bread crumbs

I'm trying something new. For months I've been processing so many things in my spiritual life, and let me just say, it's been a bit overwhelming. I've driven home from church sobbing. I've spent mornings drinking up words, desperate for an answer. I've sought, I've been silent. I've felt like a "bringer of doubt", a menace.

There have been days where I've questioned whether it's still accurate to call myself a Christian, not because I don't want to follow Christ, but because I don't identify with so much of church culture. Then there are days where I've seen a spark of something so new and fresh that it fills me with hope and excitement. Blogs like Emerging Mummy and Elizabeth Esther that just about knock me over with their honesty, their descriptions that match almost exactly how I've been feeling. A nurse I work with sometimes who is like Jesus with skin on. There are bread crumbs to follow. God is gracious.

There are many things in the Bible I don't want to teach my children-at least not in the way it is conventionally taught. I'm more concerned about sheltering my boys from certain aspects of conservative Christian culture than I am about sheltering them from the things conservative Christian culture is afraid of. (Here's an example: the obnoxious bumper sticker I saw today that shouted, "Jesus is Alive! Deal with it." Um, is that supposed to be a presentation of the gospel?)

It's difficult, trying to live up to labels. But I'm finding that when I step away from labels I can say some things about my relationship with God that I mean will all my heart. And that is huge. I don't need to be certain of everything, but I need a foundation.

So I'm trying something new, putting this stuff out there. I want to keep track of the bread crumbs just like I keep track of the way my kids are growing; the birthdays, milestones, anniversaries. This is kind of my pile of stones, marking an important place. An altar of sorts.

I hope for better things.

funny stuff about Nicky

• On Wednesday morning Nicky woke me up at 6:20, already dressed, to let me know that he was making himself a "ham and no cheese sandwich" for his lunch, and Penny had jumped up and taken it off the kitchen counter, so he put her in time out, and he was on his way to start again. Also, he was wearing his backpack.
• He told Ricky today that he loves Mommy 100 and he loves Papa 30. So I win by 70%. Ouch for Papa. (I only gloat because I know my coolness will not last).
• He took his red cowboy hat to school today, because he wants to be a "kindergartener cowboy" like his new friend
• He is currently wearing two plastic rings. One is orange and glows in the dark, the other has a red heart on it.
• He likes to bring us snacks, like the other day when Ricky and I were sitting outside talking, and he saw us through the back door and then showed up a minute later with three Capri Suns and a big smile. 
• He has four requests for his birthday: a Buzz Lightyear, a Spiderman mask, a Spiderman costume, and a Buzz Lightyear with a rocket ship.
• Since he can't whistle yet, he calls Penny with a high-pitched squealy sort of noise. It's awesome.
• He says "funder" and "light-ming"

Labor Day Weekend

This weekend we took Nicky on his first-ever camping trip with our church. The Gila Wilderness is close to where I grew up, and I have lots of great memories there. I really miss the mountains sometimes, and the high desert. We left inspired to do it more often.

We hiked at the Catwalk

Lots of people were swimming, but we just cooled our toes in the freezing water. 

Later, we enjoyed some campfire time with the group, complete with s'mores of course. 

Silas discovered graham crackers.

The next day we found a shady spot on the Gila River so Nicky could fish. He got pretty good at casting after some practice. I don't think there were any fish in the river, but we didn't tell him that.

We felt like being out and about some more, so we took the scenic route home from Silver City. We stopped by Santa Rita mine so Nicky could have a look at the pit, and the trucks making their way down. 

Then we drove home through the winding roads of the Black Range, stopping to scope out potential future campsites along the way. It was cloudy and cool. That road always made me carsick as a kid, but no one got woozy this time, thankfully.

We finished off the day with green chile cheeseburgers, fries, and a hot shower. 

It's always nice to visit my neck of the woods.

smitten

Sometimes I'm simply amazed by the beauty of being this little guy's mama-the way time stops for just a bit while we snuggle up on the couch, and he lays his cheek against my face

and I try to capture the moment with my phone,

and it's a blurry, incomplete representation 

of the pure magic, of the little things that are everything

Late Summer Squash Soup

Last night Ricky was blending up some squash he had cooked for Silas to eat this week, and he noticed that it made a nice creamy puree. He remarked that it would be really good to eat just the way it was, which inspired me to make a soup with the puree as a base. It was quite tasty and late summer-y tasting, but the best part was using the mountain of squash we had! Of course, tomorrow there will be more. Squash is relentless like that.

Ingredients:

• yellow crookneck squash (5)
• 1 Tbsp butter (I used Smart Balance spread)
• 1 cup chicken stock  
• 4 roasted Anaheim chile (unless they're super spicy, then you might want less)
• corn (I used 1 bag of frozen)
• grated cheese
• salt and pepper to taste

Method:

Boil or steam squash until soft. Blend until creamy and smooth. (If you do this step ahead of time, the soup is very quick to prepare.) In a large pot, melt the butter. Add the squash puree, chicken stock, and corn. Stir and let simmer over medium heat. While it's simmering, chop the chile into small pieces. Add to the pot. Let simmer for about 20 minutes to combine the flavors. Taste, add salt and pepper as needed. Serve with grated cheese on top, if desired.

the first of the Fall rituals

 The smell of roasting green chile is in the air, and even though it's still 100 degrees out, it signals the start of Fall around here.

This year, we thought it would be fun to go to Hatch and get our green chile from the source, and eat some really good Mexican food. The Pepper Pot (where Anthony Bourdain apparently had the best enchilada of his life) did not disappoint.  I had the best stuffed sopapilla of my life. So there.

Then we stopped here for our forty pounds of roasted goodness. Half medium and half hot.

Nicky didn't enjoy the roasting part as much as we did, but finding a giant Spiderman piñata for his birthday party pretty much made his day. He'll be five in less than a month!

Both littles passed out on the drive home, so we put them in their beds, covered the table with a trash bag and spent the next three hours peeling and bagging chiles while watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix.

Now with the freezer full, it's on to September. We're planning a camping trip with our church, a visit to Pie Town for Ricky's birthday, and the Spectacular Spiderman party Nicky's been waiting for. The mornings and evenings are a little cooler, school is in full swing, and even though this summer felt oddly short, I'm ready for more of the sights and smells of Fall.

to hear better

I hear the edge, sometimes, in my voice.
It's that same ragged edge I hear sometimes at the grocery store, that I heard in my own mother's voice. It threatens and pleads, and sounds a little shaky at the end.
It's our way of saying we need help, sometimes. It's not at all attractive, but it's real.

Sometimes I come to the end of my rope. I think I will scream if I pick up one more upturned shoe, wipe one more crumb, remind one more time. I think, how did I get so old?

Comparison is the thief of joy, someone said.

I am struggling today, Friend. I am not finding the peace, not hearing the whispers. Oh, they are probably there, it's just all the clang and clatter in my mind drowns them out. I am the whirlwind, overshadowing the still small voice in all my self-importance.

Anne Lammott says the two best prayers she knows are help, help, help and thank you, thank you, thank you.

It's not at all attractive, how consumed I am with my first world problems. How I feel my husband must see me sometimes. How I escape easily into the company of strangers while a strange anxiety keeps me from picking up the phone. The things I've thought to myself when I hear that edge in another woman's voice. How we live, alone on our islands.

I so want to be a person who lives a life of yes. Yes, I have time. Come over, we'll move the laundry aside, don't mind the dog hair. Have another cup. Yes, I'm not too tired. Yes, I'll read the story.

How do I go from I just can't to a life of joyful yes? I need more of the Vine, because I am spent.

I'm driving Nicky to school and time stands still for a bit. He sings me the days of the week, the months of the year. He tells me the story of the Prodigal Son. "He spent all his money on silly things," he says earnestly.

There's a whisper. I have to drive for a while, to hear better. At home, I clear clutter, evidence of the souls who live here, and ask for help.

And I think what my Friend is trying to tell me is that I have an inheritance too, and it is precious, and it can easily be spent on silly things. But even more than that, just that there is love. Love is waiting with open arms.

Love is not constrained the way I am, and offers itself to me.