Baby, Little Boy, Husband and I had scrambled eggs and avocado for breakfast, we cleared the plates, put Baby down for his nap, then got to work. Husband fired up the barbecue outside, Little Boy ran around as, Papas große Helfer (Papa’s big helper), and I stood between my kitchen counter picking basil leaves, toasting pine nuts, chopping and roasting aubergines, washing yams and cucumbers, slicing fennel, shaking dressings up in jars, and generally having the most fun I’ve had in a long time in the kitchen.
It’s taken four years for me to realize that Easter lunch is my favourite meal to cook and eat every year. Perhaps after the long European winters, a spring celebration makes me feel more alive, the weather has usually been beautiful, sunny and warm. Remembering the meaning of Easter also resonates with me more than the typical feasts do, and every year we have made the intentional choice to stay home for the long weekend and invite people to our table for this special day.
Whatever the reason, I love our Easter meal, and this year was no exception. It was a warm day, we took our dining table outside and ate in the sun. The leg of lamb, which we normally roast, Husband first sealed on the barbecue. Little Boy spun the basil dry in the spinner (one of his favourite kitchen tasks), and I prepared the salads. Family feasts are so much more fun when everyone is involved.
Cooking our Easter meal is usually the thing that takes me out of the winter food slump and into a spring of asparagus greens and rhubarb pinks. The colours, textures, the crunch, it all shouts, LIFE. LIfe is here. New life is here.
What did they think, I wonder, when they saw his body taken down from the cross? Did they believe it was happening or did they wonder until the end if somehow something was about to change? These women and men, they had followed Jesus for three years because they believed, he was the Messiah, he was the one who was going to fulfill prophecy, change their world and who was changing their lives. He was going to win. It’s not supposed to end with him vulnerable, humiliated, naked and broken on a cross.
I’m one of those people who has her mind set on the ending before it even happens, and when it turns out differently, I’m sitting there shaking my head and saying, It can’t be. It can’t be. I know what I would have been thinking at the Golgotha hill. My hope is gone.
Several friends recently had major shifts in their lives, prayers they poured out for years to God finally answered. I’m not talking about, Please God I need a parking space, kind of prayers, but long-prayed, deeply-desired things coming to pass. Some of them I’ve watched from the distance of a Facebook news feed, others closely followed over years of friendship.
One of them I’ve known for almost a decade, and the desire in her heart was so heavy, so strong, so good, and I’ve watched her wait for it’s realization. There were seasons of strength and joy, others of heartache and pain, days when her hope was strong and days when hope barely existed, but in every stage she waited. In the end, she waited.
I’ve watched on the sidelines of her lifes, sometimes near, often far, but always knowing the desire of her heart and always wondering when or how God would work this out for her good.
He did not disappoint her. Today she holds in her hand the realized hope, the fulfilled faith, the beauty of experiecing, living and believing that God is faithful to keep his promises to her.
And me? I’m on the other side of a skype call filling up with tears because even though it’s her story and her miracle, it’s for me, too.
I’m four years deep into major life changes that were wonderful and profound and permanent, I didn’t even notice that my dreams and hopes for the future – what I was waiting for – were unrecognizable to me, so unrecognizable in fact that I don’t know what they are.
Hopes and dreams sound like a fluffy, pink cloud of cotton candy, the stuff of self-help books and cheesy television. But hopes and dreams are pictures of our deepest heart, light in the darkest days and fuel for the toughest stretches of the journey. Hopes and dreams keep our lives moving in a certain direction.
Seeing friends receive the substance of what they hoped for, it renews my hope. It reminds me that I’m not waiting in vain. It tells me to keep watch, to wait, the story will not end as I thought it would. There is still a miracle yet to come.
When Little Boy started asserted his adorable independence in the form of chubby fingers reaching for forbidden plug points, I prided myself on being a yes-based parent. I was going to let him adventure off, explore, test the boundaries, and yes of course the important boundaries would be enforced, of course I would say, No. But most importantly he would know the sound of, Yes. He would know that in our home, Yes is a way of life: Yes, you can explore. Yes, you can be who you are. Yes, you are free.
But a baby became a toddler and the toddler became a bigger boy who has opinions, insight and a frightening quantity of smarts, and the next thing I know I’m standing next to a car carrying Baby in the car seat while Little Boy’s feet inch closer and closer to the road, with a cheeky look to Mommy thrown over the shoulder.
No, STOP, I scream, and lately those two words leave my mouth more than I would like. Please don’t misunderstand me – all of us need to hear the word “No” and be able to respond (and that goes for adults, not just children), and it is of vital importance to us that our children know they are expected to obey when we give them instructions. But this isn’t the cornerstone of our home, it’s not the thing I am most focused on, it is not most important to me.
Saying no is easy. I give him the boundary, enforce it and move on. As he gets older (and sometimes even now), we have to do some heart exploration. What’s going on here? What’s at the root of the defiance?
Every yes opens up a world of possibilities, complications to my schedule, messes where it was once clean, joyful chaos interrupting my order. Saying yes means I have to adjust, open up my world to let them in, go with the flow, abandon plan for spontaneity.
When I say yes, I’m having to shut the door on my control and let go.
Yesterday I could feel the weight of weeks worth of saying no. Little Boy and I both felt heavy like the joy of our time together was gone.
So instead of setting up our time to suit my needs, I did something for him. Would you like to bake with Mommy? I asked, and of course the answer was yes. We found a recipe for scones that didn’t need lots of eggs (were were out) or milk and required only the most basic ingredients. I measured out the flour, sugar and baking powder, he poured it into the large bowl and stirred. I cut the butter in, he and I crumbled it into the flour. He was totally focused on his task, my son is a dedicated, detail-oriented worker, and when he is doing something, that task gets his undivided, exacting attention. This is why saying yes to him is crucial to our relationship – I see him again, get to know in a new way, we go deeper as our fingers press butter and flour together.
But it’s still hard – I still find myself irritated at a whisk-fulls of flour thrown around the room, still find myself raising my voice, and yes, still hear the word, No, come flying out of my mouth when he loses some control of the bowl and spills flour. Before I can stuff it back in, the word is out – it was unnecessary. Messes are part of baking with a three-year-old. And this is the other reason why I need these times: To see myself again as a parent, to see how I bend, to see that it’s hard for me to let go of my order, my way, my control, and to realize that as much as it may be my desire to say yes to my children, I will have to fight myself to do it.
Because it is worth it. Creating a space in our home and in my heart where my children are free to explore, learn, and make mistakes is a gift I want to give my children. And letting go of my own control is gift I want to give myself.
Date, Pistachio & Pumpkin Seed Scones
from ABC’s delicious. Baking cookbook (I can’t find a link online)
These scones, it must be said, were a gift for me as much as it was for him. In the way that sweet, gluten-filled things are good for you. Are they good things? Let’s discuss some other time. I will only say that yesterday’s yes involved letting go of most of my food opinions for myself and for my son. White sugar? YES. White flour? YES. Butter? YES. This was originally a cranberry and pistachio recipe. I had no cranberries, but substituted dates and only a few pistachios, so I added pumpkin seeds. I also realized after I made it that I used 160 grams of butter instead of the required 120. Misreading that led to incredibly…buttery… and light scones. I may or may not have eaten them for lunch.
2 cups (300g) white flour
1/3 cup (75g) white sugar
1 TBSP baking powder
120g chilled unsalted butter, chopped (or 160 grams if you’re feeling adventurous.. and buttery)
2/3 cup (165 ml) milk, plus extra to brush
1/2 cup (75g) dates (or cranberries, or presumably any dried fruit)
1/2 cup (75g) slivered nuts or seeds (pistachios recommended, but the pumpkin seeds worked beautifully
1. Preheat the oven to 220C. Line a baking tray with baking paper.
2. Mix the flour, sugar and baking powder in a large bowl. Cut the butter into it and crumble it in with your fingertips until it looks like breadcrumbs.
3. Add the milk, dates and nuts and mix to combine.
4. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead five-10 times. Pat the dough flat and shape into a 3cm-thick circle.
5. Cut the dough into eight wedges and place the wedges on the baking paper in the try.
6. Lightly brush the scones with milk and bake for 12-15 minutes, until golden.
There are few things in life I love more than feasting. Sitting around a table, eating, laughing, talking, these elements are part of my life’s favourite memories. My parents and sisters all love to sit around the table with good (usually spicy) food, and we talk about everything from politics to theology to movies and television. The discussion is now mostly civil, often funny and always boisterous. We can spend hours at the table.
When Little Boy was born, I couldn’t wait until we were eating family meals together, but that took a long, long time. First we had different eating times, then he was eating purees, and it wasn’t like a meal together so much as one of us feeding our little emperor, and there was only adult conversation going on (interrupted by some shrieking).
But the closer he got to two, the more we could have meals together, and meals where we were all eating food cooked the same way. It was around this time last year that I first read a Simple Bites series called Bringing Back Sunday Dinner. The idea was to pick a meal a week and put in more effort – a main course, side dishes, dessert, the special little things there isn’t any time for during the week.
We eat mostly simple, standard food during the week. Lots of frozen peas, it must be said. I need our day-to-day to be as straightforward as it can be because multitasking isn’t my great skill, and I have my hands full with our Baby and Little Boy. As much as I love simple food, it has done so much for my creativity to have one meal a week that I can think about, prepare for and enjoy. The food doesn’t need to be complicated; sometimes fancy food is so fiddly, it’s no fun.
Lately most of our family feasts come from Jamie Oliver‘s 30 Minute Meals. I love this cookbook because there is a main course, side dishes and often a dessert that comes together, which helps me keep planning simple. Most of the time it takes me longer than 30 minutes to cook, but it’s never very long, and the food has tons of flavour and colour.
Last weekend we had a simple pasta dish with broccoli and two summery salads, perfect for the sunny and warm (although now quite summer) day we had. These salads took five to 10 minutes each to put together, and are so basic and versatile, they would work with meat dishes or vegetarian main courses.
There is a difference when we sit down to eat at a table where the food is abundant and beautiful. It creates an atmosphere where love can abound, where little bellies are filled and taste buds tantalized, and hopefully it’s an atmosphere that will lead to rich, meaningful relationships between us in the years to come.
This salad is an update of an Italian classic. Every year I have every intention of staying away from processed meat until I have raw ham from Italy, Spain or France. It’s the best stuff in the world. In moderation. If you think the ham and melon combination sounds weird, try this, I promise. Pair a sweet, firm melon with a good, salty Italian proscuitto. On a warm summer day, nothing is more refreshing.
half a ripe, firm, sweet melon
a few slices of prosciutto
a small bunch of basil
1. Start with your dressing. Put the large basil leaves in a mortar and pestle and start bashing away until the leaves form a paste of sorts
2. Add some sea salt to taste and keep bashing, then pour in some olive oil (I estimated the quantity based on how much dressing I thought we would need and also based on how “basily” we like things to taste). I probably used 1/4 cup of olive oil if not a bit more.
3. Stir together and set aside.
4. Arrange slices of proscuitto on the edges of a serving platter leaving a space in the middle.
5. Take a spoon and scoop out the seeds from the melon half and then begin scooping out the flesh and putting it in the middle of the prosciutto slices. Scatter the smaller basil leaves on top and dot with some balsamic vinegar. Serve with the dressing on the side.
Zucchini is one of those bland, basic veggies when it’s raw, so it needs a zesty dressing to make it sing. Don’t skimp on the mint, lemon or chili.
1 zucchini (the recipe called for two or three baby ones, but I only had the regular kind)
a few sprigs of mint
1 birdseye chili
half a lemon
salt and pepper to taste
1. Chop your mint leaves and chili finely and put it on the serving platter, drizzle over that the olive oil and lemon juice.
2. Take a peeler and “slice” the zucchini into ribbons using the peeler. It’s less like slicing and more like a slightly deeper peel, but then you peel the whole thing. I ended up with the middle core of the zucchini unused, so I sliced that up and roasted it for Baby’s dinner.
3. Put the zucchini ribbons on the platter and toss with the dressing. Add salt and pepper at the very end to taste and take to the table.
Sweden is one of the most secular countries in the world, and I’m a person of faith who is happy to talk about what my faith means. This usually leads to some form of the question, So, you’re religious? My default answer is something along the lines of, Well, I don’t really believe in religion, but I believe in relationship, so what’s most important to me is my relationship with Jesus, which I imagine sounds a bit like, I have this friend.. I have this boyfriend.. It sounds false, unclear and very 21st Century postmodern-like of me.
What I’m trying to say is that life with Jesus is a new way of seeing.
I see my condition, broken, lost, a mess, but I also feel in me the weight of something else, beauty, glory, redemption. But there is absolutely no way I am able to bridge the gap between the two without soul-killing striving and trying and pushing and pulling.
I see who God is: love, love, love, love. Love that pours out power, love that pours out grace, love that is able to do all things, love that knows all things, love that is full of goodness, love that is truth and so many other things, but at the centre of who he is, it’s a beating heart of love.
When I talk about a relationship with God, it’s the recognition of these two parts, Jesus holding my hand and taking me from one to the other.
Jesus who sees my brokenness and says I am a healer, do you want to be well?
Jesus who sees me lost and says, I am the way, do you believe that I am who I say I am, I set before you life and death, will you choose life that you may live and walk in my path?
Jesus who sees my messes and says, I have power of sin, will you confess your mistakes to me, let me take it all away and fill you so that you can have power to change?
My growing up years were full of the mechanisms of faith, and I was surrounded by faith-filled people. We attended church every Sunday (and often more), almost all of my education from primary school to university was in faith-based institutions, I read the Bible, prayed everyday, I did everything you were supposed to do, and yet.
God was still far away. God was still the one holding a checklist, and my life, my behavior, me – who I was – somehow didn’t check the boxes. God was the one with displeasure on his face when he looked at me, and I was the one running, hiding, disappearing every chance I got.
I didn’t know then that what I battled against was only religious structures in my mind because this is what religion must do to keep people inside of it. Religion only survives where there are no real answers in a place where there is no real freedom. Religion only works if you take out Jesus as a mediator, and replace him with someone or something else.
You can only be in the presence of God in this building.
You can only talk to God if you first talk to this person.
You can only know God if you first give this amount of money.
You are only part of God’s family if you first join this church.
No. No. No.
This is why God put on human clothes, came down to us, gave up himself into the body of a young woman in a way we can’t comprehend, coming down to us when we couldn’t reach up to him. He reached down to us, to me, he became like us, like me, like you, lived like us and died for us, and came back to life.
So that we would not have to try anymore. So that all we would have to do is reach out our hand to the hand he offers, to say, Yes, to his invitation of new life, to turn our back on the systems that promised security but gave slavery.
No one imposed religion on me – I willingly submitted myself to it because it gave me something to do, it gave me a sense of power and control. I could command my own destiny. I could reach God, it was so simple, if I could only do this and this and this and be a bit more that way and this way, then, then it could be final. Then I would be there. Known. Loved. Safe. Secure.
Except there was no intimacy, love, safety or security in religious ways, only fear, insecurity, and an unending exhaustion. Even after the years when I found freedom, times of the year like Advent or Lent still filled me with old feelings, What more could I be doing? I’m not where I want to be.
This is one of the many ways in which Lent this year led me away from introspection and instead toward a radical posture of receiving from God and then pouring out what I receive.
Jesus gave me everything I could ever want or need when he gave me his life. Lent is for giving.
Jesus took everything wrong and bad and sinful away from my life, so I could walk forward into new life with him whole and free. Lent is forgiving.
When you think about God are the words fear, insecurity and exhaustion part of your thoughts and feelings?Friend, could it be that you’re talking about a religion, a system that keeps channeling you toward what more you could be doing and who else you could be pleasing?
Jesus offers something different. He offers himself, his hand, to take you and walk with you to a new place. He’s there the whole way, never leaving, never forsaking, always faithful. He came to meet you where you are and he will take you where you need to go.