lunch 2013: run or read

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I went for a run in the January cold today. Believe me when I say it was very atypical for me. I’m the world’s biggest cold weather wuss. Normally, if the temperature is south of 55 degrees, I’m inside with my SmartWools on and a cup of my newest obsession–and it is an obsession–Shanna’s Hot Spiced Milk.

But this year I set a goal to tackle three Iowa runs I haven’t done yet: Dam to Dam, the Bix, and the Living History Farms Off-Road Race. Dam to Dam is in June, which is normally when I kick my running into high gear for a fall event. (Keep in mind, my “high gear” equals about 3 runs a week, each at a speed easily surpassed by ambitious toddlers.) A June 20k means a lot of running in the cold…but guys! I have cute arm warmers! So it’s ok.

Another goal of mine is to get back to the lovely habit of reading over my lunch hour. I did this a lot at the beginning of last year then let it slowly slip away, along with other good things. In fact, reclaiming my lunch hour is the larger theme here.

As excited as I am to run like a maniac in the cold (not very) and spend my lunch reading (super duper), I’m most excited about how both these activities might help me get back on track with writing, both here and on my own. When I run, I’m almost always playing with words and phrases or story lines. When I read, it instructs and inspires me to do the same. And that’s another thing I let slip away last year that I want to get back.

So “lunch: run or read” is my new motto. I’m one day in and feeling good.

 

to live as rich as we are

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Last night, 25 or so of the people I love dearly prayed in the new year. One of my friends prayed in her strong, clear voice that we would all “live as rich as we are.”

That’s it. That is my motto, my inspiration, and my prayer for the new year. To know the riches God gives us, to know the bounty of His salvation, to understand and experience His promises and His truth, to know the glories of this great God in my everyday.

2012 felt barren in a lot of ways (and fruitful in a few others), but in 2013, by God’s grace, we’ll live as rich as we are.

 

another year of thanks

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This year I’m thankful…

// For family who loves me and love each other, on both sides.

// For grandmas who let us crash and tell us stories.

// For my dad, who delights in savoring an amazing glass of (cheap!) Cabernet with me just as much as he does pulling out a map of ancient Israel to show me the winding canyons.

// For my mom, who never stops listening to me.

// For my brother, who sings with me and shows me what humble leadership and fearless faith look like. For Jill, who followed her adventure to Montana and has torn open her heart so the Lord could remake it. I wish every day she were right next door to me. For Jessie, who understands me and inspires me with her confidence in me. For Jonathan, who is never afraid to love with all he has.

// For Luci, that sweet crawling, grinning embodiment of joy.

// For doctors Yu and Moreland and sermons on CD.

// For friends who drive five hours just to see us.

// For a supremely comfortable bed.

// For Brad, who strokes my head just when I need it.

// For a holy and merciful God who offers me such sweet salvation and hope.

cod with garbanzo beans and kale

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Brad and I love to cook, especially together. But we haaaaaate planning meals. I think we have a three-year hangover from having to note and rotate every single oil, spice, and other ingredient we ate while trying an elimination diet.

When Brad plans the meals, they’re always simple and satisfying. Brad gives us taco night, grilled veggies and salmon, soup, hearty salads, and the occasional pizza.

He is eminently reasonable.

Under my watch, we try new recipes with moderately obscure ingredients, ambitious cooking projects we have no business trying on a weeknight, and roasted vegetables every other day. And we also get wine. I’m not sure Brad even knows this, but when I’m trolling my Delicious tags or browsing my cookbooks and magazines for dinner ideas, I’m always on the lookout for a recipe that calls for wine. Because as everyone knows, once you open a bottle of wine, you can’t let it languish in the fridge for weeks. You must drink it.

So that’s how I do. I choose a recipe with wine, go to Trader Joe’s to look at labels and pretend and wish I knew what it all meant, then inevitably choose whatever I’m standing in front of when my patience runs out.

Then I come home, unpack the bottles of wine (because it’s never just one) and Brad says, “Wine?” with an eyebrow raised. The look is uncannily like the one he gives me when I think he’s not watching and I go to the cupboard in the kitchen where we keep the chocolate and sneak a few squares. “Chocolate?” …raised eyebrow. I think he likes it when I try to make up some elaborate excuse about how my body craves antioxidants or why girls who had to sit in one-hour long meetings explaining their insurance benefits deserve a square or two before dinner.

Anyway. Wine for recipes is legit, is what I’m saying. As is this meal! It’s super simple: garlic, leeks, thyme, tomatoes…but somehow it all comes together in a complex, creamy, satisfyingly savory dish. It’s going on my no-brainer dinner list, right after grilled cheese.

cod with garbanzo beans and kale
adapted from Seamus Mullen’s Hero Food
makes 2 servings

Chef Mullen’s version of this recipe includes cod tripe. I have one word on that front: No. His also needs a pressure cooker, uses dried beans (I would have done that were I not pressed for time), and lists some type of Spanish pepper I can’t pronounce. I kept the guts of his recipe (but not the tripe) to make this fast, one-skillet meal last Friday night.

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1 large or 2 small leeks, thinly sliced
3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced
1 can garbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
1/2 cup white wine (I used a Chardonnay)
bay leaf
fresh or dried thyme (I used two big pinches of our dried thyme)
1 dried jalapeno pepper, minced or red pepper flakes
sea salt
ground black pepper
1 tomato, diced
2 handfuls fresh kale, washed and chopped into large bite-size pieces
2 cod fillets

Heat the olive oil and butter in a large skillet on medium-low heat until the butter melts and the pan is glossy. Add the leeks and garlic and saute until tender. Stir in the beans, wine, a bay leaf, the thyme, jalapeno or red pepper flakes, one or two generous pinches of salt, and the ground black pepper. Cook until the beans almost heat through and the smell makes your knees weak, about 3 to 5 minutes.

Fold in the tomato and kale, then push all the beans and veggies to the sides of the skillet to clear a cooking surface for the fish. Nestle the cod in the center, cover the skillet, and cook for 4 to 5 minutes, until the fish is just opaque and flaky. Remove from heat, drizzle with more olive oil if you like. Serve hot.

A note on fats: Typically, we don’t heat olive oil. It’s a monounsaturated fat, which means it loses its chemical structure easily when heated. A monounsaturated fat with a wonky chemical structure has less nutrients and can form cancer-causing free radicals. And my family hates cancer. Nevertheless, I used it in this recipe because I felt rebellious (maybe it was the wine?). If you don’t have so much oil angst in your heart and want to do the right thing, try substituting the same amount of coconut oil for the olive oil.

the surgery: how it went down

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Almost two years ago, I sat in a surgery prep stall looking at Brad. He was dressed in a paper tunic the color of blue mouthwash and wore a shower cap to keep his curls (I love those curls!) out of the surgeon’s way. Brad was getting his tongue biopsied, which I knew to be a really quick, no-risk procedure (other than the risk of actually finding something), but still. The sight of my precious husband decked out for the operating table made my gut drop. I clearly remember trying not to cry (because I didn’t want to be that overdramatic wife. Although honestly, I probably am) and drilling truth into my head, God is with us, God is for us, but struggling to calm down enough to pray for Brad before they took him to surgery.

Thankfully, these last few weeks have been nothing like that. Brad had another surgery two weeks ago, again in his mouth. God has been tangibly with us during the whole process, so much so that I can’t wait to tell you all about it. Strap in, maybe grab a snack. This is a long one.

A few months ago, Brad heard about a holistic doctor in St. Louis, Dr. Yu, who combined his M.D. knowledge with a strong belief in natural and alternative healing methods, including some traditional Chinese medicine. Brad read his book and really liked his approach to chronic illness. We prayed about making an appointment and honestly, it seemed like a no-brainer. For years we’ve been wishing for a doctor who had these credentials and this philosophy, and suddenly, in God’s perfect timing, here he was.

I say God’s perfect timing because four years ago when Brad and I first started visiting doctors in search of answers, I wouldn’t have been comfortable with some of what we’re learning now with Dr. Yu (and don’t freak out, it’s nothing too out there, I’m just really into things being black and white). I was hesitant to trust conventional doctors, but saw many alternative treatments as requiring too much trust or not being based on any real science or understanding of the body. From where we are today, still very much in the middle of figuring out what’s going on with Brad, it’s clear to both of us that God led us from one situation to the next, from one theory to the next, from one doctor/nutritionist/clinician to the next, all of them stringing together into a lifeline for us. Each road we took moved us forward, even the dead ends. They were a necessary reminder that we are completely dependent on God for healing, no matter what avenue He uses. And we’ve had some big wins! Meeting Tim and Terry and working out a nutrition plan with them was probably the greatest, but there have been others along the way.

In August, we drove down to St. Louis for our first appointment with Dr. Yu. (Another sign of God’s hand? Brad’s amazing grandma lives in St. Louis and we’re able to stay with her when we go down.) The first appointment was fascinating. Brad wrote a little about it in his most recent post. They started by testing Brad’s vitals and performing a body composition test, which revealed that a carrot stick probably has a higher fat percentage than my husband does. (Physiologically, that’s no bueno. But I swear, I make him pie and ice cream a lot!) When we met Dr. Yu, he tested Brad’s meridians to see what organs or systems in his body weren’t performing well. Several obvious ones came up (hello, every organ associated with the immune system!), but some results surprised us (dental, who knew?), and we were flat-out shocked by what read as normal (joints, virtually everything associated with digestion).

Based on the exam and Brad’s history, Dr. Yu gave him a conventional prescription for parasites and several homeopathic remedies to support his organs. That’s right: My husband took actual medicine for two solid months. And yet again, because of the circumstances, God gave us the clear OK on that front, too.

We covered so much more in the first appointment, but let’s skip to the goods: At the second appointment, Brad’s meridians all tested OK except for dental. I didn’t really know this prior to these appointments, but apparently the jaw is a big deal in the body. Dr. Yu explained it to me like this: If your body is a violin, the meridians are the strings. If they’re out of tune, it’s a sign something in your body isn’t doing its job correctly. In this same analogy, the jaw is like the bridge–if it’s messed up, the strings can only do so much on their own. Brad’s meridian testing, the intense jaw pain that’s plagued him for more than a year, and our guts all pointed to exploratory oral surgery to figure out what his jaw might have to do with the rest of his body.

So two weeks ago, I found myself in a waiting room again while Brad was under the knife. But almost everything felt different this time around. Don’t get me wrong, it is never fun or easy to be in that situation. But as I sat there, literally hearing the drill the surgeon was using to scrape bone out of Brad’s jaw, I felt so comfortable. I’m a terrible wife, right? But let me explain. God gave me a supernatural confidence that morning. I didn’t feel worried about Brad or about how the surgery would go. I had no near-weepy moments. All that went through my head was the simple idea that even though I couldn’t be back there with Brad, God was. I kept thinking The Creator and Holder of our universe is in that small room with my beloved husband, right by his side. I just knew it and believed it the same way I knew and believed it was Thursday.

The surgery paid off. The surgeon found a cyst and a black and brown paste in one of Brad’s wisdom tooth sockets. In the other one, he unearthed the root of the wisdom tooth that was supposedly removed seven years ago. Let’s all take a moment to think about how I’ve been kissing that mouth for four years!

Ok, moving on. Brad’s recovery has gone really well. We went back to St. Louis last week to get his stitches removed and all looks good on the gum front. Brad’s joints are going haywire right now, including some swelling in joints that haven’t been before, but we’re hoping it’s a sign his other symptoms are indeed tied to his jaw and we’re on the right path to resolve them. In a few weeks, we’ll head back down for a post-surgery checkup with Dr. Yu, which promises to be interesting.

In the meantime, anybody know any good car games?

More info:
You’ll find a link to an article explaining more about Acupuncture Meridian Assessment here.
Dr. Yu wrote an article about the dental/organ connection you can find here.

(This photo of Brad’s sister, Brad, and his cousin is one of my favorites hanging on the wall at Grandma’s house. I just want to pinch his sweet little cheeks! And his hair looks exactly like that tonight, I promise you.)

a better country, one last thing (I think)

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In case anyone is wondering, thinking about heaven doesn’t at all make me sad or depressed. It makes me hopeful and purposeful. I hope I didn’t sound bummed in my last two posts. I assure you: I am at normal levels of unbummededness.

Moving on to what I think is my last thing to say about death and heaven.

Jesus said to her [Martha], “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26)

If you’ve been through Sunday School, you know this verse. And I used to read it and think, “Yeah, you may die, but you get to go to heaven, so it’s all good. It’s like you never died.”

But really (biologically), one moment you’re alive on this earth. The next, you’re alive in the presence of God. So you actually never die. There is no second or two of being dead. You are an eternal being right now. Death truly doesn’t touch us.

I just think that’s cool.

a better country, more

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“Eternity is what makes sense of the present.”

I read that in Paul David Tripp’s book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hand about six months after I started puzzling over heaven. That’s so true, is all I could think.

Because I wonder if my yearlong fixation on heaven is why (if I’ll ever know or be able to articulate a why) Brad is so sick. I know God has a journey and a plan for Brad in this and I praise Him for it. But I often wonder why God gave me a very sick husband? Why is this the specific race I’m meant to run and not another? What am I supposed to learn about my Father through this? How am I supposed to grow and how have I been equipped to reflect Him in this yucky situation? How is God using this to change my heart?

I think at least part of it was to give me a soul-level longing for a better country. Let’s hearken back again to pre-teen Joanna (she wore glasses, had unfortunate bangs, and was was afraid of heaven). At that age, I knew I was supposed to want to go to heaven and look forward to it, but I didn’t know why–all in good time, I thought. In my teen years, I was afraid still–afraid that I’d go to heaven without ever having a boyfriend. When I met Brad, once or twice I thought, I hope Jesus doesn’t come back before we get married. I just want to be his wife, if even only for a few hours. Then as soon as we got married, I thought the same things about having kids.

But the Lord has been faithful to strip those fears away. Has it been the most painful and sorrowful experience of my life? Without question. But if I hadn’t been in this valley, I would never want to leave this earth. Maybe this is what it takes for me to see heaven as my true home and this as the training ground. In that case, this is a sweet (and severe) mercy.

 

P.S. Also on the topic of heaven, remember in Return of the King (the book, not the movie) when Sam asks Gandalf, “Is everything sad going to come untrue?” So good! I desperately need to re-read those books. And The Hobbit, though I couldn’t find it in the children’s section at our library where all the shelves are SO short. Note to librarians: I was 5′ 10″ at like, 12. So don’t think kids don’t need tall shelves.

P.P.S. As you read this, we’re driving back from St. Louis, where Brad had oral surgery. Would you pray for a quick recovery for him and that this surgery will bring healing to his body?

P.P.P.S. Obviously, I have a lot to catch you all up on.

a better country

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Heaven has been on my mind for a long time. In fact, I started writing this post more than a year ago. At first, I thought about heaven because I was tired. Tired of watching my husband live in pain, tired of searching our future for a sign of hope, tired of getting up every morning and facing unsolvable problems again. I came back to this verse:

But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

As soon as I read it, I “got” heaven. Heaven is not being weary. Heaven is the glory and the joy and the presence and nearness of God being more than enough to renew you.

The more I thought about it, the more I ached. Some days I felt an almost physical longing to leave this world. It seems morbid to tell people you can’t stop thinking about heaven and even weirder to tell them you want to go there ASAP. When I was younger, I was afraid of heaven. I thought heaven was a bright, sterile place that took me away from every one I loved and all the good things I had here (at that point, I was thinking mainly about my paper doll collection). Plus, being in heaven meant you were dead. Dead is scary.

Brad’s illness and pain definitely helped change my perspective, but that’s not all. In my few years on this earth, I’ve seen girls my age lose their husbands to cancer. I’ve seen women I love sobbing over miscarried children. I’ve had friends look me in the eye and tell me a baby, a precious soul, is just a mass of cells and doesn’t count. I’ve seen couples I thought I knew turn against one another and against God. I’ve seen open wounds and scars on the hearts of those I hold closest. I’ve felt hate and other ugly things in my heart toward people Jesus died for.

By God’s grace there is so much good in this world. But I can’t look at hurting people, hear about genocides, or hold a crying person and think This is how it was supposed to be. And it’s not. The Old Testament Survey we finished in the spring etched the simple truth of history in my mind: God creates, a creation born of love and His glory. Then sin enters the world and everything is stained–our hearts no longer effortlessly commune with God, our bodies become broken vessels for our souls, and the physical earth cries out to its Creator with earthquakes, floods, tornadoes.

And then this:

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. (Hebrews 11:13-16)

For the icons of our faith–Abel, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Moses–unpolluted communion with God (“the things promised”) was just as far away as it is for us now. But they persisted in acting by faith because they had “seen them and greeted them from afar.” They heard whispers and saw fragments of “a better country.”

Think of that: A new earth completely untouched by sorrow, pain, brokenness, and wrong. There is beauty in brokenness, but there is an undeniable rightness in holiness. And when this planet is redeemed, it will be a world in holy submission to God. Submission is redemption, even in the here and now.

So there’s nothing for me to fear. When I get to a better country–and yes, I long for it for me and for those I love–I’ll be tired. I’ll be broken and probably scuffed up. I’ll be undone. But when His glory is reflected on my face, I will never be more alive.

it’s friday. I feel like talking.

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It has been so hard not writing here very often this summer. Keep in mind, I’m a type-A functional first-born. I do not start projects only to let them sit. I do not commit to something and then do it halfway. And above all, I do not cut myself slack.

But one good thing about this incredibly busy and stressful summer is that it ripped away the idea that I can do it all. I can be a sweet and loving wife with a clean kitchen and clean floors. I can have a creative job and surprise everyone at work with the freshness of my ideas. I can keep up with all my friends and turn our home into a hangout. I can remember everyone’s birthday, anniversary, and special day and get a card or gift in the mail to them on time. I can pour my truest creative self into all the writing I think about all day long. I can put my thoughts, recipes, and experiences here and delight my readers.

Well, I can’t. And it’s taken me the whole summer to say it out loud and to write it here.

All my stories at work just went out the very last day we could possibly send them to the printer, which has never happened to me before. Right now, my kitchen floor is two parts dirt, one part turkey pot pie gravy splatters, and three parts produce detritus. I haven’t blogged here–I mean really spent time on a thoughtful post (of which I have approximately 30 started, waiting, sitting) in months. I definitely sent my beloved brother-in-law a gift more than a month after his birthday. Heck, I’m still catching up on watching the Olympics!

But I think it’s going to be OK, and here’s why: I’ve lived my whole life feeling guilty for not doing things that only I told myself needed to be done. This is not a revelation for my family, I’m sure (hi, family!!). But weirdly, it feels like a revelation to me.

Just a few days ago, while moaning to Brad about how guilty I felt for not blogging (and cleaning, and writing, and creating a viable side business that equaled a creative genesis for the world…I know. Bless him for listening to me) he said something I’ve never, ever heard from myself:

You’re not guilty.

I feel guilty, sure. But I’m not guilty. Nobody is expecting me to do all these things. Nobody is holding a to-do list over my head. If I look around, I’m the only one at this table, both the persecuted and the persecutor.

So whither my salvation? Whither my way out of this self-inflicted insanity? You will not believe this, but it’s in doing the dishes. My absolute and unadulterated loathing for doing dishes is well-documented, but! somehow I’ve latched onto the idea that if–instead of noticing the dishes need to be done and then letting that thought burn in my brain, shoveling guilt into my mind while I do other things–I stop whatever I’m doing and quickly do a load of dishes, it’s like the rest of my haven’t-dones don’t even matter. I have completed the worst, the most heinous, the most pressing and guilt-inducing task of all, so I have really accomplished something.

Here is where my father plants his forehead on his desk, because this type of stuff is obvious to him and he labored my entire childhood to just get me to do. the. dishes.

But it’s not about doing the dishes. It’s about feeling like a productive member of the household for five minutes, someone who at least attempts to stay on top of dishes, even if she still has to brush dried kale bits off her bare feet before she leaves the kitchen!

All this to say: I hope I blog more this fall. I love looking back. I’m ridiculously sentimental. I want to remember what I was thinking, doing, talking about, reading, eating. And I want to tell stories and use them to encourage other people and point them to truth.

So I’m not giving up on this even if you all have moved on (I wouldn’t blame you!). And if you came over, I would totally give you protective footwear before asking you into my kitchen to help me with the dishes.

photo: I’m pretty sure chunks of garlic and dried tomato juice are still on my floor from making these roasted tomatoes earlier this summer

“this grand am is basically a food truck.”

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Stuck in the car on the way back from St. Louis this past weekend, Brad needed a snack. We had lame leftovers of snacks in the car, but magically also had everything we needed to do this.


And that smile, my friends, is why you should always travel with a butter knife.