I don’t know where this recipe originated from, but it’s one that has been in my mama’s recipe arsenal for as long as I can remember. Strawberry pie has to be the crowning glory of berry season. There’s nothing like flaky pie crust piled high with sweet, red strawberries and fluffy whipped cream. This recipe is simple to make and bursting with flavor. As crazy as it sounds, don’t omit the dash of salt and pepper. Somehow they both enhance the flavor of the strawberries!
Sometime between watching from a third floor balcony as he played in an open fire hydrant with a crowd of children and saying good-bye a summer later, I realized I could love this guy. Sometime between the phone call from Indiana and the stroll through Central Park a year later, I knew I loved him. And sometime between that moment when our strolling stopped as he reached for my hand and when I walked down the aisle toward him, I knew that our love was deeper than I’d ever dreamed love could be.
I sighed. It was 4 PM, time to make supper. I’d planned to study for three hours, and work on my fledgling business for three hours. Evening approached, and I’d not given an hour to either of those two concerns. “Think of how much I’ll have to work just to catch up!” Ignoring such despair, I stroked my baby’s cheeks, and relaxed deeply.
Welcome to a mystery that has plagued the ages—that is: what exactly does it mean to be fully human? The deepest parts of ourselves—the overwhelming longings, keenest emotions, and most intimate thoughts—where do they come from and why are they there? Humanity has grasped at a myriad of answers and found dead-ends and brokenness. Blessed are we, the children of God, who have been given the truth. God said, “Let us make man in our Image, according to our likeness.” We—broken and deprived people—have traces of our Almighty God inside us; traces we can follow back to Him. What greater cause for wonder is there than this? I invite you, dear sisters and brothers, to come along with me and take a little peek at what this means for us.
It was a beautiful summer evening. A fire was crackling in the outdoor fireplace. I was surrounded by friends dear to me who were in discussion of the ins and outs of normal life and how to make it glorifying to God.
Then, the conversation turned and went that direction. Once again, I wondered if I would ever not hurt and feel sad when my friends discussed pregnancy and childbirth. It was no fault of their own that their bodies functioned normally and mine did not.
The orange and blue bath towels made it through the laundry yesterday, but they’re still in a pile waiting to be folded and put away. The few dishes I’ve used in the last days are balancing in the sink, waiting to be washed. Then, I overslept this morning, perhaps from the relief of not needing to get up at 4am.
We felt eyes watching us as we ate by candlelight in front of the living room fireplace. It was late when Dave got home and we had sent the kids to their rooms. One by one, they meandered into the dining room, trying to watch us unobtrusively.
When my youngest brother was still a babe in the crib, I used to sit in the rocker in his room and read while he napped; it was quiet and peaceful. Often, I liked to just watch his rhythmic breathing, steady and restful. It meant life.
Two adults and a Cocker Spaniel living in a tiny house in Florida. Sounds like a dream right? Or at the very least, an episode of a TV show. It’s close, but not quite. The reality is that our tiny house is a 1950’s mobile home that boasts a whole 400 square feet; and we aren’t located on the beach, but actually in the middle of Pinecraft. Our tiny house doesn’t feature sleek, modern decor or trendy fold out tables and we certainly don’t have a loft. Instead we have a blue kitchen sink, a gold bathtub and painted plywood walls. But what it lacks in trends, our tiny home makes up for in charm, storage space and cheap rent!
People are confusing. They break promises, grow, move away, change their opinions—they’re hard to trust sometimes.
But God doesn’t change. He keeps His promises. He’s omnipresent, so He couldn’t move away. He should be easy to trust.
Have you ever stood in front of your closet and moaned, “I don’t have anything to wear!” I have, lots of times! Of course, it’s a ridiculous statement, since usually we say it staring into a closet jam-packed with options. A thrifter by nature, I’ve never lacked cute clothing and my closet shows my affinity for good deals. I love putting together an arresting outfit and for years I felt like the best way to do that was to have lots of options.
"So what do I do now?" I said to myself as I thought about the months stretched before me. I had just returned from Iraq and life in the states looked hard. There would be nine months of my life to live before I returned to land where I had felt purpose and fulfillment. Nine months of reading books and training to prepare me for my return. But what is a person supposed to do with nine months of waiting, of expectation for something?
Although we are separated in time from Jesus’ disciples by 2,000 years, our human nature has remarkably similar desires. We want our significance to be noticed by others; we want to belong to something bigger and grander than ourselves; and we want to be served rather than serve.
My labor began late in the evening of the first day of spring. Nine long months of pregnancy, many of them bed-ridden with acute morning sickness, had finally turned into the countdown we’d been waiting for. I was one week overdue. My husband was so excited to be a daddy; I was so excited to meet the cherished little person who had been forming inside my body for nearly a year, and our families were excitedly waiting by their phones for the announcement. After being awake all night with contractions, the sun finally rose on Friday, March 21. We put the finishing touches on our hospital bags, took a long walk, and headed for our midwife’s office.
The mission of Daughters of Promise is to encourage women in their faith and equip them for wholeness and freedom. We failed in this goal when we published the article entitled “Hope in Marital Crisis” in the Expectant issue.
I sit down to write these words with my baby girl snuggled beside me. She’s a slobbering, giggling, big blue-eyed chunk of love. And the fact that she’s here, that I’m here, is nothing short of love.
When the Romans in the first century were trying to figure out magnification through glass, they probably had no idea how popular that concept would eventually become. But they should have figured it would become popular because we, as humans, are born with the desire to magnify something.
We peered out the window overlooking the neighborhood, our noses smashed up against the glass. “She has never mentioned the period. And I’m starting to develop. I’ll need a bra soon.” Her voice dropped. “Am I supposed to ask her to take me bra shopping?” she whispered, uncertainty in her eyes. “I guess so…” I stammered.
Every day during every year, generation after generation, people gather on the banks of a river that runs through the east side of Kathmandu. You would never be able to find the place on your own if it wasn’t for a helpful native or that tattered yellow brochure with the word “Attractions” printed in black letters on the front page and directions on the second. It’s not a cool fast flowing river but a slow dirty brown one that moves lazily on its way to the ocean thousands of miles away. This particular part of the river runs through a large Hindu temple compound consisting of large gaudy structures and wretched crumbling ones, their age revealed beneath the bright paint and worn rocks. Monkeys play along the ridges of the roofs and hang from the points of the pagodas; the loud calls they make and the evil stares they give make one feel like an intruder in their temple home.
The beginning of a new year can be exhilarating, a blank slate waiting to be filled with new opportunities and experiences. For many people this is a time to think about accomplishing new goals. Whether those goals are mentally filed away or physically written on paper, it can be fun to challenge oneself to accomplish something new.