Habit Forming

August is typically a crazy moth for me. It's a time when work shifts into something even higher than super high gear. When days are long and full and to-do lists seem endless. It's a month where I struggle to find enough energy to keep up with social commitments or personal convictions. I may journal from time to time. I enjoy blogging. I like getting together with my friends and being part of a regular small group. But in August, all of the time for these things seems to dry up. None of it really ends up happening.

But I like my crazy job, I like the feeling of accomplishment I get as I push myself a little further, make sure my work this year is just a little better than last year. I'm weird, okay, and I like a challenge.

This year I decided to add an additional challenge. I challenged myself to blog every day for the month of August. Every day for a month. And not just any month, but the hardest month. The month when the odds of me getting out any blog post at all are something like...non-existent to none. And yet, somehow, I came pretty close to pulling it off. Look at my August archive. Aside from one day, that I took off on purpose (to spend one day completely free of modern "conveniences"), and one day when I just plain passed out (before I had a chance to even thinking about blogging), there is a post there every day. Thirty posts for the month of August. One post (nearly) each day.

And I realize that I really liked it. That I've weathered this August much better than usual. There have been moments of exhaustion, but they've been manageable. There have been emotional breakdowns (well, only one, actually) but much fewer than in recent years. I'm not prescribing blogging as a cure-all for any woes, but it has certainly helped keep me saner this past month. And I find myself feeling an itch to post everyday, even though my one-month deadline has come and gone. So I'll probably keep posting, maybe not on the weekends, but certainly close to something like everyday. Every week day, maybe. Definitely with more regularity than before.

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. So now I guess I have a new one. And since I really am weird, and really do like a challenge, Keith and I have started setting the alarm at 5:45 a.m. to get up and go walking every morning at the butt-crack of dawn. Not sure yet if this will prove to be quite as addictive. But there are some definite benefits, so I'm going to try to keep up with it. At any rate, wish me luck.

Waco's Local Sustainable Food Movement

We went to our first Local Farmers Food Festival (put on by Waco's Local Sustainable Food Movement) on Thursday, and it was wonderful.  The movement is spearheaded by Ullja Kuntze, who some Baylor alums may remember for the delicious smoothies she sold out of a small trailer in front of the Comet Cleaners near campus. She moved on to open a European Bakery, and this is apparently her newest project. Anyone who's met Ullja knows she is warm, friendly, successful, and throws herself into everything wholeheartedly. So I expected nothing less from the Food Festival - and I was not disappointed.

She's managed to organize a whole slew of local farmers and ranchers (offering everything from farm fresh eggs to grass raised beef to organic vegetables to free range dairy products - even home grown herbs) and even circumvented a pesky city ordinance restricting "farmers markets" with an ingenious pre-order system for perishables (ensuring that the vendors know how much to bring to each festival and nothing goes to waste). The festivals are held every other week, I believe, and we will definitely be back at the next one.

For our first experience we kept it simple, pre-ordering only a dozen farm fresh eggs. When we arrived we also loaded up on summer squash, cucumbers, okra, red and yellow onions and garlic. The fresh veggies are first come first serve, not pre-ordered, and limited in variety and supply right now with the heat, so we got there early and snatched up as much as we could. Everything is organically and sustainably grown, hand-picked, and so, so, so good.

We were so excited about cooking our fresh veggies. We stewed the okra with yellow onion, tomatoes, garlic and just a splash of Brianna's Real French Vinaigrette Dressing. I steamed the summer squash while Keith grilled Cuban flank steak. It was one the best meals we've made in a while. All those fresh flavors just really are tastier than most of the vegetables you get at the store. Plus, I am so excited that something like this is happening in Waco and happy to be able to support it.  

Next time we are going to get more eggs, as many fresh veggies as we can get our hands on, a lamb shoulder roast, and hopefully an herb planter full of basil, thyme, mint, oregano and dill. Can't wait. If you live anywhere near Waco, I highly recommend joining Waco's Local Sustainable Food Movement and pre-ordering for the next Food Festival (September 18th) as soon as you can.

The New "It"...Veggie?

I usually hate it when something I've always loved suddenly becomes ubiquitous. And it seems like that is happening currently with one of my favorite vegetables, the sweet potato. Formerly relegated to a prime spot at holiday meals, sweet potatoes are cropping up everywhere lately. Sweet potato fries seem to be on the menu at every restaurant I go to. Plus I see lots of new and creative sweet potato dishes getting attention- sweet potato casseroles, sweet potato salads, sweet potato soups and pies.

Are sweet potatoes having a moment? Do vegetables really get to be trendy? If so, I guess I'll celebrate. Because sweet potatoes do seem to have kind of been missing the love before now. And if there's one vegetable I can't get enough of it's the nutritious, delicious sweet potato.

An Interesting Perspective On Suffering

From The Man Who Was Thursday by G. K. Chesterton

Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot.

"I see everything," he cried, "everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, 'You lie!' No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, 'We also have suffered.'

"It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused. At least—"

He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face, which wore a strange smile.

"Have you," he cried in a dreadful voice, "have you ever suffered?"

As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, "Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?"

Thoughts About DaySpring

I can't recall exactly when it was that I first came to DaySpring. Maybe it was a crisp, still, mid-October morning with just the promise of a cool breeze in the air. Or perhaps a fresh, spring day in early April, one of those day's that's just casting off winter's chill and filling up with sunshine. It could even have been a sun-drenched, sultry morning in September, a day of Indian Summer still clinging to oppressive heat, just like this one. It could have been any of those days, or none of them. The truth is, I don't remember much about the exact day, the time of year, or even, exactly, the year that I first encountered this place. That's not what stands out to me.

What stands out to me is the softly-stealing sense of homecoming that crept over me and overtook me before I was even aware of it. What stands out is the fact that it all felt so new, and yet somehow so familiar, at the same time. This place was unlike any other church I had set foot in, different in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was fairly buzzing with life and cheer and abundance, but so, so peaceful. People were so friendly to me, so kind and welcoming. Even though they'd never met me before, they were genuinely glad to see my face. I felt something inside me give a deep sigh and stretch out a little bit. Here was encouragement, here was love and acceptance, here was room to grow, here was a place to rest. And, incredibly, I felt all of that in an instant. It was instinctive, I just knew. This was home.

And then there was the silence. Again, something so familiar, silence. Yet this was a kind of silence I had never experienced before. This wasn't dead silence, not void silence, the silence of a group of people who were bored, who were going through the motions. Nor was it a timid silence, not holding back, the silence of people who were afraid to laugh or cry or clap or shout for joy. The best way I know to describe it is a rushing silence. It was a silence of barely contained excitement. It was a silence of action, a silence of waiting. The silence of a deep breath taken right before something tremendous and wonderful happens. The silence of reverence and sincerity, the silence of centered participation. It was a great, rushing, lovely, lively silence.

And there was a surprise. A coincidence I suppose, if you believe in those things, but it felt just exactly like a special surprise meant only for me. There was a quotation scrawled across the front of the worship guide, a quotation from my very favorite poet. A line of poetry that had already been a very favorite of mine for a long time, that held great meaning for me. "Earth's crammed with heaven," it said, "and every common bush afire with God; but only those who see take off their shoes. The rest just sit round it and pluck blackberries." So true! And so definitive of the way I have experienced faith, of my unique perspective on the world. And then a lovely young woman sang and played a beautiful song she'd written, based on that line. And it really was like receiving my own special present, a gift meant just for me.

And now, five or six or seven (or however many it's been) years later, I am still impressed by these same things every week at DaySpring. Because every time I set foot in this building, or teach a Sunday School class, or spend time with any of these people, or sit in the woods just outside here, I am still struck by that sense of homecoming, that same feeling of belonging and rest. And I still feel the buzz and the life in the silence at DaySpring, and am learning, ever more, to reflect and even inhabit that kind of silence, to center it down, inside of me that way. And I still, always, walk away with a special surprise. A little nugget of truth, a little gift all my own, meant just for me. I'm so glad, so blessed, to have had DaySpring as a part of my life. Thank goodness I have at least one more year to call it my home.