The Process

I don't often get to bake the way that speaks to me. Baking can be a quick batch of cookies on a snowed in night, or an apple crisp that is easily thrown together for a moment of weakness. 

But baking in its purest form, to me, is to labor. 

To begin in the morning and finally have a completed masterpiece by the time the sun turns gold. You measured as if your life depended on it, you paced  anxiously while the oven burned away at your begotten, peering through the glass every few minutes to check on the thing that stole, or rather was given willingly, your entire day. 

Your back hurts a bit, your hands feel soft and warm from handling so much butter, and you whisper little prayers that whatever it is doesn't fall, crack, or scorch in it's final moments. 

This is the kind of baking that impacts me. The kind I wish I was able to do on a weekly basis. I learn, and release, and revive after so many hours in the kitchen. With every time I punch down the dough I remember what a process all good things can be. The best of life needs to be hovered over and tended to for hours. It's hard to be patient, and obedient to a recipe, or to the laws of yeast and gravity. But when you know that at the end of every process lies an Irish Farmers Cheese Tart... Well, you labor. 

I found this recipe a long time ago, and thought... "Someday." 

It was daughnting, and the blogger even admits herself that it is not for the faint of heart. If you want to make this tart, make sure you have a whole day of nothing else to do, and commit to it with heart. I promise you, you will NOT be dissapointed! It is like a little bit of heaven come to earth. 

Not your typical cheesecake, this is the original Scandinavian version. Back when they made their own cheese, from their own cows, on their own genius. The sweet, rich, and rustic cheese filling is embraced with a buttery pastry which has been coated in applesauce before baking. 

Divine. 

You can find the recipe here: 

http://farmette.ie/2013/01/17/sweet-farmers-cheese-tart/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+marriedanirishfarmer/skIi+(I+Married+An+Irish+Farmer.)

Piebox is a Christmas present from my beloved who knows me well. It is a lifesaver, and sold online. :) 

Second chances and oatmeal

There is a silence in morning that causes tears to sting my eyes. Why me? This morning? This priveledge? I was gifted with them by no deserving gleam of my own heart. But they were given to me like a weed picked from the earth in the hand of a rapturous child. 

"Here, for you! Because.... Just because I love you."

Ok, so maybe I fill this sacred space with peanut butter oatmeal and journaling. Does that make it wasted or less holy? No, I don't think so. I think it makes it mine. 

Gregory Allen Isiakov, my muse these days, says if it weren't for second chances we would all be "as lonely as a ring on a cold coffee cup." 

He is right. How melonchey it feels to observe something that was once warm and full be rendered empty. 

Praise God who continues to fill our coffee cups to overflowing! He will never leave us without. 

Wildwood

I have been reading this book. It is a treasure trove (as evidenced by it's cover) of magical woodland wonder. 

My book review at only half way through reads as thus. 

Thank you Colin Meloy for trekking the hidden paths of wildwood, and following them to my own imagination. 

I get swept away every time I read it's verbiage. I want to smell the moss Prue ( the heroine) talks so fondly about. I want to be frightened by coyote malitia in red tattered coats. I want to taste blackberry wine, even if it does get you tipsy faster than most beverages, and I long to meet the crown prince. A great magestic owl who's eyes, once locked with your own, seem to carry away your deepest secrets. 

[ a lovely little one waiting to be appreciated on the library steps] 

The writer talks of the woods repeatedly. It makes you want to plunge headlong into its deep, cool, earthy recesses. Not shockingly, I have taken to appreciating leaves and sticks and the like even more than my already obsession since picking up this book. They are my friends. They are what God made. And for some reason... They make me feel comforted. A leave stays where it's placed, loyal, living, patient. 

I love the forest. It so quickly lends itself to a sanctuary. 

[ me and a mushroom I found on an evening walk]

End for a Beginning

Oh how I am ready for summer to be over. That sounds kind of harsh, but so is the heat here... soooo, I think I am entitled. I want to cook with things that I love, like squash, and kale, and figs.I want to wear things that I love, like scarves, and boots, and leggings. I want it to be fall. 

My new job is feeding my soul in a deep way I didn't know I was missing until I found it again. The little boy I watch is like miniature version of myself, and our adventures together feel like old friends joining hands after a long time apart. I cook. From their families garden I cook. There is something about earth to table cooking, it feels right and whole. 

Above all I love that what I do now is not only what I'm passionate about, but it blesses someone else in a significant way. Like I am putting their family on stilts in the middle of a flood. 

Me and God. 

Here are some things I have made this month. 

[Peach Crisp with a Cornmeal, Oat, and Black Pepper Crumble]

[Green Tomato Cornbread]

• 2 cups seeded, diced green tomatoes (about 3/4 lb.)
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/2 cup butter, melted and divided 
• 2 cups yellow cornmeal 
• 1/2 cup gf flour
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 teaspoons lemon zest
• 5 large eggs 
• 1/2 Cup diced green chilies 
• 1 (16-oz.) container sour cream
• Combine the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. In a stand mixer beat butter, honey, sour cream, and eggs. Incorporate the dry ingredients into the mixer, and mix until just combined. Fold in the tomatoes, chilies, and lemon zest.
• Bake in a cornbread mold or muffin tin at 350 for 20 min.
• 
  

[Roasted Acorn Squash]

Beauty Matters

"Sit with me and tell me once again
Of the story that's been told us
Of the power that will hold us
Of the beauty, of the beauty
Why it matters

Speak to me until I understand
Why our thinking and creating
Why our efforts of narrating
About the beauty, of the beauty
And why it matters

Like the statue in the park
Of this war torn town
And it's protest of the darkness
And the chaos all around
With its beauty, how it matters
How it matters

Show me the love that never fails
The compassion and attention
Midst confusion and dissention
Like small ramparts for the soul
How it matters

Like a single cup of water
How it matters"

-Sara Groves, "How It Matters"

This I have learned. It is entirely possible to find beauty when you don't feel like it, or when nothing around you seems to be beautiful on it's own. The fact that I have woken up in the morning and the first thing that happens is a tear rolls down my cheek can mean two things. 1. This is the end of all happiness, and I should just relinquish myself to being hurt. 2. The tear was beautiful. Not because it felt good, but because it was telling of change occurring in my heart. 

Some random monk once said, (I don't normally quote monks so try not to be too impressed with my intellect) that we should embrace moments of loneliness fully, because in that moment of pain our hearts are softened towards God in a way they would never be otherwise. 

I think that is very true. I didn't want to see the beauty of anything God was breaking in my heart this last month. But I got to a point that felt as if holding onto what I wanted was hot, and would literally burn the inside of my hands if I did not loosen my grip. It hurt so much less when I opened them. 

I have not written in a long time. Partly because my summer has been full to bursting and there was not time to sleep much less pontificate. Secondly, if I wrote, it would expose things in my heart I wasn't ready to deal with yet. I think we all know why I chose to keep quiet. Selfish. Ouch. 

But I'm writing now! Good. 

Things in my intimacy with God, and identity plunged low this summer. Because of the way I feel things deeply it often requires God to do something to get my attention that hurts deeply. 

It was the kind of thing where you get caught up in a whirlwind of self and when you stop spinning for a second you realize you tore the flowers around you right out of the ground, and completely missed the rain every time it fell. 

I stopped spinning, don't worry. God is so sweetly good. He is good in a way I never supposed good to be. My good, is His glory, which in all reality means that my good is not what i want. My good doesn't feel good. That's so strange, but true. God took things away that I thought I could not do without. He showed me my own brokenness deep behind layers I did not know existed, and He showed me that He is both good and dangerous at the same time. 

Funny how you walk into ministry thinking of how YOU will impact others, and then walk out in pieces yourself. 

This is what I really want to talk about...

Beauty matters. 

There is a piece of our soul that longs to be shown something beautiful. The word means different things to all of us, but regardless, we go to such great lengths to experience a little of it. That's because God hides there. Most things we long for are connected to the heart of God, and we have just pinned that desire onto something else. 

Flowers on the mantle 

An organized list of things to accomplish

Tears

Homemade macaroni and cheese

Macaroni and cheese out of a box

Blue eyes

Someone finding out what they are good at

Dirty hands that need to be washed

A child

Rosy morning light

They all have a place in our lives, not because they heal a wound, but because God uses them up against scary, hurtful, dark things to show us he is never NOT good. Just good in a way we don't always understand, or even in a way that needs to be sought after. 

My expectations for the "hope and future" God promises me have fallen by the wayside. My definition of beauty has changed. But they both still matter. I pray that God continues to line my heart up with His.

Please go seek out beauty in your day, and in the seeking, hopefully you will find the treasure of where your heart truly lies. 

Home is here

What an odd thought home has become. Not what it used to be, but better than I thought it could be. I don’t think that home is a place any more, or else I would be wandering around trying to find it. I don’t think it’s a person, or a feeling, those tend to move in one side of your life and out the other in some form or fashion. I have come to believe that home is a heart matter. It’s a place where we meet the fulfillment of deep connection. We long for a place where we feel we can take our shoes off, and stretch out on the floor, but in fact, what is involved in that action that speaks to us so is our guard being let down, and hearts feeling free to be who we are. It’s comfortable, but more than that, its where we should always find ourselves. When we are truly at home… we stay there, no matter what moves in our lives.

Being here in Colorado surrounded by mountains, and new things, I find myself “at home.” Yes it helps that the air I breathe feels clean, and I have a jasmine plant hanging in my new room, and the love of my life kisses me on the cheek when he sees me in the morning, but all of those things are nothing in comparison to the home my heart has found in my sweet Jesus. He seems so bright and clear in the face of the strange and unknown.

Don’t get me wrong… I am in fact quite shaky, and vulnerable. I don’t know how to drive the roads here, and getting lost goes deeper than forgetting which turn to take.It bleeds into lots of places. Lost isn’t a great feeling. It isn’t prominent and doesn’t come often, only in small moments when I feel like a little girl who is pretending to be a big one. Just part of the process right?

I drove here in a car that didn’t have a prayer of making it…. but lots of those were offered up and I half glided, half dragged myself here, spluttering into the parking lot of my new home just in time. God kept filling my gas tank, and I drove all the way from Kentucky to Denver Colorado paying a little over $100 in gas for the WHOLE way! Provision. Miraculous. 

There are lots of words to use here. But mostly I will just say that I am learning the art of homemaking in a new way. Not just hanging pictures and picking flowers. But making a home for my heart, even in unfamiliar places. 

I have a bed! It’s big and fluffy, and far beyond what I expected to receive in my first week here. I also have windows that look out on the mountains, and a closet the length of my room. My stuff has found a home mostly, I just need to do a bit more good-willing. I am finding myself in cooking and rearranging. It feeds my soul and speaks to the places that are unsure of themselves. No matter where I go, I will ALWAYS feel at home in a kitchen, and in loving people through hospitality. Due to the fact that I process things through creating, and serving others.... my roommates and my boyfriend have been eating very well. :) 

Here are a few pictures I hurriedly took a few mornings ago... I made a gluten/refined sugar free gallette. Pear and rosemary, with orange curd. Lots of sea salt on the side.

The post where I say goodbye and hello at the same time.

Some of you, but not all of you, know that I am moving to Colorado.

If your response to that statement was, "what!? since when? what are you doing with your life Rachael??" Then click HERE.

If you are still calm, and fairly confident you know the reasons why I'm moving then read on.

Indeed it is happening.... FRIDAY APRIL 5TH!

 

 

I am so excited but it comes with a lot more than just excitement. There are a long string of emotions all tied together into a very awkward, unstable, complicated chain. And that chain is securely attached to my person. Somehow (God) I am staying grounded, and there have been no major meltdowns as of yet.
This is what I am:

-Expectant
-Overwhelmed
-Worried
-Thrilled
-Alive
-Too excited to sleep
-A little broken
-Fragile
-Determined
-Giddy
-Nervous
-At peace
...... and sure. Very sure that this is where God wants me. Sure that it is good for my heart. Sure that it I am doing the right thing.

Even if things feel weird. I am sure.

Today as I go through my desk at work there are little scraps of paper that are all that's left of moments in a season. When I stop by my mom's house to gather up my gluten free flours in a box I feel a bit pitiful that this is what I choose to carry across country with me.
I walk out doors and know I won't be walking back in them any time soon.
I hug people... I hug LOTS of people, and some of them would never hug me under normal circumstances, but all of them leave an imprint, and in that moment I realize whether or not I made an impact.
I do things for the last time.
And it's good! It's so good. It's just... that it's the last. time. 
I have been ready to move for awhile now. Not just to Colorado, which so happens to be the place God picked out for me, but I have been shuffling my feet under my desk at work and fidgeting with anything my hands can find for some time now, asking "when?."
When do I move? forward?

Awhile back God had given me the verses in Genesis that talk about Noah sending the dove out of the ark after the flood to see if the waters had receded. Noah let's the dove fly free out the window, but she circles around and never finds a place to land, so she comes back to his arms. He waits a bit, probably puts her back in her cage lovingly, and promises another flight soon, and then sends her out a second time. This time she comes back with an olive branch in her mouth. A sign of hope, but not one big enough to build a life on. The third time Noah releases his dove into the great beyond she never comes back.
She never come back because she found a home. A place that was good, and contained what she needed. A place to build a nest, and live a life, and do whatever doves do. All of the exhausting trips over the face of endless water when her wings ached, and her hope faltered were not in vain. They taught her that she needed to come back to the arms of her Master for seasons of rest, and that she wasn't in charge of when or where she got to land. They taught her patience, and that even when her cage felt like a prison, it was only meant to teach her to wait.

God told me I was that dove.
He told me that almost a year ago when I was still in the "going out and not finding anything" stage. I thought then, so there will be a day when the waters recede?
That day is Friday, April 5th 2013
This dove is off, flying on the wings that will always know their true home is in the arms of The Beloved, no matter where she lands.

In Colorado God has given me the gift of a ministry and suits who I am and what I'm good at. He has given me love deeper, and more precious than I thought I would ever find in a person. He has given me arms full of possibility. And he makes all things new.
I am fully aware that Colorado is not a state of perfection, and that it holds still more moments of failure or disappointment, but I am not going to let go of the olive branch that is His promise to be faithful to me.

So there you have it. This blog WILL remain! For my sanity, and creative steam-blower-offer (no, that's not a real word thing) but also because I want all of you to come with me!
I have no idea what life will look like for the next month or so, so bear with me. I may be able to post often, or hardly at all, and the posts could either be about food, or emotional outpourings you all know I'm so talented at producing. Either way, stick with me... It promises to be magical.



Your prayers are so needed as I make the two day trek in my disheveled car full of.... well, let's be real... dishes, and food. Mostly.
Isn't it lovely?
Also, I am still just short of my financial goal in raising enough to live on through the summer, so praying with me for God's provision would be so encouraging as well.
Love!


Talk more soon.

Tablets of Flesh

*Sorry about all the foodless posts. Things have been so busy with cooking, and there are still thoughts to be voiced. I do add random pictures I've taken so I hope that helps.

 

We think we know who we are and what we are capable of... but then one
day, we look down at our hands and think "where did all this filth
come from?" It's a shocking (but not-so-new) realization that we. are.
not. clean.
Not sparkly, and well composed. Not on our own at least.
I find myself getting in this pattern of shushing myself, and my own
conscience. I sing myself a lullaby. I tell myself, "it's alright, you
make mistakes, God has so much grace for you." HE DOES, but my spirit
becomes numb from so many gentle pats on the back. Sometimes it's
important to stop and feel the weight, even if only for a moment, to
realize the brokenness of my own space. Even when I think my table has
been set JUST so... things are missing and out of place, and I
probably forgot to polish the silver.

But God says... "Clearly, you are an epistle of Christ, ministered by
us, written not with ink, but by the Spirit of the living God, not on
tablets of stone, but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart." (2
Cor 3:3)

God looks at us and sees us as Spirit filled ministers. We are a light
even in our own darkness.
I like how He says "clearly..." you are an epistle of Christ. As if to
say, "duh!" Of course I still think of you that way! He is so darn
good. Written on our hearts are words pressed deep, like a tattoo only
without the ink. The finger of God reached towards us... and wrote. I
don't know what it says, maybe it's a new language, or maybe WE can't
even see it, but when God reads the words He put there, He reads
Himself. He reads that we belong to Him.
As beautiful as it is, I still find myself asking how it's possible?
Especially on the days when I walk around looking put together, and
know inside everything is NOT ok. If they only knew....

"Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think of anything as
being from ourselves, but our sufficiency is from God." (vs 5)

That's how.

It's not possible for us to scrub anything away. But we wake up with
the dawn and we find that our insides once again match our outsides.
They always have, no matter how many other things creep into our
souls, beneath it all are written the words of God on their tablet of
flesh.

 



 

Giving Care

"Care giving is the role of creating and sustaining the bonds of affection."

 -Andi Ashworth

I won't be cooking much this weekend. I mean, I will. But not for you all. I am in the throws of making people meals in exchange for donations towards my summer.

So due to that I am posting a pretty picture of the coffee that is going to get me through the weekend of running around covered in flour. 

Also, the quote above is not only deep and lovely, but more true than we stop to think about. Why does our society think that being a caregiver isn't a job? or a real one at least. Why do we act like it doesn't shape our children and loved ones in life altering ways, because it does. When I cook for someone it is my way of creatively seeing a need in someone, and filling it. Their emotional state becomes my canvas for cultivating a  whole, and beautiful picture. Care givers (whether that's cooking a meal, or reading a book, or setting the table) are creating bonds in community around them, and binding up broken places. It's SO important! 

When you make coffee for someone in your family this morning or the next, give it your all. Love them in pouring it. You are feeding their soul in a small, but heavenly way. And they probably just needed it. 

In the light

This morning God. 

There was going to be a sentence on the end of that but it just looked better on it's own. This morning God. That's pretty much it. I feel as if I'm standing in front of a tree in which lovers initials have been carved. Observing a place where someone's love left it's mark, making an ordinary tree into a sacred spot that says "we were here, and we felt deeply in this spot and moment." God carved my name and his into this morning, and it became a place to be remembered. He told me to seek out the light, to look at it differently when it hit things. To find it, and sit in it. To remember that his presence is as warm and real as light on my skin, on my journal pages, on my coffee. 

So I found the light. 

And I found God.

Can I sit for awhile, under Your smile, and not say a word? 

Cause the cry of my hear is to be set apart, and I know You've heard.

I will trust, and believe that You've washed me clean, and I'm pleasing You.

Could I sit at Your feet, feel Your gaze upon me, as I trust Your near? Tears fill my eyes as I realize that You're wanting me.

I don't want to be anywhere else than by Your side. 

I don't want to be anything less than pure in Your eyes. 

Loosing Beauty

I have been inundated with well spoken words lately. Words on beauty, and tears, and old coming from the new. Words about listening, and words about letting love change things.
There is a purpose rising around me. I see it in the way people create and enjoy... as if they are just now discovering a meaning to their enjoyment. And there is one. Can you imagine how our hearts might relate to God's if people found God in finger painting? Or if they learned to worship through music that wasn't about God, but music that simply soared to Him anyway?
We have lost our sense of Eden, when all that was good and green was filled with God, and it didn't have to be branded by a church, or endorsed with the word "holy."

I think it might be coming back though. I think God wants to teach us how to shine, but how will we do that within a hard casing of "this is the only way" mentality, and promises to not look undignified? If God is THE Creator, then wouldn't he be present in our process of creating as well? And even more importantly, would a creative God set boundaries in how, and where we experience Him? I don't think He would, or does. I can see God loosing His beauty on our hearts so as to open and change them, and I see people responding!
Individuals leaning back on the Beloved in small, mundane ways.
Learning to enjoy Him, because solemn does not mean devoted.
Enjoying when they take a bite.
Enjoying when they get dirt under their fingernails.
Enjoying when they hum.
Returning to the place where they are made holy simply by delighting in Him.

And you had better believe that makes Him happy.

Snow (warning: this has nothing to do with food, sorry)

We finally got ourselves some snow... a big fat lot of it... for Kentucky that is. My day was "supposed" to be not so great, but snow has a way of making everything better. My car is deciding to fall apart and I had to drive it out along the winding back roads to the shop, sliding and spinning the whole way. God turned things all white and sparkly so that my terrifying drive could be less so... He thinks of everything. Of course I brought my camera...

"Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem!

Praise your God, O Zion!...

He gives snow like wool."

"He scatters the frost like ashes.

He casts forth His ice as fragments,"

"Who can stand before His cold?

He sends forth His word and melts them

He causes His wind to blow and the waters to flow."

-Psalm 147:12-18-