A recipe…because I can!

I started a blog over five years ago when I was pregnant with my son. Back then, it was devotionals only. When I first started, I committed to writing a devotional every day for every Psalm…all 150 of them. Whew! It was a fun journey and I came closer to finding my writing voice along the way. However, after a while, I felt like I wanted the freedom to write more than just devotionals and with the blogs title being “e-devotional” it didn’t give me a lot of wiggle room.

For months I tried thinking of a new blog title name, one that was open-ended enough for me to write about whatever was inspiring me at the time. I read blogs that have adorable titles like “Cupcakes and Cashmere” or “Salt and Sequins” and I come up empty handed. I was inspired by KeriWeems.com which was simply her name for the title and it’s content ranged from inspirational writings to something as practical as a weekly meal schedule. I know the blogger guru’s frown upon this because you have to have a “niche” and Search Engine Optimization…blah, blah, blah. I get it, it’s important – IF your goal is to create a successful money making blog. Since that isn’t my goal, I can throw those rules out the window!

So, here is me being liberated to break the blogging rules. I’m going to share a recipe, because I can!

I’ve been reading Shauna Neiquist’s book “Bread and Wine” and it’s an easy, light read about the power of food bringing people together. She ends each chapter with a recipe. One of the recipes was for a white chicken chili that seemed so simple my kids could probably make it. Ever since my third baby was born, I’ve been gravitating towards simple (especially crock pot) recipes. I modified it a bit and was seriously blown away by how easy it was and how delicious it turned out! I’ve been telling everyone about it.

The original recipe called for:

4 cans of white beans

1-1.5 lbs of chicken, cooked and shredded

4 cups of chicken broth

1 16oz jar of salsa, preferable fresh. (I used green salsa)

 

The original recipe serves 6 and says to cook the chicken in a stockpot over medium heat then add all the other ingredients (even the bean liquid). Bring to boil, then reduce heat to a simmer, stirring occasionally for 30min.

Here is what I did different:

I added about a cup of frozen corn, one finely chopped onion and salt and pepper. I threw EVERYTHING into the crock pot on high for four hours, and I chopped the chicken but left it uncooked so it would absorb the flavors.

After it’s done you can serve with cilantro, wedges of lime, sliced avocado, shredded cheese, chips, or sour cream (be warned, it would be easy to turn an otherwise healthy chili into a bowl of chips and cheese).

It felt very strange adding a huge jar of salsa to a soup but it was the magic ingredient. It gave it a tiny kick but not too much, the kids even approved. The only thing I will do differently next time is add less liquid (either less bean liquid or less chicken broth) because Brandon and I prefer a thicker chili.

I will be integrating this one into our regulars, hope it helps some other busy mammas out there too!

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Erasing Mistakes and Keeping Secrets

Hello Kitty Journal

 

For my oldest daughters last birthday she was given a journal. Hello Kitty holds lollipops on the cover and on the side it has a lock and a key. Hannah really liked the idea of being able to lock “secrets” in her diary even though she couldn’t think of any notable secrets to write down. She would draw pictures and write about her day but the best part was the thrill of being able to lock it all up and pretend to hide top secret information from her younger brother.

Lately I noticed when I would walk into the room she would quickly close her diary and get that look in her eyes. Any mom knows the look I’m talking about. It’s the look even a toddler has on their face when they’ve done something wrong. The look of a guilty conscience. As we get older we get better at hiding it, but it’s impossible to hide when you’re a kid.

I see the look often from her younger siblings, but very rarely with Hannah. Hannah prides herself in making right choices and following the rules. So when I saw the look on her face I knew it was time for a talk. I sat down and asked if there was something she needed to tell me. Through a sudden mess of tears she told me “I wrote something in my journal about my brother but I didn’t mean it. I felt bad after I wrote it and I wanted to find an eraser but I couldn’t find one!” Then she repeated these words over and over;

“I just want to erase it. I don’t want to tell you what it is, I just want to erase it.”

Seeing her tender heart, I couldn’t help but cry myself. We held each other and I kissed her head. I stroked her hair back from her forehead just like my mother used to do to me.

With a quivering chin, Hannah told me what she wrote. What she wrote was pretty minor in the grander spectrum of sibling rivalry, but for me, it wasn’t really about the content of what she wrote. It was about this beautiful moment of genuine repentance she was experiencing. She felt the prick in her heart of having done something wrong. She felt the Holy Spirit.

We talked about it and prayed together and I told her that even if we couldn’t find an eraser, the best part is that Jesus erases our mistakes. Then I watched her walk away from her (typically guarded) diary, not really caring whether or not it was locked up or if her key was hiding.

It’s interesting how as adults our response isn’t much different than it is as children. Once we feel the guilt of a mistake we’ve made, the last thing we want to do is confess it to someone or take responsibility. Instead we want to cover it up or try to erase it.

A friend of mine had one secret that she had kept from her husband about her past. She wondered why years into the marriage she still felt shame about that secret. One day she realized that she felt complete peace in every area of her life except that one. She was confused, hadn’t God forgiven her? Hadn’t she confessed to Him? Wasn’t that enough? In most cases it is, but this was something her husband needed to know. It was something that would affect him, and she feared his reaction. My friend bravely confessed and her husband graciously forgave. The best part, she said, was the peace in knowing she had nothing to hide.

If you are like Hannah and you find yourself wanting to erase something you’ve done, confess it and let God erase it. I’ve heard the best pillow is a clear conscience. Or stated more profoundly, “The best pillow is knowing that you don’t have any secrets locked up in your Hello Kitty journal.”

It’s deep, I know.

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Do you want it more than you fear it?

Hipster glasses

 

I’ve heard many sermons and motivational speeches on fear. Many of them include cute acronyms like fear is “False Evidence Appearing Real.” I would clap and Amen and think about this issue of conquering fear as if it was a really good message for everyone else to hear. Just not me.

Until my seven year old daughter went to get her ears pierced last weekend. Hannah had been talking about it for weeks. She was ready. She was confident. She was brave. We walked into the twinkling Claire’s store in Fashion Valley and laughed about how we were surrounded by trendy mustaches in all shapes and forms. Hannah picked out which earrings she wanted and Brandon filled out the paperwork. While she waited she tried on a pair of pink hipster glasses and held her little earlobes as she readied herself for the chair. Finally, she sat in Daddy’s lap and they put a purple dot on each ear. When it was time to pull the trigger she immediately jolted her shoulders up to cover her ears. I saw panic in her eyes and suddenly the fear of the momentary pain outweighed her desire for the aquamarine birthstones in her ears.

Hannah took a moment to think about it and even watched a girl younger than her get her ears pierced without a tear. Brandon and I were not going to try and convince her, it was her decision. If she wanted to wait, that was fine with us. We could see the inner struggle going on inside of her and realized this is something she often struggles with. She desires to do something fun but then fear ties her down from doing it. Sometimes, she will let a tiny bee flying around in the backyard hold her back from playing outside.

I turned to Brandon and said, “I want to help her through this but I’m realizing I struggle with the same thing myself.”

“You have to want it more than you are afraid of it” has been a motto I live by, or at least I thought I did. The moment I saw Hannah back out in fear, I recognized areas where the fear in my life has started to outweigh my desire.

Silly things, like surfing. I’ve wanted to surf since we’ve moved to San Diego. I’ve dreamt of being able to surf with my kids when they are older. You know the commercial where the family jumps out of their jeep (we don’t own a jeep), strap on their wetsuits and run towards the ocean with surfboards atop their heads (don’t own wetsuits or surfboards either)?  I want to be that family, but then I start to think about what lies beneath. The sly Pacific Ocean tints it’s waters just dark enough to hide the unknown creatures that could be gliding around under my feet. I don’t picture sharks biting off my ankles, I picture that little slimy unknown graze. It’s the “What was that?!” feeling that paralyzes me. It could be seaweed, dolphin poop, a dead bird…you just don’t know! Fear of the unknown is the real issue. It isn’t an I’m-trembling-to-death kind of fear, but it’s enough of a dose of fear that it has prevented me from acting. Or rather, I’ve “procrastinated.” That’s just something us fearful people say as a cover for the fact that we’ve become a someday person. Someday, I’ll surf. Someday, I’ll start that business. Someday, I’ll learn piano. Someday, I’ll publish a book…

After Hannah turned her back on Claire’s we all walked up and got some treats from Starbucks. We sat outside in the sun and went around and all shared something we were afraid of. We didn’t share it so that we could wallow in our fear but rather so we could address it and make a plan to conquer it. I refuse to be the mom that passes fear down to my children. I want to show them (not just tell them) that they can’t let fear hold them back from something they really want to do. Obviously, there is healthy fear, I don’t want them thinking they can run out in front of cars yelling “NO FEAR!” This is not some new progressive parenting philosophy here. However, I just want lead by example. I want to show them what it looks like to want something more than you are afraid of it.

So, hold me accountable. This summer, I’m going surf. It might not be a big deal to any of my laid back, avid surfing friends, but it’s a step in overcoming silly fears for me. It’s more than just me surfing, it’s me showing my kids that I’m going to show and not just tell. I refuse to be a “do as I say but not as I do” kind of parent. The best thing I can do to ensure I don’t pass fear down to my children is to make sure that I clean that area up in my own life.

2 Timothy 1:7 “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and self-control.” 

What about you? Has fear held you back from something you want?

photo

PJ and I after our “conquer your fears” talk at Starbucks. Turns out she’s afraid of dogs.

photo (1)
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Jumping Ship

Have you ever felt like you wanted to jump ship?

Some people call it throwing in the towel, but to me that always seemed borderline suicidal. I’ve never wanted to “throw in the towel” in life, but jumping ship is a constant temptation. Maybe the correct definition of jumping ship is even more suicidal than throwing in the towel, but to me, I just want to jump off my ship and swim over to another one. I want to “ship hop” (it has a ring to it doesn’t it?).

I suppose it is the “grass is greener on the other side” mentality. I’ve always been a believer that the grass is greener where you water the grass, but it doesn’t mean that the glistening grass on the other side of the fence isn’t going to call my name every now and then. Although most people use this as an example on marriage, thankfully, that has been one area I have not been tempted to “jump ship” on. My husband is ridiculously perfect for me.

However, changing cities, churches, jobs (my husbands job), or even hairstyles…I am constantly itching for change. I know, I’m not supposed to like change. Most people loathe it but I yearn for it. There is something adventurous about change. There is nothing wrong with my city, church, husband’s job or hairstyle…in fact I love all of them (well, I am having a bit of a hair SOS right now, but that’s another story). Yet, there always seems to be the other ships of life beckoning me. Maybe I missed my calling as a gypsy.

Recently, my husband had a conversation with a co-worker and they were talking about reaching goals and dreams. My husband expressed the temptation to find a different path other than the one he was on. His co-worker replied, “There are a lot of paths you could take to get to where you want to go if you pick one and stick with it, but the worst thing you can do is to keep jumping paths. Then you’ll never get anywhere.”

Psalms 1:1-3 tells the fate of the righteous man:

He is like a tree
   planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season,
   and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers.

This Psalm isn’t talking about a tree that gets transported every six months. It’s a tree that stays put, because if the tree doesn’t stay planted firmly by the life-spring it can’t yield its fruit in its season and it can’t prosper.

Our culture is full of the latest and greatest “big idea” and in many ways breeds a “I have to change something” mentality. Change is not always bad, don’t get me wrong, but change is not always the answer. Sometimes the answer is to stay put, to persevere, to not give up, to be unshakable, immovable and to stay planted in the place that you are called to bloom. The season of prospering and yielding fruit will come, but it doesn’t come before the roots are dug down deep enough to receive lasting nourishment.

So, I take a deep breathe, look out my car window at the sunshine sparkling off the bay, and figuratively slap myself for even considering living anywhere other than beautiful San Diego. Until I am called elsewhere, this is where I will dig my roots. This great city, my awesome church, my husband’s wonderful job and…eh-hem, like I said, my hair is another story.

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Green Banana Bread

Mike and Vangi at their oldest daughter's wedding.

When Brandon and I were in college we would often spend a lot of time at our pastors house. Mike and Vangi had six children whom Vangi home-schooled, along with church responsibilities, side jobs and teaching piano lessons – they were busy people. Somehow in the midst of their busy schedules, they always made time to invest in us. Sometimes that meant Mike calling Brandon asking if he wanted to tag along with him while he went grocery shopping. Vangi carved time out at an early hour in the morning each week to mentor me, but most of the time we would come over and just hang out with their family.

They did a lot of baking at their house and now that I have multiple kids of my own I understand why. It seems like I barely finish cleaning up one meal and it’s nearly time to start another. One of their signature foods was “Green Banana Bread.” To this day, I do not know what made it green. It could have been food coloring or maybe they slipped some blended up spinach in the batter (I sneak veggies into my kids dishes all the time!) It tasted delicious so I never bothered to ask. The kids loved it, but most of all it seemed they loved being a part of the process of helping mom or dad make it.

Maybe Brandon and I were oddballs being college students who wanted to hang out with a family with six kids. It seemed like a lot of people our age wanted to be at the frat parties (though I had my share of those in my early college/before-I-knew-Christ days).  For us, there was something about it that fit perfectly with our college experience. Macroeconomics, Microeconomics, Utopian Societies, Statistics…and Green Banana Bread. Although we didn’t discuss it until later, we both felt that deeply ingrained in us was a desire for family. To be a wife or a husband, a mother or a father, it was a beautiful mystery to us, but one that we felt drawn to. Back then, it seemed so far away.

I remember once meeting their family at the hospital to celebrate the arrival of their sixth child. Brandon and I sat in the waiting room biting our nails waiting for someone to come out and tell us that Dawson had arrived and everyone was healthy. We were elated just hanging on the coat tails of someone else’s experience, you can imagine how much we have enjoyed going through those experiences ourselves (and have had more nails to bite). Most of the time, we didn’t have an agenda in our times with Mike and Vangi. Of course, there were times we had more serious talks as they walked us through our courtship and engagement journey, but for the most part we just got to be observers and participants with their family.

When a single person asks to come and spend time with our family, It always surprises me and I think to myself, “Really? They really want to come over and hang out with us while we pick up cheerios off the floor and sort laundry?” Then I stop myself and I think of Mike and Vangi and how much those “Green Banana Bread” moments meant to us. It was being a part of the everyday moments that made us feel like having a family of our own was an attainable dream.

It’s strange how quickly time has gone by and that I am now able to be a Vangi in someone else’s life. I rest in knowing that making a difference in someone’s life isn’t about having an outline of all the right advice, but rather inviting people into our everyday lives. A girl once told me that she didn’t really think good marriages existed, but mine gave her hope. A young man told me that he didn’t have a very good father in his life so he really appreciates being around guys like Brandon. These comments humble me. We had no outline. We had no agenda. We had no expert advice. But we do have our own Green Banana Bread moments to share, and somehow, those seem to leave an imprint on others just like the one that was left upon me.

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