One Morning in June

What happens when a garden is filled with free plants?
Beautiful chaos happens.
This long rock garden represents almost no money.  Virtually all the plants were given by a friend who inherited overwhelming gardens and decided to replace some of them with lawn.
But I have spooled out precious hours here, weeding and yanking and moving things.

These days, I don't wander through my gardens sipping coffee and meditating.
No.
I chase a toddler.
But a few times a week, I go out to work a bit, and it is so peaceful.

For the last few weeks, I've been singing the same hymn while I work.

It's my current favorite, and it sums up everything that I hold to be true.

Isn't it amazing, that a song written in 1834 can bring me so much peace?

That's how it is with beauty and truth.

They hold up well.        

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

When darkness veils His lovely face,

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.    

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh, may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne.

Refrain:
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Words by Edward Mote
Composer: John Stainer
Tune: The Magdalen

From Good Stock

For twenty-four years, I've been parenting children with this man.
In the early days, we look like kids ourselves.
The moments have tumbled by, faster and faster with each baby,
and we have been blessed to always have a little hand to hold.         

It's not always been easy.
We've been, some years, poor and exhausted and impatient and immature.
Many times, our energy ran out before the day ran out.
Somehow we hung on.
 

When he was born, it seemed as though Malachi was a kind of reward,
a prize of untold worth, a treasure that arrived, unbidden, after years of famine.   

His tee shirt is from his aunt who lives in Germany.
When she gave it to him, she translated the words: "From Good Stock."
Then she laughed and said, "Literally, it translates, 'The Parents are Not Bad.'"

And my friends, that about sums it up.
The parents are not bad.
We've made many mistakes, we promise we'll make more.
That's the way of parenting, even with the shreds of wisdom we've earned.

Happy Father's Day.

While I was pregnant with Malachi, we decided to read the book of Malachi. These are the words that amazed us. They seemed to give context to the wonder of our late-in-life, late-in-marriage, baby. We were seeing the reward of our covenant. "Another thing you do: You flood the LORD's altar with tears. You weep and wail because he no longer pays attention to your offerings or accepts them with pleasure from your hands. 14 You ask, "Why?" It is because the LORD is acting as the witness between you and the wife of your youth, because you have broken faith with her, though she is your partner, the wife of your marriage covenant. 15 Has not [the LORD] made them one? In flesh and spirit they are his. And why one? Because he was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth." (from the book of Malachi, Chapter 2)

Black Bean Dip

(Adapted from The Foster's Market Cookbook)

First step: Start this recipe well ahead of time, or the day before you plan to serve it.

This dip isn't very photogenic, but it's seriously one of my most delicious recipes. It's easily the thing I make most from this cookbook. It's a flexible recipe so feel free to tweak the garlic, tomatoes and spices. It's a bit more work to cook the beans from scratch, but I always do, and I usually use organic beans.

1 cup dried black beans (If you have time, soak them first for a few hours)

1 green bell pepper, seeded and sliced

2-3 bay leaves

1/2 cup tomato juice, or 6-8 small tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil and roasted till soft

juice of 2 limes

1 Tb. cider vinegar

Drizzle of olive oil

2-3 garlic cloves, smashed and diced

1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped (I skip this)

1/2 red onion, chopped

3-4 scallions, trimmed and chopped

1 tsp. ground cumin

1 tsp chili powder

1-2 tsp. sea salt

1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes

1/3 cup fresh cilantro

Place the beans in a large pot, cover with water (extra water so beans are covered with about 4 inches of water). Add bell pepper and bay leaves, bring to boil (covered). Take the lid off the pot, reduce heat to medium and cook about 1 1/2 hours, till beans are done.  

Rinse and drain beans, discarding pepper and bay leaves.  

Into bowl of food processor, combine beans and all remaining ingredients except for the cilantro.

Process till smooth. 

Add half the cilantro, pulse till cilantro is roughly chopped.

Serve with remaining chopped cilantro sprinkled over the dip.

This will keep for up to 5 days in the frig (covered), but if you're like us, you'll eat it all within two days. 

It makes a great spread for sandwiches and roll-ups, too.

  

Two

Somebody turned two.
And it's surreal, how fast his babyhood is tripping by.
The interrupted nights and frantic days are blurring into a rollicking childhood.

I want to bottle these moments, slow them into something I can sip instead of gulp.
I want to remember the dawning wonder of the early days of pregnancy,
when I was filled with terror that slowly turned into acceptance and then, joy.

I want to cradle his newborn body again, and smell the top of his head,
and stare at his perfect little square face.
He was so cute that I couldn't stare at him enough.

But I get today.
Today I have a sturdy boy who dances to the music of Little Big Town.
Today I get to hear him say "Mama." He's only been saying it for a few weeks.
Talking is not his strong suit.  

Today, when I pull his shirt over his head,
he'll giggle and squirm because he knows I like to kiss his armpits.
Trust me, they're the only armpits in this house worth kissing.  

Today, if we're in the kitchen and I stoop down to his level and say,
"Should we go outside?"
His face will wreath in smiles and grins,
he'll be overcome with excitement,
and we'll be off to the grand outdoors,
his favorite place to be.

Happy birthday, little man.

(Here is the first post I wrote after Malachi was born).