose, centered in His desire and plan to save many, many people.  He is waiting for His children to come to Him.  He knows who they are.  And He will not shut the door to eternity until He has gathered all His own into His Kingdom, into His arms.

our defense

 

Indeed, when the Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature the things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law, since they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts now accusing, now even defending them.  ~Romans 2:14, NIV84 [emphasis mine]

Perhaps when God judges us, 

He will hold us accountable for how we handled whatever knowledge we had of Him.

Perhaps it is actually not so much about what we know, 

as about how we respond to what we know, 

or maybe even how

--or if--

we search when we do not know.

Suppose it is a more delicate thing when God judges, than simply, "Did you declare Jesus to be your Lord and Savior?"  Just suppose.  God is not constrained to something that neatly fits within our ability to imagine.  God is far more complex than we can imagine.  Also, he clearly tells us that he looks at the heart, the inner person, not the outer persona.  Confessing Jesus as Lord and Savior is very important, but the Bible also tells us in both Isaiah 45 and Philippians 2 that one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.   The question is not whether you verbally acknowledge his Lordship.  The question is: What was going on in your heart?  Only God himself can answer that question.     

A person in search of God, righteousness, truth and justice will find what he is looking for.  God is not far from any of us, and if we reach out for him, we will find him.  He himself will be the master of our journeys.  Some people find him quickly, while others travel many long, steep and twisted roads on a difficult journey to discover truth.  But those who seek him will find him, even (and this flies in the face of much that has been taught throughout Christendom) if they search until they die and meet him on the threshold of the next life.  Only those who stubbornly refuse to seek, who consistently refuse to see or hear, who perpetually insist on following their own way, will be condemned. 

Understanding this requires some finesse.  We are easily deceived concerning our own actions and motivations.  We often embark upon testing a hypothesis after we have already made up our minds what the result should be.  As this "discovery process" unfolds, we skew our interpretation of the facts we uncover, twisting them to match our preconceived belief about what the result should be.  Those who are inclined to believe that there is a God will, admittedly, be biased towards seeing God's presence in their lives.  Many secularly minded souls are quick to point this out and belittle people of faith.  But the opposite is also true: those who are inclined to scoff at the idea that there is a God will be biased towards explaining him away, despite any evidence they encounter.   Very intelligent people go to extreme lengths to construct labyrinthian philosophies of life that allow for the existence of a Universe that originated from no source, no creator, no god.

Thus, I fear there will always be people who claim to have sought for God, but in the deep recesses of their hearts did not want to find him.  They may not even know that they did not want to find him; they might claim that they absolutely wanted to find him.  The problem, it seems, is in our difficulty letting go of what we want God to be, when we go searching for him.  We want to be able to craft him in our imaginations, to make him a god who loves us in a tolerant and indulgent way, who agrees with our assessment of what is good or bad, who allows us to live in any way we wish, who would never ask us to do anything hard, or to give anything up.   You will not find him if that is what you are searching for, because that is not what he is like.  He has better things for us than the earthy pleasures we crave.  If we demand that he be a vehicle to provide us with ease in the material world, rather than an unimaginable grace who lifts us above this world altogether, we will not find him.

And yet, for those who long to know God, who know that there is a justice and a righteousness that exists outside of themselves and far exceeds any justice or righteousness they could ever attain in their own strength, who weep over the wrongs of this poor, broken world and find themselves hoping--despite the apparent futility of hope--that all will someday be made right . . .

for those who recognizing that a significant part of what needs righting 

is our own defective hearts . . . 

to these, God will reveal himself with infinite grace.

God will reveal himself to those who seek him, if we seek him in truth and humility, willing to surrender in worship to the only one who is all wise, all powerful and all good.  

                                            

How I prepare baby back ribs

This is a description of how I prepare baby back ribs.

Incidentally, you can get practically all of the ingredients for this recipe at Aldi, except perhaps cayenne pepper and smoked paprika.  I have no affiliation with Aldi, but in this economic climate, I figure we can all use hints for how to eat affordably.  Also, Aldi's baby back ribs are the best.  Honestly.  They are so good, and I get nothing for saying that.

I had no experience with ribs, but one day I was shopping at Aldi and I saw some baby back ribs that looked delicious.  I bought them, took them home, and began googling how to prepare them.  This is what I came up with:

(1) Purchase a rack of baby back ribs.  I think they are usually around 2 lbs?  I look for meaty ribs without too much fat.

(2) Assemble your seasonings on your work surface, and remove lids.  Put the brown sugar into a small bowl.

    a.  Fundamental seasonings that I figure I have to have: 

                salt or seasoned salt (sprinkle generously)

                cayenne pepper (sprinkle lightly)

                smoked paprika (sprinkle generously)

                garlic powder or granulated garlic (sprinkle generously)

                onion powder (sprinkle generously)

                brown sugar (sprinkle generously; I use 3-4 Tbsp. in total)

    b.  Optional seasonings depending on my mood:

                dry mustard (or spicy brown or dijon prepared mustard) **This almost qualifies as fundamental

                cumin

                celery seed

                oregano

    c.  Notes: Many recipes call for chili powder, but I don't care for it on ribs.  Also, many recipes call for fresh garlic and onion, which is fine if you want to use them, but I like the better control I get with powdered, and I do not notice any compromise in flavor.

(5)  Tear off a sheet of heavy-duty aluminum foil that measures 2.5 x the length of your rack of ribs.  Lay it out on your work surface with the shiny side up.

(4)  Unwrap the ribs in your sink and remove the membrane on the back by working a finger underneath it at the center, and then gently but firmly pulling up to peel it away in both directions.  Rinse the ribs and pat dry with a paper towel.  Lay upside down in the center of the foil and season the back/bottom with spices listed above, according to your taste.  Gently rub into the meat with your fingers, and flip the ribs right side up.

(5) Wash your hands and repeat the process of seasoning.  At the end of this, I usually put some spicy brown mustard in dollops over the top, but I do not put prepared mustard on the bottom (too messy), although if I am using dry mustard, I apply it both top and bottom.

(6) Bring the ends of the foil together, and seal loosely by rolling them together until the top is flat.  (Basically, you just want to get the ribs loosely sealed in a nice foil packet, but I'll try to digram the easiest way I've found to do this):

    The above diagram is looking at it from the side, and shows what it looks like if you actually get too much foil.  You won't have that loose a triangle, or that big a rolled seal, if you use 2.5 times the length of your rib rack.

    The above diagram is looking down on what you did previously, from the top.  And, I didn't illustrate the last step (see handwritten directions on diagram about rolling up the open sides), but hopefully you can figure out what I mean.  Or you can do it your own way.  I don't want to make a simple thing into a big deal.  You just want to seal up the meat enough to keep it tender, but not so tightly that it steams.  You will be pouring off the liquid that collects in the packet later, and my method is a relatively easy way to set you up to be able to open the sides of the packet and do that at the opportune time.

(7)  I am feeling very bad about my communication skills here.  But the main things: Lay ribs (membrane removed) on foil.  Season with mostly dry seasonings (maybe a bit of prepared mustard), and seal up in a foil packet.

(8) Place the foil wrapped, seasoned ribs on a large cookie sheet with edges (in case your packet leaks).  Place in oven and set to 275.  No need to preheat.  Bake for 3 hours.

(9) After the ribs have baked about 2 hours, prepare the BBQ sauce.  The amounts listed are guesses.  I never measure any of this, which should make you confident that there is a wide range of acceptability:

• 1/3 cup apricot preserves
• 1/3 cup steak sauce (Like A1, but I use the Aldi stuff; it's good.)
• 2/3 cup BBQ sauce (I like to look for a hickory smoke flavored one.  I usually use what is available at Aldi.)
• 3 Tbsp spicy brown or Dijon mustard
• 3 drops of liquid smoke.  Do not use too much of this.  But a little bit is delicious.

    Melt the apricot preserves over low heat in a heavy saucepan.  Add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil.  Reduce to very low heat and let simmer until you are ready to use it.

(10) When the ribs have baked 3 hours, remove them from the oven and carefully open the sides of the packet, one at a time, and drain excess juice from each side.  Don't drain them bone dry; just get most of the liquid, so they are not swimming in broth.

(11) Unroll the center seal of the foil to expose the ribs.  Press/crumple the foil up around the ends and sides of the ribs to create a snug vessel.  Pour the BBQ sauce over the ribs.  You want the snug vessel of foil to hold the sauce close to the ribs and prevent it from just running underneath them and leaking away.

(12) Return to oven and bake awhile longer.  Depending on your needs, you can bake them for 45 minutes at 275.  Or you can bake them for 25 minutes at 350.  Or you can even bake them for 10 minutes at 350, followed by a brief broil to caramelize some blisters on top.  If you do a slow, low bake and they don't look as crusty as you'd like, you can do a quick broil at the end of that, too.  This step depends on what you like, and your oven, and so many things.  Just be careful not to dry them out or burn them.  Check often during this step.  They don't need any more cooking at this point, but it is nice to give the BBQ sauce a chance to bake in and thicken.

That's it.  It's far easier than it seems when I write it all out.  This is a real man-pleaser, but I like them too.

The limits of pictures

We live in a visually driven culture.  

Sometimes I try to take a picture of my garden.  I can never capture what I want to capture when I step back to get a landscape view.  Trying again and again, I produce something that simply fails to pick up the varied colors of the flowers.  Or the photo makes everything look too far apart and spread out.  Or the house behind the garden is distracting, or the air-conditioner unit forms an eyesore.

Interior pictures are likewise frustrating.  I often find that the ceiling becomes a major impediment to my photo goals.  Why, when I never notice the ceiling when I'm in the room, is it all over the pictures I take?

Even at the beach, I struggle to capture with my camera what I see with my eyes.  I know there is an aspect of photography where you should simply look through your lens and take your picture when you are happy with what you see in the viewfinder.  But don't other people, besides me, sometimes have a gut desire to capture something they see with their eyes when they are not looking through their camera?

As I ponder the difference between what we really see and what we can photograph, I am concerned about how much of our life is spent chasing picture on our phones these days.  Oh, if we could only remember that what we see in those internet photos does not translate directly to real life.

We used to know a photographer named Holly.  She took the most beautiful pictures of people.  I don't think she had much, if any, formal training in photography, and she wasn't what you would call a tech whiz with her equipment, although she understood it well enough.  I marveled at how good her pictures were, trying to figure out her technique, and one day I realized what is was.  She loved people and saw the beauty in them.  Her own exuberant positivity and openness and kind-heartedness came through in her pictures.  She felt authentic affection for the people she was photographing, and enjoyed catching them at their best.

So there is sometimes an aspect of reality in the photographic image.  Sometimes a photograph realistically displays the heart of the photographer.

Sometimes.  Don't start quoting that the next time someone close to you takes a terrible picture of you by accident.  I love my gardens, but I really struggle to get good pictures of them.

Happy June (or Good-bye June, farewell Summer Solstice)

I keep trying to write, but I can't.

I have no more words.

Here is a picture of a lily that opened in my garden today.

Shading out weeds

 Gardening consumes my days and my energy.

You wouldn't necessarily know it by observing.  I'm a slow learner.  But over the past three springs, I have learned.  Although my garden is far from what would qualify as an accomplished garden, each year it is a little better than the year before.  This is both satisfying and reassuring.  Although I learn slowly, although the climate and light and soil are different every time I have to start over, although change is a constant and elusive factor, I am learning.

The previous homeowner here did some curious placement of plants.  I think back to our previous home, where we discovered peonies planted in the dense shade of the back beds, and I realize that when those people planted those flowers, the trees were probably much smaller and the yard much sunnier.  Here, I think it was partly a matter of working with little potted specimens from the garden center, forgetting to account for how they would grow.  The other part, I surmise, was an attempt to hide things from the voracious deer.

I spent a goodly amount of time and effort here, digging up small plants that were planted in shady spots behind tall plants, where they could neither be seen nor receive ample sunlight to grow.  I often asked myself, "Why would you plant a short plant behind a tall plant?"  

And yet, now that I am figuring things out, I find that I do it once in awhile, myself, on purpose.  For instance, I planted some hardy geranium (cranesbill) behind sedum and agastache, which are roughly twice its height.  This was a desperate attempt to figure out how to create an aesthetic display on our difficult south-western side, under a decorative maple that probably used to be much smaller than it is now.  Shaded by the tree and the house for most of the morning, this bed then undergoes incredibly harsh sun beating down from approximately 2 pm until 6 pm.  The sedum and agastache can pull through in the front row, but everything I used to try to plant behind them would topple forward, crushing them, reaching out scrawny branches desperate for sun during the shady mornings.  Finally, I stopped trying to back them with taller plants, and stuck in a hardy geranium that can accept some strong sun, but also doesn't mind shade.  Voila!  A lovely mound of foliage dotted with fuschia flowers now fills in behind the front row, and I don't think it looks bad.

Our house came with a surprise shade bed on the northwest corner.  It was a surprise, because when we moved in, the deer had eaten it down to nothing.  But the following spring, a lovely collection of ferns and hostas, and a black lace elderberry bush, popped up, delighting me.  Although it requires frequent and generous dousings with deer repellent, this bed is one of my joys.  I've added a pale pink astilbe.  Astilbes always make my heart sing.

The previous owners also planted a black cohosh and a purple oxalis in the shade bed.  Black cohosh gets very tall, with plumes reaching 5-8 feet.  Purple oxalis grows to 6-12 inches.  Of course they planted the oxalis behind the cohosh.  

To the left of this picture is the house, to the right, part of the back yard.  A large green fern graces the top, and a variegated hosta sits near the bottom.  The washed-out burgundy foliage that crosses over the grass line on the right, and the lacy green foliage under it are both part of the black cohosh, leaves at differing stages of maturity.  Though this photo is taken from above, you can kind of tell that the cohosh is tall, because of the differences in the camera's focus.  The little patch of deep purple on the left in the center is the purple oxalis, tucked away where it can't even be see from the yard.

I didn't know what either plant was until I was able to research and identify them.  I learned that purple oxalis is usually a houseplant, doesn't generally survive outside, and doesn't like to be moved.  So I left it where it is.  It has been a consistent delight, coming back reliably each year, quietly existing under the cohosh.  I only see this plant when I look for it, but when I do, there are almost always a few delicate pale pink blossoms floating among the dark purple foliage, brightening the dark shade in its corner.

See the hidden pink blossom?

The oxalis shades out a few weeds, and brings me joy when I happen across it after forgetting about it.  That is all of its existence.

When I garden, I often think about how plants are like people.  Of course, with plants, you always have next year to try again, and when you have children, you have one shot.  Only one.  Last year, the weather was very difficult, two late freezes and a tornado with hail.  Oh how I labored over my gardens, and how they struggled.  If the metaphorical equivalent happens to you with your children, that's that, and you have to take it and deal with it as best you can.  You will not get another cycle to try again.  This is a sobering truth, but it doesn't make me enjoy gardening any less.  If anything, it makes me love it more, growing patience as I grow plants, learning to wait and hope, deeply treasuring each new spring with its fresh start.

I also think about how plants thrive in the right environment.  I figure about 90% of gardening is finding the right spot to plant something.  It makes me wonder why we don't spend more time trying to find where people will thrive, assessing strengths and weaknesses and shepherding people into the places where they will blossom and flourish.

We don't all have to be roses.  We need all sorts.  Some people are like zinnias and grow tall and colorful in the brightest sun, attracting butterflies and cheering hearts.  Some people are like geraniums, pleasant and tolerant of many conditions, content to fill a supporting roll, not too imposing, not too showy, just really nice.

And some people are like purple oxalis, a houseplant stuck in a protected spot outside, displaying courage simply by surviving, beautiful only when someone takes the time to look for them.

Springing

 On Saturday, we went for a walk at Duke Gardens.

 

And the little man announced that his Grampy ("Rah Rah") was to carry him down the cherry tree lane and out to the car when he got sleepy.

Early Spring

One of my newest hellebores, starting to bloom.

We may be on the verge of a new world war,

but the sun shone strong and the temperature climbed to nearly 71 degrees,

on the last day of February!

It was my first dirty-fingernailed gardening day of the year.

I weeded around our sweet tea olive shrubs,

hoping the weed growing there is not one that sprouts back

if only a minuscule portion of its threadlike root is left behind.

How much easier it is to grow weeds than plants.

How much easier it is to cultivate bad habits than good ones.

I triumphantly transplanted two hyssops

that grew from seed last year in the Mother Berm.

The Mother Berm is doing what I hoped;

I can hardly believe it.

Simple things in a complex world.

Beautiful things that might easily be crushed under a heavy tread

as the world degenerates.

I have no plan except to throw myself on the merciful power of God

and stock my purse with a small packet of 

aspirin/acetaminophen/ibuprofen, cough drops, bandaids, sani-wipes, 

and arnica gel.

Spring is always a time of hope.

Blessed baby leaves emerging from the base of a perennial,

always a reminder of the resilience of life,

the will to come back,

the will to go on,

the search for our source and our destiny.

Confidence?

Every year since 2015, I have chosen a word to focus on.  To be strictly accurate, sometimes it has been a few words.  I call them Words of the Year.  I don't do New Year's Resolutions.  I do New Year's Words.  This is an exercise in learning, in mindfulness, and in examining my heart.  I am thankful to the Lord for giving me the idea and helping me grow through it. 

Many of these words hang with me: humility, abide, listen.  The process teaches me about important ideas and goals.  I have never mastered one of my year's words, although God has taught me much along the way.  I don't discard my words at the end of a year.  I keep them, like a list in my pocket.  I could, literally, write them into a list for my pocket, but I would lose the list, so I catalog them here.  I revisit them every so often, not probably often enough, but always in January.

Here is the history of my words-of-the-year:

2015--Peace

2016--Restoration (which changed to Goodness, Mercy and Unfailing Love)

2017--Faith and Gratitude (which grew to encompass Joy)

2018--I tried to make my words Power and Glory; however, God said, "Okay, but I actually want you to consider Humility.  Looking at my power and glory will help you understand humility."

Looking back, I can see that a fundamental shift occurred in 2018.  

I began this exercise in 2015, in response to a heartbreaking relational issue and family crisis.  Peace was what I wanted--peace among the members of my family, and freedom from worry and fear in my heart.  God responded gently, patiently, and let me spend a year seeking peace.  

I petulantly chose Restoration in 2016, because I was tired of waiting, tired of living in a broken place, impatient for things to be fixed and finished.  The Lord moved me in a different direction, redirecting my focus to Goodness, Mercy and Unfailing Love--He wanted me to look up at Him, not around at my circumstances.  

I made a step of progress in 2017, as I started to understand the importance of not simply "picking a word," but asking the Lord what He wanted me to work on and learn.  He led me to pursue Faith and Gratitude that year, then kindly, generously demonstrated to me that His path is the path of Joy.  

Nevertheless, in 2018, I tried again to take the helm.  I decided it was time for God to act, to show His Power and Glory, time for Him to fix my problems and give me a comfortable life.  He did show His power, by unmistakably letting me know that Humility was what I really needed.  My power and glory verse, 1 Chronicles 29:11, makes me grateful to be humble.

I never finished with humility.  I'm still pondering it, still learning about it.  Some days I stand in awe of the beauty of humility, and some days I stand in terror of the process of learning it.  Since 2018, I have tried (not necessarily successfully, but with conscious effort) to set aside my own goals, my own ideas of what life should look like, and especially my own timelines.  I have tried to entrust everything to God and be thankful that He is in control.  I have a prayer that helps me when I pray it: "Thank you Lord Jesus, that I can trust you because you are faithful, and good, and able to do all that you purpose and promise to do, through your almighty power."  

2019--I was not done with Humility.  My words that year were Humility, Love and Acceptance, but mostly Humility, because Humility is Love and Acceptance.  Particularly, Humility is loving people sacrificially by putting their interests above your own, and Humility is accepting what God brings into your life with faith that He is good, wise, and faithful, and can be trusted when nothing seems to make sense.

2020--Abide.  This was a good word, something that really cannot happen apart from humility.  I need to abide in Christ, and I need Him to abide in me.  Neither can happen when I cling to pride.  

2021--Listen.  This was an important word.  2021 showed me how much I fail to listen.  I also learned more about my lack of humility, as--in trying to improve as a listener--I also became more aware of other people's poor listening.

It's discouraging to me when I try to grow in a particular area, and then find myself noticing how others around me lack growth in the same area.  So much pride.  I can hardly wait to get to heaven and be completely relieved of this monkey on my back, this stinking pride that refuses to let go.

For the past two years, we have quarantined.  I have not made many friends in my new state.  We go to church, but have not forged relationships there, throughout a year of attending.  Granted, we often attend through zoom, and when we go in person, we wear masks.  Our other social contact comes through neighborhood and family.  We have met some sweet neighbors, outside in our neighborhood.  We see my son and his wife and their baby.  Occasionally we visit or are visited by family from out of state.  But it has been a quiet and lonely two years, even for me, a hard-core introvert.  Always skittish of people, I think I have developed some deep fears of people during this hiatus from the discipline of regularly challenging myself to leave my home and participate in the social landscape.

Because of these fears and anxieties, because sitting at home is akin to Abiding, and not talking is something like Listening, I thought perhaps God wanted me to consider the word Confidence this year.  I thought He might want me to walk more confidently as His child, in confidence that He loves me, will never forsake me, will complete His good work in me.

Then on New Year's Eve, something happened that rocked me violently.  Whatever confidence I had that God was working in me, growing me, forgiving me, and possibly beginning to bear fruit through me, whatever hopes I had that He was accomplishing anything in me, were attacked and battered.  Accusations assailed me and cut my legs out from under me, knocked the wind from my lungs: You will never be worthy.  You are a farce, a hypocrite.  You have failed, and your failures will never be undone.  You are awkward, an embarrassment, but even more than that, you are evil.  You are guilty.  It's all your fault, and you should be ashamed.  I looked back through years of old prayer journals.  The handwriting, the words looked like someone else's, or like lies.  Who are you, to think God would hear those prayers?  You think you know Jesus so well, and love Him so much.  But nobody who loved Jesus would do the things you've done.  You are despicable.

I know that some of these thoughts are accusations from the accuser, from the devil.  I know that they are not all true.  But the devil is a clever liar.  He doesn't tell far-fetched lies.  He tells lies that can easily be confused with the truth; that is why his deceptions are successful.  I am awkward and do stupid things.  I do have a track record of failures.  I am guilty of sin.  From these truths, it is a quick and easy slide to believing that I am beyond the grace of God's forgiveness, and that none of my spiritual growth could possibly be authentic.

They often say that unforgiveness only hurts the person who refuses to forgive, and I do not know why they say such a thing.  Unforgiveness deeply hurts anyone who is longing for forgiveness and reconciliation, and finds them unattainable.  When people withhold forgiveness from each other, it makes God's forgiveness very difficult to conceive.  How can I decide to walk in the freedom and grace of God's forgiveness, if someone next to me on earth insists that I am unforgivable?

Why did this happen on the eve of my starting a year with the word Confidence?  Literally, that is when it happened.  I thought I would wake up on January 1 with the word Confidence, and move to get up and out, carrying the light of Christ to places that need Him, because of His power at work within me (Ephesians 3:16, 20).  Yet, on December 31, I was struck a blow that made me more inclined than ever to stay in my house, in my bed, with a blanket pulled up over my head.

I do not know if Confidence is the word God has for me this year or not.  In the past, when I missed the right word, Jesus gently changed me mid-course.  So it's okay; I can start with Confidence and trust the Lord to lead me where He wants me to go.  

As I ponder it, I am frightened to think of Confidence being my word, because so often God works in us through creating oppositional circumstances.  For instance, we learn patience by enduring circumstances that make us feel impatient.  We learn trust by being afraid.  We learn joy by finding it in the middle of our sorrows, losses and lack.  I can surmise that learning Confidence will come through being mocked and scorned.  Well, if that is the case, maybe I did choose the right word, and God started me off on it a day early?

The plan was for Confidence to be the word of 2022.

The scripture, as of now, is 

~ 2 Corinthians 3:4-6 ~

Such is the confidence that we have through Christ toward God.  

Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, 

but our sufficiency is from God, 

who has made us sufficient to be ministers of a new covenant, 

not of the letter, but of the Spirit.  

For the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

In other words, through Christ's unfathomable love, demonstrated on the cross, we have access to the Spirit of God, who lives in us, imparts life to us, and makes us sufficient to be His temple and participate in His ministry of lovingly offering life to all who will come.  This is our confidence.