[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBQxG0Z72qM”]

When you’ve settled into that unexpectedly happy place, mosey over to Soul Stops. Dolly’s interview with me on the subject of slowing down has spilled into a second post, and you can enjoy another chance to win a copy of Not So Fast. Yes, I’m giving away two copies of Not So Fast. (Congratulations to Alecia Simersky for winning the first copy!)

In part two, you’ll find out how we’ve handled technology with our kids. Have we always been this low tech?

Click through to find out.

The post Not So Fast at Soul Stops, Pt. 2 appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

She has kept the lyrics to ponder each year and shared them with me, knowing I seek to live a slower life.

The first words are, “Lord, before this fleeting season is upon us…”

Obviously, this fleeting season is already upon us. Already fleeting.

Nevertheless, the message is good, even now, even in the midst of the season:

Lord, before this fleeting season is upon us,

Let me remember to walk slowly.

Lord, bless my heart with love and with quiet.

Give my heart a leaning to hear carols.

Grace our family with contentment,

And the peace that comes only from You.

Lord, help us to do less this busy season;

Go less; stay closer to home; kneel more.

May our hearts be Your heart.

May we simply, peacefully, celebrate You.

Lord, Before This Fleeting Season

Text by MaryAnn Jindra; set to choral music by Libby Larsen.

May we walk slowly and do less.

May our hearts be His heart.

May we this day, this moment…simply, peacefully, celebrate Jesus Christ.

* * * * *

Revisited from the archives.

The post Remember to Walk Slowly appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Though I often crave caffeine, I can only tolerate it until noon, when I must stop drinking it or risk lying awake until two in the morning. Fortunately, I glanced at the clock on the stove: just after 10:00 a.m. I had time.

I spooned some caffeinated black tea into a paper loose tea filter, lowered it into the deep pottery mug, poured steaming water from the electric tea kettle over it and let it steep while I answered a few e-mails. A few minutes later, I returned to the kitchen and drizzled some honey into the mug and stirred. Breathing in the aroma, I knew this would keep me going for a few hours.

Both physical and virtual paperwork awaited, as well as phone calls and e-mails. Later in the day, an errand or two. The to-do’s of the day were flowing like the steady stream of a kitchen faucet—not as forceful as a fire hydrant nor as annoying as a drip, but I had to pay attention or the sink would fill and overflow, figuratively speaking.

So I kept at it, task after task, decision after decision, e-mail after e-mail, errand after errand. These things weren’t overwhelming; just steady. Somewhere in the afternoon, though, I needed a pause.

My cup, as it were, was empty.

I’d drained my literal cup of tea, and I had drained my figurative cup, my very self, of rest.

Life needs pauses.

I’d scheduled tire rotation and a medical test for my daughter, shopped for groceries and filled the gas tank; I printed off papers for my daughters’ schoolwork and agreed to bake brownies for a church function.

But…a pause. I needed a pause.

Late in the afternoon I returned to the kitchen and opened the cabinet to stare at my boxes of tea. I saw some chai tea. Decaf. By then it was past 3:00 p.m., so I could only handle decaf.

Filled the tea kettle.

Instead of racing around the corner to my desk, I leaned against the counter while the water boiled.

I waited.

Paused.

How easy it would be to check my phone for e-mail while the water boiled.

But, no. I paused.

And when the electric kettle bell dinged, I lifted the plastic kettle from its base and poured hot water over the tea bag, watching the bag rise with the waterline, all the way to the top, before it was soggy enough to sink. I took hold of the tag and dipped it down and up several times then let it settle at the bottom.

I briefly considered carrying my drink to the desk, but changed my mind. Instead, I walked to the table and sat for a moment, both hands hugging the mug to warm my palms.

Tea, I decided, is necessary.

Tea, I realized, is a slow-down solution.

Tendrils of steam drifted up from the glimmering dark surface of the tea and dissipated.

I lifted the mug and blew across the top, making ripples.

Then I tilted the mug and the tea touched my lips.

Slowly, I sipped.

_______________________________

Is every hour rush hour at your house?

Explore the jarring effects of our overcommitted culture and find refreshing alternatives for a more meaningful family and spiritual life.

Find a pace that frees your family to flourish.

“Not So Fast is a gift to every reader who takes the time to slow down and breathe in its pages.”

—Lee Strobel, best-selling author of The Case for Christ

:::

For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and recipes.

The post Food on Fridays: Tea Is Necessary appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

My minivan awaits.

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This post is written in community with L.L. Barkat’s On, In, and Around Mondays writing project, Laura Boggess’s Playdates with God, and Michelle Derusha’s Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday.

The post A Sacred Pathway appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Each Wednesday I’m recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the past week. Tag words are: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.

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Some of you have mentioned that you’re keeping a Curiosity Journal, as well. Leave your link in the comments so that we can visit and enjoy your weekly review.

Reading

Currently in the One-Year Bible, I’m in Isaiah, and a lot of its message is difficult, even harsh.

But there is hope. The reading includes Isaiah 30:15, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

I sip coffee. In returning and rest…in quietness and trust.

Filtered morning sunlight manages to push through the clouds and brighten my mug, my Bible. The quiet will end soon. Kids will slam drawers and doors, stick bread in the toaster, flip on the radio, pour cereal, and open and shut the fridge twenty-five to thirty times.

I want to linger here, before the noise builds; I want to live a life of quiet trust, even as problems present themselves. I think of this as I set my mug on the counter and carry the Bible to my desk. I’m relocating my stuff, because the kids have arrived. Plates of buttered raisin bread and bowls of frosted shredded mini-wheat thunk against the table. Milk sloshes over the rim of a bowl. Spoons ping and clink against ceramic. The kids and I discuss the day’s schedule. We pray.

This moment of quiet and attitude of trust is temporary, because soon a disagreement will break out about whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher. But it is good while it lasts. And I think about it later, when I begin to feel agitated by scheduling challenges and an awkward conversation with a family member.

Return and rest, I remind myself. Return and rest.

Playing

My son misplaced Bananagrams for a long time, but found it recently while searching for a green T-shirt that he’d also misplaced. The shirt was discovered inside-out and crumpled next to a chair in the corner of his bedroom. Apparently the bag of Bananagram tiles was nearby.

We’ve been playing. I actually stopped momentarily mid-game to snap this. Those of you familiar with Bananagrams knows how risky it is to interrupt one’s focus.

After a few more “peels,” a moment when players draw another tile, I successfully rearranged and repositioned letters to form new words, but a late acquisition tripped me up: “J.” Given a little more time, I could have juggled things and made it fit, but one of my daughters was too fast. She used up all of her tiles.

No more to draw from. Game over.

Learning

One of my daughters is in a government class. She’s about to study how a bill becomes a law, which will be fully explained in her textbook; but I’m thinking, What better explanation than this?

This more serious resource is helpful for quizzing how well a student (or adult) understands the Constitution.

Reacting

Two weekends ago, our cross country team ran in a well-organized invitational held at a community park. The course wove through some woods and down a little rolling hill and around a soccer field. One section was kind of confusing because the runners had to circle around a section twice, but the organizers sent parents from each team to direct athletes. In addition, a man on a bicycle rode in front of the lead runner to show the way.

No one got lost.

Last weekend, the team participated in another invitational. Start time was delayed so that by the time everyone gathered, the host wasn’t willing to take teams on a course tour. He started pointing. “Oh, it’s so simple,” he said. “You just go around that tree over there, loop around there two times, then the third time you go around there and run down that way around the playground and come back up this way and go down that way…” and so on. He concluded, “It’s easy. So easy. We don’t need to do a tour. It’s clearly marked—just follow the arrows.”

No cyclist led the way. No parents directed the runners to loop around the playground two times or pointed them through the woods. The starter shot the gun, and the runners were off, on their own, following the arrows best they could.

They got off course.

They lost their way.

It was heartbreaking to witness their long strides and the determination on their faces, only to realize that something was “off”; their times couldn’t possibly be as fast as those I was clocking.

It turned out that in spite of their hard work, their strong performance, their grit and excitement, most were disqualified. If you don’t run the course, your time doesn’t count.

How do I know, in life, if I’m on the right course? How do we avoid racing off in the wrong direction?

I think of Isaiah again, same passage as earlier:

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. (30:21)

Better than a bicycle leading the way—a voice from behind saying, “This is the way, walk in it.”

Writing

Lesson plans.

E-mails.

Journal entries.

Blog posts.

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Credits:

All photos copyright 2011 by Ann Kroeker.

The post Curiosity Journal: Sept. 21, 2011 appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

One time we were making plans to have another family over for dinner. As we were discussing the get-together, they said, “So, after we eat at your house, what will we do? I suppose we’ll just sit around and … talk?”

“Um, yes. What would you do at someone else’s house?”

“Watch a movie or maybe a football game.”

“Oh, well, we just talk. I hope that’s okay. We’ll ask lots of questions if things drag a little!”

They came over and not only did they survive an evening without “entertainment” filling in the slower, quiet moments, but I think they actually had a good time.

I’ve thought a lot about their concern that we would just talk. They wondered what we would do and how we would fill all that time. We Americans are so used to noise and entertainment, this may be one of many challenges to building community and conversation in our culture.

The speed of our “microwave-fast culture” is also a major hurdle. Few of us take time to stop and sit down and talk, whether as a family or with friends. The culture itself works against this value, so we have to be intentional to make it happen.

This is so important and so hard.

Sometimes I take inspiration from my European relatives, who are located in Belgium and France. When we’re visiting, we’ve been part of multi-course meals that stretch out all evening.

And what do they do during each of those courses and in-between? How do they fill all that time?

They talk.

If you long to slow down, you can do the same.

Invite people over.

Share a meal.

Talk.

It’s a way to counter the culture without making a dramatic, disruptive, long-term change. Plus, you’ll have a chance to build community while you’re slowing down!

Try to schedule a dinner in the next few weeks with some friends.

Don’t schedule it around a football game (I know that’s almost impossible this time of year, but try).

Don’t rent a movie as a backup plan.

Just plan a meal (it doesn’t have to be a multi-course affair; in fact, Americans don’t seem to mind a pitch-in).

And then?

For one night, reclaim conversation.

Does the thought of sustaining that much conversation intimidate you like it did my friends? Here are some slow-down solutions to help you enjoy connection and reclaim conversation:

• Ask curious, open-ended questions. Decide how in-depth this group of people will want to go. If this is a group of friends from church intending to dig deeper into each other’s lives, you can ask different questions than you would with a group of neighbors who are just getting acquainted. Either way, however, open-ended questions are the way to get people responding with more than one sentence or one word.
• Listen. Our culture is influenced by creative media presentations on TV and film that overlap images, sound and text; plus, almost everyone is accustomed to multi-tasking and dividing attention, half-listening to a conversation while texting someone else, for example. This encourages and supports interruption, which stifles and shuts down meaningful conversation. Fight the urge to overlap or interrupt. Try to focus completely on the speaker and listen carefully and actively to what he or she is saying. Even repeat back part of what was said to be sure you understood completely.
• Ask follow-up questions. Sometimes people will cut themselves off for fear of dominating the conversation. If everyone seems to be enjoying the direction of a person’s story or response, ask a follow-up question to bring them out a little more.
• Encourage stories. When people tell their stories, we get to know them better. Plus, one story may spark a memory in someone else, leading to more stories.
• Use pre-fab questions. Check out Garry D. Poole’s The Complete Book of Questions: 1001 Conversation Starters for Any Occasion (you should be able to sample 99 “Light and Easy” questions from the book at this link). Though it might seem a little contrived to pull out a book of pre-printed questions, this simple tool can get people laughing and sharing right away, should things drag a little. Pinpoint five to ten questions ahead of time that may fit the group that’s gathered around your table (or living room, if the meal is finished and you’ve migrated to couches with coffee and dessert). There are other books of questions available, but Garry’s is organized so that the questions go deeper and deeper as the numbers go higher, moving toward more spiritually focused topics.
• Be vulnerable. Without overwhelming or over-sharing, be willing to offer something a little vulnerable to take a conversation deeper than small talk. The appropriate depth depends upon the group and the goal of the evening. You can lead the way without hogging the conversation by modeling a vulnerable response.
• Relax and have fun! Regardless of the flow of conversation or topics explored, one key to reclaiming conversation is to be relaxed and enjoy yourself. If the host is uptight, the conversation might be stilted and awkward, as guests might be concerned about doing something upsetting. Lead the way with a smile, mood and tone that encourage a comfortable atmosphere.

I invite you to report back on your gathering with observations, recommendations, and lessons learned.

Photo of European young people, copyright 2005 by Ann Kroeker. This post contains affiliate links.

_____________________________________

Is every hour rush hour at your house?

Explore the jarring effects of our overcommitted culture and find refreshing alternatives for a more meaningful family and spiritual life.

Find a pace that frees your family to flourish.

“Not So Fast is a gift to every reader who takes the time to slow down and breathe in its pages.”

—Lee Strobel, best-selling author of The Case for Christ

The post Reclaim Family Conversation at Mealtime appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Tell me, what is it you plan to doWith your one wild and precious life?(Mary Oliver, from “The Summer Day“)

[L]et me know how fleeting is my life…Each man’s life is but a breath.(Psalm 39: 4b, 5)

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(smaller button below)

For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (sorry for the delay on the promised button battle…more later on that) to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually.Then fill in the boxes of this linky tool to join the fun!

Food on Fridays with Ann

When the kids were little, I’d been a sale-seeking, coupon-clipping mama, rooting out the cheapest peanut butter and oatmeal in town. I turned to the Frugal Zealot, Amy Dacyczyn, author of The Tightwad Gazette, for ideas and instruction on how to live frugally.After a few years our budget wasn’t quite so tight, so we loosened up a little. But the squeeze everyone is feeling these days is squeezing us, as well, and so we’re cutting back in several areas, including groceries.I don’t know if I’ll renew that intensely zealous approach right away, but we happily ate a meat-free meal yesterday (it’s healthy and saves money), and I found pork chops and chicken on sale at Kroger.I haven’t made pork chops in ages, but there they were, offered at a ridiculously low price. So I bought them.An Internet search for “pork chop recipe” turned up several interesting prospects, which I cut-and-pasted into Evernote until I decided which one to try.After consulting with the kids, I settled on a slow cooker recipe, but I’ll tell you what—my pictures don’t look as dreamy as the Taste of Home glamor shot. Mine show you the results of an average cook trying something for the first time.The recipe says you have to coat each pork chop in a flour mixture, then brown each side before placing in the crock pot.The first were fine, but as I progressed, I went from “browning” the chops to almost “blackening” the chops, at least in spots.But they worked out fine. I layered them and then poured a flour-broth mixture over them that would create a sauce or gravy as they cooked the rest of the way through in the crock pot.They cooked a long time, longer than expected, but turned out really lovely, forming a sauce that we ladled over brown rice.A lettuce salad served with the meal included a hearty helping of homegrown tomatoes from the garden topped with a homemade dressing.A simple, tasty, affordable meal.Here’s the recipe, which I doubled:Slow Cooker Pork Chops(source: Taste of Home)Ingredients

• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour, divided
• 1/2 teaspoon ground mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic pepper blend
• 1/4 teaspoon seasoned salt
• 4 boneless pork loin chops (1/2 inch thick and 4 ounces each)
• 2 tablespoons canola oil
• 1 can (14-1/2 ounces) chicken broth

Directions

• In a large resealable plastic bag, combine 1/2 cup flour, mustard, pepper blend and seasoned salt. Add chops, one at a time, and shake to coat. In a large skillet, brown meat in oil on each side.
• Transfer to a 5-qt. slow cooker. Place remaining flour in a small bowl; whisk in broth until smooth. Pour over chops. Cover and cook on low for 3 to 3-1/2 hours or until meat is tender.
• Remove pork to a serving plate and keep warm. Whisk pan juices until smooth; serve with pork. Yield: 4 servings.

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Photos by Ann Kroeker.

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The post Food on Fridays: Slow Cooker Pork Chops appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

On Four Things that Bring PeaceCHRIST. My son, I will now teach you the way of peace and true freedom.THE DISCIPLE. Lord, instruct me, I pray. I am eager to learn.CHRIST. My son, resolve to do the will of others rather than your own. (Matt.26:39)Always choose to possess less rather than more. (Matt.10:10)Always take the lowest place, and regard yourself as less than others. (Luke 14:10)Desire and pray always that God’s will may be perfectly fulfilled in you. (Matt. 6:10)A man who observes these rules shall come to enjoy peace and tranquillity of soul.THE DISCIPLE. Lord, in these few words of Yours lie the whole secret of perfection. If I could only faithfully observe them, no trouble could distress me. For whenever I am anxious- and weary, I find that it is because I have strayed from Your teaching. All things are in Your power, and You always long to bring souls to perfection. Give me your grace ever more richly; help me to keep Your word and advance my salvation.(From The Imitation of Christ, by Thomas à Kempis; my emphasis of words in bold)

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Back from vacation, where everything our family of six needed fit comfortably into a minivan and pop-up trailer, I begin to study my belongings. What can I eliminate?

Browsing my bookshelves, I pluck a title and consider. Keep? Sell? Give away?

I toss it into the give away box.

One thin volume from a vast collection, but it’s one less thing. One less possession.

Always choose to possess less rather than more, wrote à Kempis. It’s one way, he claims, to enjoy peace and tranquility of soul.

I live in a land of acquisition, and those who acquire must store, protect, maintain, and repair the things acquired. When I survey all that I’ve acquired, I realize that it’s nothing but stuff. Stuff. And this stuff does not lead to peace and tranquility. Rather, it demands my time and attention: I’m frequently thinking about it, researching it, arranging my space to accommodate it.

I don’t want a life revolving around stuff.

My friend and I passed through the garage one afternoon as we headed to the pool.

“Behold, our junk,” I said, a hint of disgust punctuating the word “junk” as I waved my hand toward the stacks of boxes, piles of drain pipes, and haphazard collection of toys, bikes, rakes, garden tools and paint cans.

“Wow,” she marveled, “it amazes me how we can end up with so much stuff.”

So. Much. Stuff.

To be burdened by too much stuff. A first-world problem, for sure.

Embarrassing. Humiliating. Exhausting.

To enjoy peace and tranquility of soul, possess less.

I’m slowly letting go, emptying, possessing less.

How strange that I am looking forward to this tangible result to mark progress: the luxury of an empty shelf.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,where moth and rest destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.”(Matthew 6:19)

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The post Possess Less appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

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Credits: Photo of Anns taken by P. Kroeker. All other photos taken by S. Kroeker.

The post Last Weekend’s Gift appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

(smaller button below)

For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (My daughter doesn’t quite have the new one ready, and now a second daughter wants to battle it out by offering her own version! Until they’re ready, grab the big one above or smaller option at the bottom) to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually.Then fill in the boxes of this linky tool to join the fun!

Food on Fridays with Ann

When we vacation, we usually camp. And we like almost everything about camping except the cooking and clean-up.I would sigh to my friends after a trip and say, “My dream is to find a beautiful place we can camp, where I don’t have to cook. That would be perfect.”One day about eight years ago, I said this to a friend, and she said, “Seems like you need a family camp.””I’ve thought about that,” I said, “but I don’t want to pay a huge amount of money, and I don’t want a lot of activities and programming. It seems like most of them are highly programmed and costly.””Do you know Katie Henderson?*” she asked. We all attended the same large church, but I’d never overlapped with Katie. “Well,” my friend continued, “she and her family go to some family camp up north every year, and it sounds like it might be just what you’re looking for.”I phoned Katie and explained about the beautiful setting and the food hassle and the preference for little to no programming. “If someone else was making, serving and cleaning up after meals,” I said, “I’d feel like I was really on a vacation.”“This is your place,” Katie assured me. She said the food was good, the setting was gorgeous, and there was very little programming. “There’s no speaker or music or chapel. Just a service on Sunday morning, and an optional Bible study two days of the week. Actually, there’s so little programming, we call it ‘Heathen Week,'” she said, laughing.”Perfect!” I said.So our family took the risk. We signed up, paid what seemed to be a reasonable amount of money for the week, and drove north. But it was a long drive and we didn’t have Google maps back then, so we underestimated how long it would take to get there. We rolled in late, just as the opening activity—Saturday evening dinner—was ending, but we’d phoned to say we were running late and they saved food for us. I was stressed out, and when they brought us a high chair for our youngest and set out the food that they’d reheated, it had to be the most delicious, nourishing chicken dinner I’d ever eaten in my life. If we’d rolled into a campground and had to fix our own meal, I would have done it with cranky, needy kids tugging on me. And I would have done it all in the dark. Thinking back to being served with such compassion and attention, I’m sure I cried: from relief.We slid the pop-up between slender cedar trees and went to sleep that night hearing the water of Lake Huron lap against the shore. Next morning, we woke up to dim dawn light revealing colorful kayaks lined up along the sand; shore birds laughing; a green boat anchored and bobbing in the water; the gray-green lodge and dining hall; Adirondack chairs lined up on a porch overlooking the bay.So this is vacation.I didn’t have to think about breakfast. I just had to listen for the bell to ring, mosey to the lodge, and there it would be: a delicious, warm meal that I didn’t have to plan, shop for, prepare or clean up after.Relax, play, rest, read, swim, boat, chat…listen for the meal bell…show up and be fed.Perfect.I thought I would use this post as an excuse to show you a few photos from the trip that have something to do with food…food I didn’t fix.This isn’t at family camp, but Biggby Coffee is a chain we’d never heard of that is big in Michigan. We stopped en route to try some. Two of the girls got lattes and loved them.Quiche for breakfast one morning at family camp—one of many options. The cook accommodates dietary needs, providing options on the buffet for vegetarian campers or those who deal with allergies and food intolerance.A favorite hot breakfast of mine: Red River Cereal, made with three grains: cracked wheat, cracked rye, and whole flax. So simple. Some tease that it’s birdseed, but I love it.Two afternoons they set out food for us in the morning so that we pack lunches for later that day. Some people drive to local tourist spots, but we just stayed on property, hiked out to this beautiful spot, climbed a big rock, and ate lunch together overlooking Lake Huron.S’mores fixin’s provided on the last night during campfire.Cocoa, teas, coffee, and cold drinks like fruit punch and lemonade are available 24 hours a day. Kids and adults alike grab mugs, serve themselves something refreshing, and sit on the porch to read.I didn’t really think to take a lot of photos of food—I was too busy eating it, I guess.

We left family camp and stopped by a couple of other places in Canada, including Niagara Falls, before winding around into New York and Pennsylvania, sliding along the edge of Lake Erie.

The Belgian Wonder exited the freeway and drove on a scenic road that offered tantalizing glimpses of the water. We longed to drive close and dip our feet into the water, but he’d turn onto a road that looked promising only to discover it was a private drive.Finally, we found a little public park where we could stop, get out, stretch our legs, and eat our peanut butter sandwiches and carrot sticks packed from our own meager provisions. The tiny concession area sold only pop and chips, but I was so grateful that they were maintaining this pretty little place where we could pause, I broke down and bought a Coke and a Sprite as a small thank you.We lingered for a while.Then realized we had to get on the road.We munched on snack food on the long drive home.We’d been gone for nine days, camping in a beautiful setting, and the only thing I had to fix was a stack of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, and instant oatmeal that we ate with plastic spoons from paper bowls on the morning we drove home.I can handle that.

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* Name changedAll photos by Ann Kroeker except Lunch on the Rock, by P. Kroeker.

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The post Food on Fridays: Vacation Food appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

A monarch drinks deep of summer’s sweetness.

Cloud formation streaks across blue sky.

Evening light brushes watercolor rose along textured storm clouds.

The Heavens declare the glory of God,and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.(Psalm 19:1)

The post His Handiwork appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Photos by Ann Kroeker

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My Slow-Down Fast didn’t wrap up quite how I expected.

I imagined creating quiet moments of contemplation leading up to Easter, and in a way I did enjoy more moments of interaction with the Lord, but not necessarily in long stretches of quiet solitude. I haven’t had a lot of down time, but I have been able to focus when I am silently interacting with the Lord, communing privately in brief snatches throughout the days. It’s everyday conversation. This dialogue is possible, I think, because, as I am more settled than I was back in March—more rested and less agitated—leaving me more open to listening to the voice of God.

But from a scheduling perspective, my slow-down fast was slow but more full than I anticipated it would be when I launched this concept at the beginning of Lent. This weekend we are enjoying out-of-town guests, and Holy Saturday fell on the birthday of one of my daughters.

Instead of a quiet, reflective, contemplative day leading up to Easter, we went bowling and played indoor Putt-Putt.

Instead of an austere day of fasting, I baked cupcakes and dished out ice cream.

At lunch, however, we paused and pulled out our collection of Resurrection Eggs that highlight moments in the last days of our Lord Jesus Christ’s time on earth, and after a review of each item, we opened the egg that contained the stone that sealed shut the tomb.

We took a minute to remember that at that time, everyone—the disciples, the women who traveled with Him, the soldiers who watched Him die, the chief priests and Pharisees—all surely assumed that “it is finished” just meant “the end.” He was dead, after all. It surely looked like it was over and all was lost.

But all was not lost.

All was won.

Easter morning is the day we open an empty Easter egg—empty because our Lord is not dead.He has risen, just as He said. This is cause for celebration.

Joy to the world, He is risen, Alleluia!

The post Cause for Celebration appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

You are the king of IsraelAnd David’s royal Son,Now in the Lord’s name coming,Our King and Blessed One.All glory, laud, and honorTo you, Redeemer, KingTo whom the lips of childrenMade sweet hosannas ring.

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These final days leading up to Easter, we’ve continued to open the Easter Story Eggs and read the related passages from the Gospels.

This week in our reading, we came across another critical moment in the story that’s not represented in the egg collection. So, to enrich the journey, we added a symbol in another egg and inserted it directly after the praying hands.

This time, we added a rooster.

(Playing the part of the rooster this Easter season is a Playmobil hen. We have a Playmobil rooster somewhere, but this will do for now.)

Just after Jesus was betrayed by Judas with a kiss, the Lord was led away to the house of the chief priest. The disciples split up and abandoned Jesus, though Peter hung around in the courtyard, keeping a low profile. But people started to recognize him. Peter denied it when the first person pointed out that Peter was with Jesus. He denied it a second time, as well.”Certainly this fellow was with him,” a third person said, “for he is a Galilean.”Peter replied, “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”Just as he was speaking, the rooster crowed.The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: “Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times.” And he went outside and wept bitterly.This moment…I know it’s coming not only because I read it year after year, but because the Lord Himself warned Peter that it was coming. Still, it slices through me.

I don’t know him! I don’t know what you’re talking about!The cock crows.And the Lord turns and looks straight at Peter.

And I sit in my kitchen with a set of plastic eggs and a small brown hen sitting on the table.I stare at it, thinking…praying…wondering.

At the moment of denial: eye contact.Bitter tears.And Jesus left to walk the final steps to Calvary alone.

This is just one of many moments leading to the Cross.And these are the days to think on these moments. This is the week to ponder these reminders of the Lord’s suffering.And I am lingering as long as I can.Simply.Slowly.Quietly.

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“Be still and know that I am God”: the Latin imperative for “be still” is vacate. As Simon Tugwell explains, “God invites us to take a holiday [vacation], to stop being God for a while, and let him be God…God is inviting us to take a break, to play truant. We can stop doing all those important things we have to do in our capacity as God, and leave it to him to be God.”

Work Cited:Yancey, Philip. Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference? Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2006. E-book.

Image credit: S. Kroeker

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After attending a bridal shower on Saturday, I drove home and changed into running clothes fully intending to get out and pound the pavement.Instead, I climbed into bed and fell asleep.Four hours later, I woke up.I needed exercise, but I guess I needed to slow down and rest even more.This weekend marks the end of our first week back following spring break. We’ve had to adjust, because our vacation was like a week-long nap—we weren’t literally sleeping all week, but mentally and emotionally we rested.The simplicity of camping offered agenda-free days: We enjoyed naps and chats while lounging on the sand; long, leisurely walks along the beach; rainy afternoons that sent us to the campground’s activity center where we played Scrabble and Monopoly. Our internal winter melted away as we warmed and softened in the Florida sun. Even the rainy days offered a kind of Slow Zone.“Look at your mama finally smile,” my husband remarked to the kids as we walked to the beach one morning.”What do you mean ‘finally’?” one of them asked.”I mean a real smile,” he said. “A relaxed smile.”I nodded. “A Florida smile?””You’re happier when you’re warm,” he observed.“And by the beach,” I added.The sun was especially brilliant the day we had to leave. We lingered, strolling down the beach one last time to a spot we called “the cove” where the kids discovered hermit crabs.But we had to leave the hermit crabs, gulls, dolphins and starfish. We said goodbye to the shells and the sea oats and the waves curling and crashing and skimming toward us gently, soft and foam-edged.We packed up to return to our regularly scheduled program—you know, life—with its classes, deadlines, assignments and appointments. And chillier temperatures.Fourteen hours later, we were home. The pace picked up, and agenda-free moments were replaced by schedules and expectations. All week I marveled how suburban living in a land-locked state hundreds of miles from the ocean or Gulf can suck the life out of me. Since launching this slow-down fast, the most effective week of our slow-down Lent was that vacation week.I’m still smiling, though.Even here, 800+ miles north of that Florida campground, temperatures are rising. Flowers are blooming. We’re back home facing all those classes, deadlines, assignments and appointments, but in the midst of all that can I still take walks, play Scrabble, and read books? Can I still smile?I think so. I miss the beach, but I can slow down enough to smile.

Credits: Path and magnolia bloom photos by Ann Kroeker; ocean waves, splashing girl, hermit crab photos by S. Kroeker; slow-down smile photo by P. Kroeker.

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When I read Ray Bradbury as a kid, I wrote like Ray Bradbury—everything green and wondrous and seen through a lens smeared with the grease of nostalgia. When I read James M. Cain, everything I wrote came out clipped and stripped and hard-boiled… This sort of stylistic blending is a necessary part of developing one’s own style, but it doesn’t occur in a vacuum. You have to read widely, constantly refining (and redefining) your own work as you do. (King 141, 142)

He recommends that every writer work in a writing room. It can be quite humble—in his younger years, he wrote in the laundry room of a double-wide trailer—but it needs one thing: a door you are willing to shut. “The closed door is your way of telling the world and yourself that you mean business” (King 151). Playing: We took long walks along the beach following in each other’s Ministry of Silly Walks footsteps, pausing to draw pictures in the sand.Learning: Carrabelle Beach was a training ground for D-Day, a sobering reality of this area’s history.  Reacting: I know this is a trite and immature response to King’s book, but I’ve been gnawing on his advice to have a writing room with a door that can close.I write from a desk in the middle of our most highly trafficked room. As I composed this blog post, for example, my son ran up and asked three questions before telling a long story; my youngest daughter practiced piano about two feet away from my chair; and after that, my second daughter stuck in a Beatles CD and cranked up the volume to enjoy “Yellow Submarine” while she worked on Algebra. It might be quieter to pack up my things and drive to a food court at the mall or set up my laptop at the nearest airport terminal.How I long for a writing room with a door that can close!My husband and I thought through each room of the house, and there simply isn’t a nook, closet or room that we can convert to writing space. So I tap away at the keyboard while “Hello, Goodbye” plays in the background. Oh, and here comes my son with another question.Writing: I discussed some of my writing ideas with my husband while we rolled up I-65 North on our way home. I hope to make progress on sample chapters and a proposal for a possible book. It feels good to have some vision and a burst of writing energy as we head into spring. Oh, did I mention that we camped near Apalachicola National Forest and Tate’s Hell State Forest, both of which are inhabited by Florida black bears?There you have it. A Curiosity Journal that reveals what I’m reading, playing, learning, reacting to and writing.

Work Cited:King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. New York: Pocket Books, a div. of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2000. Print.

Image Credits: Beach with trees, tree frog, and hermit crab photos taken by S. Kroeker. All others taken by Ann Kroeker.

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Years ago we bought a set of “Resurrection Eggs,” twelve plastic eggs filled with small symbols representing moments in the Easter story, including a donkey for Palm Sunday, a tiny metal wine goblet and plastic bread for the Last Supper, and a rock for the stone rolled in front of the tomb. The kids would take turns opening an egg each night at dinner and we would read the correlating story from one of the Gospels. The last egg (empty) is opened on Easter Sunday.But twelve eggs didn’t seem like enough.

So we added to the collection, filling additional eggs in order to drag the story out. We agreed the unnamed lady from Mark 14:3-9 who anointed Jesus with perfume needed to be in the story after reading “wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.” So we found a tiny Playmobil pitcher to represent the alabaster jar.

We also added a small brown sandal to remind us of the time Jesus washed the disciples’ feet. A little wooden bench and fake money (also Playmobil) is for the moment when He turned over the money changers’ tables and drove them out of the temple. A small coin is for the widow’s mite or the time Jesus was challenged about paying taxes to Caesar (two stories in one!).

This set of eggs serves as a simple story-prompting tool during Lent. We are reading, thinking and praying together as we walk closer and closer to Good Friday and Easter Sunday; we’re slowing down by gathering around the table to read through those moments recorded in Scripture…moments that changed everything.

How do you slow? How do you fast? Write it up and link, or tell us in the comments.

Credit: Photo of expanded Easter Story Eggs by Ann Kroeker

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My nine-year-old son spent most of Wednesday curled up on the couch recovering from a stomach virus while I worked on the computer at my desk a few feet away. At some point, he got up to get a book, and when he returned he stuck a Mozart symphony in the CD player and pressed play.Music filled the room.I sighed.Why do I forget to invite music into my everyday life? How can I sit in silence with only the furnace fan blowing in the background?I think I know: I sit in silence because that is how my soul stills.The psalmist wrote, “For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him” (Psalm 62:5, emphasis mine). I often wait in silence for God. It’s what I default to, a calming choice in a noisy world.But then I consider the fact that the psalmist would have sung these words; I ponder the irony that I hear the message “wait in silence,” through a song.Music encouraging silence.Mozart poured into the room that day, and I let it roll. Later, the song ended and I sat in silence, realizing both are good.I can still my soul to wait for God through both music and silence.How do you still your soul and wait for the Lord this Lenten season? What are your practices this week and how did you struggle and what was revealed?

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We home educate, which allows considerable flexibility in our schedules throughout the week. But we supplement with once-a-week classes in a cooperative effort involving multiple families. The parents share the teaching, and I offered to teach high school writing.This means, of course, that I assign, read and evaluate a lot of papers. Last week I finished grading the last of the ten-page research papers my writing students completed. This was the first time they undertook an official research paper assignment, so they needed to learn the process from beginning to end: how to brainstorm for ideas, narrow down the topic, develop a working thesis, do initial research, modify that thesis based on the initial research, find reputable sources, begin in-depth and focused research by digging into online databases, organize note cards (yes, I had them use note cards), fuse outlines, write a rough draft, revise that draft, and turn in a final copy on time with all the requested elements.They did it all; they turned in their papers.And then I got to grade them.Lucky me.But I paced myself throughout the week. This is unusual for me. My tendency is to put off the tasks that I dread and then spend one panicked day cramming in the work I should have spread out over time.What a pleasant surprise to finish up the grading and pack my bags for co-op classes by 10:00 p.m.! I know this whole idea of spreading out the work falls into Time Management 101, but I guess I realized that this is a way I can slow down and simplify.I can look at the week and schedule my to-do list tasks over several days so that my pace is measured and sane. While doing that, I can make time for the really important things. I want to find a pace that allows me to pray and play and ponder things like this:

Whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did. (1 John 2:6)

Please link up your Lenten reflections below:

Photo credit: Ann Kroeker

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“Is it this simple, then, assemble these few everyday materials from my cupboards and I will create perfection?” (Fields 247).

Leslie Leyland Fields writes about making the perfect loaf of bread in the essay she contributed to The Spirit of Food. She’s made bread for years, but this time she is attempting a different method that requires only a few kitchen items (mixing bowls, a pot with a lid, wooden spoon, plastic wrap, dish towels) and no kneading. From that: perfection.

Bread perfection.

Say. No. More.

We love bread; so I read on.

She reflects on previous attempts to bake bread, never quite attaining the texture and taste that she envisions. So she dives into this recipe that many cooks have adopted in place of their traditional bread-making methods.

I follow along, wondering how the story will turn out—how the bread will turn out—and I think of my own bread-journey. I recall the thick, dense, brick-like whole-wheat bread I made in high school by following instructions that I found in a library book. That imperfect bread was redeemed, made palatable by toasting slices and slathering them with butter or generous smears of strawberry jam.

When I was newly married, bread machines were all the rage. We couldn’t afford one right away, but eventually I found one at a reasonable price and made many loaves using recipes from the cookbook that came with the machine.

Then we abandoned the machine for a while, too lazy or too consumed by parenting to mess with it. The machine sat in the basement, collecting dust. We almost donated it to Goodwill, but I hung onto it. Later I found inspiration when I decided to use the machine to make the dough, which I could transfer to a traditional bread pan for the final rise and baking.

For this new approach, I searched for the perfect loaf of bread and came up with this one, Whole Wheat Honey Bread, which has become our standard family loaf. I’ve taken to tossing in oatmeal sometimes, for variety, or I’ll use white-whole-wheat flour. It’s rarely perfect: sometimes it turns out flat and small; other times I undercook it a little and it’s gooey inside. But we eat it, even if we have to redeem it slice by slice in the toaster. It fills us.

I call it homemade bread, but is it? The machine mixes the dough, creates the right heat so it can rise, thumps it down and lets it rise again. All I do is measure the ingredients and drop or pour them in, one after the other. When the machine beeps, I pull out the dough and drop it unceremoniously and unartistically into an oiled bread pan. I smoosh it around a bit, forming it into a loaf-like shape. Let it rise. Heat the oven. Stick it in. Set the timer for 30-40 minutes. Pull it out and tilt the pan so the loaf slips out and onto the cooling rack. How much of the work can I claim?

Leslie feels as if she didn’t do much to make the perfect loaf of bread (which, by the way, didn’t turn out perfectly). Reading her essay, I realize I don’t do much to make mine, either.

But she looks around the table and realizes how everyone lingers, joking, laughing.

I look around this table now, the stroganoff and salads soon gone, the breadbasket already empty, and still we sit. I know we will need to eat again, all of us, that nothing I can make or buy will cure the body’s wants for long, but look how filled we are! It is not my making that fills us. (Fields 255)

It is not my making that fills us.

That sticks with me. I realize how little I have to do with the bread when a machine on my counter does 98 percent of the work. Most of the time I dip from bags of flour I’ve bought from Trader Joe’s or Kroger, but even when I buy wheat berries from Whole Foods and grind it into flour, I didn’t plant the seeds and watch stalks of wheat rise toward the sky in fields outside my window. I didn’t pray for rain or see how the sun warmed it. I didn’t harvest, thresh or winnow it. I borrow from the work of others to pull it together.

Leslie wrote:

[T]he work of my hands is undone without the sun on the wheat, the ones I love who come to eat, the one who fed us his body, his life…Even the Maker of the world did not make the bread he broke that final night…He laid his hands on someone else’s bread, blessed it, and claimed it—this is my body—and passed it to waiting hands, to every hungry soul. And it was done. (Fields 255)

Bread isn’t what brings my family to the table and causes them to linger; it is not my making that fills us.

One time after dinner, as the candles flickered in the dark, I asked my kids what they felt was different about our family. They had been enjoying sleepovers with friends, so they’d joined other families for several meals, including dinners and breakfasts.

“This,” one of the kids said.

“What?” I asked. “Candles?”

“No, not the candles,” she said, then checked herself. “Well, yes, the candles are unusual, too, but it’s this. This sitting around after the meal and talking like this. Other families don’t do this.”

“What do they do instead?” I asked.

“They get up when they’re done and leave the table,” she said.

Another child offered, “Sometimes they don’t even sit down together.”

“Sometimes we don’t, either,” I pointed out.

“But we’re together more than we’re not,” she said.

We talked about a few other things, then we prayed. The kids cleared the table and argued about who would blow out the candles. I sat, thinking.

This. This fills us, this sitting around and chatting during and after dinner. This fills us more than the pasta and carrots, more than French toast and maple syrup, more than slices of warm bread from the oven slathered with butter.

This sitting around the table, lingering, listening, questioning, opening up of lives, praying…this fills us.

* * *

Source: Fields, Leslie Leyland (ed.). The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting Toward God. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2010.

_______________

Is every hour rush hour at your house?

Explore the jarring effects of our overcommitted culture and find refreshing alternatives for a more meaningful family and spiritual life.

Find a pace that frees your family to flourish.

“Not So Fast is a gift to every reader who takes the time to slow down and breathe in its pages.”

—Lee Strobel, best-selling author of The Case for Christ

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The morning began very slowly, causing me to write and publish this later than I intended. Perhaps that is somewhat appropriate for a “slow-down fast”?Sunlight streamed through the windows as I sat at the kitchen table this morning. This is noteworthy, after countless days of sorrowful gray skies. As the heat hit my cheeks, I felt myself warming and thought of Psalm 36:9, “in your light, we see light.”I thought about Lent, about giving things up. This week I experienced my first Ash Wednesday service, receiving the ashen cross on my forehead. This act of humility, realizing I am but dust and desperately in need of a Savior, launched the season of Lent.Now I willingly slow down, hoping to give more of myself to the Lord, to hear from Him, to learn and grow in relationship with Him. After reading through the accounts of Jesus fasting in the wilderness for 40 days, facing Satan’s temptations, I wonder what these next few weeks will hold?I sit listening to music, open to what the Lord may point out to me, and I wonder if I should have kept quiet about my plans for fasting? It’s too late to change anything; it’s too late to remember that Jesus instructed us to fast in a way that it is not obvious to men, but only to our Father, who is unseen (Matthew 6:16-18). It’s too late, because I’ve already publicized my ideas.I think, though, as with so many things, Jesus was questioning what is at the heart of the fast; or, what is the heart of the one fasting? Oh, how I feel that the heart of my fast is to slow down and walk with Jesus in a focused manner instead of rushing around hurried and scattered, distracted from Him. That’s all. I just want to offer Jesus my undivided attention. I’m also willing to do what He calls me to do, and I don’t want to miss that in an overscheduled, overcommitted life. I want to live singularly focused, and for me, that requires simplifying some areas of life.This weekend is not full. I am glad. Today I will sort through some books stacked up in my room, boxing some up until we can add shelves in the basement. Today I will propose to the kids that we go for a walk or jog. Today I will repeat John 15, the chapter I have yet to memorize perfectly. Today I will enjoy the slower pace and listen closely, in case I might hear something I’ve missed in the last few weeks.I hope that we can all talk about our experiences, our hesitations, heart-struggles, concerns, revelations, temptations, and hunger. And I hope that we can share from the abundance He provides.Please link up your Lenten reflections below:Thank you for joining me.

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Today, I swept my hair back. My forehead was bare.

At breakfast I told the kids I would be attending an Ash Wednesday service at a church near ours. The service was at noon, I said, so I would leave around 11:40 to get there. I assured them that it was not a biblical mandate to get the ashes and since our church doesn’t follow the custom, I saw no reason why they should feel obligated to attend; however, I would be delighted to have them join me. Did anyone want to go with me?

They turned me down. Well, one of the girls considered it, but ended up getting a babysitting gig. So I went to my first-ever Ash Wednesday service alone, worshiping with Lutherans at the church building directly across the street from ours.

In spite of my slow-down fast, I got a late start and parked far from the door. I ran through the light rain without bothering to open my umbrella. Apparently Lutherans start right on time, because by the time I was slipping into the sanctuary a mere three minutes late, they had already finished the opening remarks and pastor’s welcome, and were on the last lines of a hymn. I slid into a pew, set my purse down, and wiped beads of moisture from my forehead.

We followed a program with responsive readings, Scripture readings, hymns, and a children’s message about “I” being right in the middle of “prIde” and “sIn.” We heard a short sermon for adults, recited the Nicene Creed, prayed, confessed—kneeling—and said the Lord’s Prayer.

The ancient custom of applying ashes, they said, reminds us of the wages of sin; that we are dust and to dust we will return. The ashes remind us that our sins need to be removed by the grace of God in Christ Jesus.

We took communion first. Filing up, row by row, we were given the wafer, took a small cup of wine, and then presented our forehead or hand to the pastor for the “imposition of ashes.”

I presented my forehead; that is, I stood there in front of the pastor, my forehead wiped dry from the rain and swept clear of hair, a blank canvas for him to do his work of “imposition.”

As he smeared the ashes in the form of a cross, he said, “though you are dust, Jesus died for you.”

I walked back to my pew, glancing at others in the room bearing their crosses. This was a first for me, to see a room full of people living with the ashen cross on their person in this way, remembering their frailty, their sin, dust on dust.

The fidgety little boy in the row in front of me quieted when he noticed the mark on his mother’s forehead. He pointed, then leaned forward and poked it, smearing the mark. Who can blame him? It’s impossible to ignore.

When the service was over, I walked out the door and popped up the umbrella. I didn’t want the ashes to wash off yet. I wanted to live with them a while longer.

As it happens, I have worn my ashes all day and watched the kids glance up at the mark and smile. Though they missed the service, they can’t miss the symbol, the reminder, the cross.

Though I am dust, Jesus died for me.

Because I am dust, Jesus died for me.

Amen.

:::

My TheHighCalling.org friend and colleague Glynn Young wrote about Ash Wednesday, as well, at his blog Faith, Fiction, Friends. He wrote a poem, which begins:

I always envied my friends

who came to schoolthe day after Mardi Gras

with a smudged forehead,

a spot of ash or soot

index-fingered

upon skin to signify

what – exactly?

Read the rest at “Ash Wednesday.“

“On Ash Wednesday, we stare death in the face,” says Mark D. Roberts, Senior Director of Laity Lodge and Theologian in Residence. Mark explains the Ash Wednesday tradition in depth at his post, “Ash Wednesday: Practice and Meaning” and offers a shorter reflection in his daily devotional today: “Remembering the Compassion of God on Ash Wednesday.”

Also, I’m embarking on a slow-down fast (see button above) that includes a multitask fast, something I originally heard about from Charity Singleton last year. Others are embarking on a similar “fast” this year, including Michelle DeRusha of Graceful. I will be posting specifically about my slow-down fast experiences on Saturdays (and provide a linky for those who wish to link Lent-related posts).

Visit Cassandra Frear of Moonboat Cafe for a roundup of Lenten Fast posts.

All of these people—Glynn, Mark, Michelle, Cassandra and Charity—are part of TheHighCalling.org (THC), and so I offer these links as part of Charity’s THC community-building project, “There & Back Again.”

Each Thursday, consider going “There and Back Again” yourself. It’s simple.

Here are Charity’s steps:

1. Choose another High Calling Blogger to visit. It can be someone you have “met” before, or do what I do, and work your way through the “Member Posts” section of thehighcalling.com to meet someone new.
2. Visit his blog, digesting the message until it becomes something that you can write about.
3. Go back to your blog and write about it, being sure to link to the post that gave you the idea so that your readers can visit, too.
4. Add the button to your blog so your readers know you are participating in “There and Back Again.”
5. Go back to the Network blog and leave a comment so your new friend can feel the link love!
6. Complete the journey by returning here, to Wide Open Spaces, and enter your link so that we all can benefit from the new High Calling connection you have made.

Credit: Image of Ann Kroeker’s Ash Wednesday forehead taken by Sophie Kroeker and edited by Ann Kroeker. Used with permission.

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As I said on Thursday, I’m trying to stay open as I prepare for this Lenten Slow-Down Fast. I’m willing to slow down in all areas, from my schedule to my spending; from my technology use to my thought patterns.As I simplify and slow down, my desire is to find the right pace for preparation—I want to slow down for the 40 days of Lent in order to walk through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday attentively, reflectively…and then to celebrate Easter Sunday with my whole self focused on Jesus Christ, the risen Savior.The “fast” will begin this week on Ash Wednesday, March 9, and end on Easter Sunday.I’ll be publishing Slow-Down Fast posts on Saturdays in conjunction with Cheryl’s Simplify theme. If you would like to link up, use the Simply Linked tool above.

Ann’s Slow-Down Fast Thoughts & Plans:

This is the last Saturday before the Slow-Down Fast officially begins. Ash Wednesday marks the start of the fast, so next Saturday I’ll be writing as someone who has lived it a few days. Lord willing, I should be writing from the “slow zone.”It won’t be a season of naps and knitting, however. While I will be slowing down and simplifying, I’ll also be continuing much of my daily routine, including my writing and editorial work as well as various home-management and educational tasks.As I’ve thought through my activities, I remembered some research about multitasking and how unproductive it really is. An article published on the American Psychological Association website explains:

Doing more than one task at a time, especially more than one complex task, takes a toll on productivity…Psychologists who study what happens to cognition (mental processes) when people try to perform more than one task at a time have found that the mind and brain were not designed for heavy-duty multitasking. Psychologists tend to liken the job to choreography or air-traffic control, noting that in these operations, as in others, mental overload can result in catastrophe.

Our minds, they say, aren’t actually doing two or more things at once; rather, they toggle between tasks. A. J. Jacobs, the guy who wrote A Year of Living Biblically, wrote an article for Real Simple magazine about multitasking. He explains what he learned in his research:

Multitasking makes us feel efficient. But it’s an insane delusion; it actually just slows our thinking down. Our brains can’t handle more than one higher cognitive function at a time. We may think we’re multitasking, but we’re really switch-tasking. Toggling between one task and another. First the phone, then the e-mail, then the phone, back to the e-mail. And each time you switch, there are a few milliseconds of start-up cost. The neurons need time to rev up.

His solution? A project, of course. He’s a project kind of guy, so he launched Operation Focus:

I pledge to go cold turkey from multitasking for a month in a quest to regain my brain and sanity. I’ll unitask―that is, perform one activity at a time. And just as important, I’ll stick with each thing for more than my average 30 seconds. I’ll be the most focused man in the world.

You can imagine how well that experiment went.Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I figured out long ago that I don’t multitask well, yet I have been attempting it lately with my crazy schedule. During the slow-down fast, as I simplify where possible, I will seek to “singletask” or “unitask.” What I mean is that I will try to focus on one thing at a time for as long as possible before switching; in fact, I’ll try to see one thing through to completion before shifting to the next.Instead of a pinball life in which I shoot off every which way, flying off without pausing a beat, I prefer a focused and productive life. This is a challenge in our multitasking world, but I’m going to try. I feel like it will be a chance to practice being more attentive, helping me be less distracted throughout the day…and more open hearing to God’s voice.Only one thing is needed.One thing.Will you be joining me on the slow-down fast?

The post Slow-Down Fast: Singletasking appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Thursday isn’t my official “Slow-Down Fast” posting day, but I was inspired to think and write about Lent today, as well as Saturday. So, at risk of causing confusion, I stuck the button on this post. For more thoughts, check in again this Saturday.As I prepare for the Slow-Down Fast this Lent, I am open. I am willing to slow down in all areas, from my schedule to my spending; from my technology use to my thought patterns.My desire is to find the right pace for preparation—I want slow down for the 40 days of Lent in order to be prepared to walk through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday attentively, reflectively…and then to celebrate Easter Sunday with my whole self focused on Jesus Christ, the risen Savior.I didn’t grow up knowing much about Lent, nor have the churches that I’ve attended as an adult done much to observe Lent. Most of what I’ve learned has been through reading on my own.Last year, I learned that some congregations will bury the “Alleluia” on the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday, refraining from uttering it throughout Lent. By saving it all that time, “Alleluia” becomes a more precious and powerful word to sing out with jubilation on Easter Sunday.This Sunday would be the day to bury the “Alleluia.” My church probably won’t do so, and I don’t go around saying “Alleluia” at home (maybe I should?), so it got me thinking about other things I might “bury” and leave buried! Things like:

• Unhealthy thought patterns
• Worry
• Negativity

Jenny of “A Minute Captured” has me adding “complaining” to the list, as well, as she and her husband consider “A Complaint-Free Lent.”

Right now kids are gathered around the sink like wild animals gathered around the watering hole and every once in a while I hear the harsh words and angry tones that make me think the crocodile has just ambushed from the water and strangled the oblivious gazelle.

She’s been reading a book called A Complaint Free World, and it has her thinking.

A complaint free world?  How about a complaint free house?  Chris is resting on the couch and I start reading him bits and pieces of the book.  “Can you imagine the gift we would be giving our children?  The powerful life they would live, I mean really. live. if they bypass the habit of complaining?”

"No complaints" by Terry Hart

“Oh man, it’s raining…Why does someone always spill something sticky the exact same day I decide to mop?…Did you see?…Can you believe?…I cannot believe!..I don’t like…it’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s too wet, it’s too dry…”

I keep thinking about all the things that have broken, and my complaints. Things will break. When I feel frustrated, disappointed or discouraged, what’s an honest but appropriate response?And if complaining is more of a habit than I realize, subtle and hard to catch, is it even possible to bury the attitude at Lent, never to dig up again?I’d like to try. Because I agree with Jenny: I like the sound of a complaint-free house.This post is part of Charity Singleton’s TheHighCalling.org (THC) community project, “There & Back Again.”

Go there: Visit fellow TheHighCalling.org member “A Minute Captured,” to read “A Complaint Free Lent.” Then come back here again!Each Thursday, consider going “There and Back Again” yourself. It’s simple.Here are Charity’s steps:

1. Choose another High Calling Blogger to visit. It can be someone you have “met” before, or do what I do, and work your way through the “Member Posts” section of thehighcalling.com to meet someone new.
2. Visit his blog, digesting the message until it becomes something that you can write about.
3. Go back to your blog and write about it, being sure to link to the post that gave you the idea so that your readers can visit, too.
4. Add the button to your blog so your readers know you are participating in “There and Back Again.”
5. Go back to the Network blog and leave a comment so your new friend can feel the link love!
6. Complete the journey by returning here, to Wide Open Spaces, and enter your link so that we all can benefit from the new High Calling connection you have made.

Credits:

“HRC – A still creek” image by hconfer. Used with permission under RGBStock.com license.

“No complaints” image by Terry Hart “hartboy.” Used with permission via Flickr under a Creative Commons license.

Slow-Down Fast button created from a photo by kacos2000/Costas, used under a Creative Commons license permitting the image to be shared and adapted for non-commercial purposes.

The post There & Back Again: What to Bury? appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Join me as I embark on a “Slow-Down Fast”: a season dedicated to humbly and boldly simplifying and slowing (schedule, habits, activities, thought-patterns) in order to experience a more focused and intimate relationship with God in my everyday life.The “fast” will begin Ash Wednesday, March 9, and end on Easter Sunday.I’ll be preparing and planning for the next two weeks, publishing Slow-Down Fast posts on Saturdays in conjunction with Cheryl’s Simplify theme. To participate in Cheryl’s Simplify “carnival,” pop over to Culture Smith after writing and publishing something about simplifying your life. She’s got a linky up already for today.You can also link up ideas for your own “Slow-Down Fast” here:

Ann’s Slow-Down Fast Thoughts & Plans:

In my book Not So Fast, I talk about capacity. Like it or not, each of us has a limited capacity of tasks we can accomplish and activities we can attend—when we exceed capacity, especially on an ongoing basis, we enter a kind of survival mode as we deal with consequences like emotional drain, stress symptoms, relational strain, fatigue, and discouragement.To think of it in the positive, however, each of us has an ideal capacity and speed, and if we can discover that, we can enjoy healthy, productive lives that allow for rest and worship as well as work—not to mention time with family and friends. When we’re operating at ideal capacity, minor mishaps can be dealt with more creatively because we aren’t rushing off to the next thing and can adjust our schedule to clean up the mess or wait longer for an appointment.Discovering my ideal capacity is an evolving thing. Just when I find what works, my kids enter a new stage of life and my capacity shifts—it may open up with more possibilities than ever before, or it may shrink when the kids need much more from me than I expected.Lately, my kids have seemed to require less moment-by-moment attention and input. Because they need less hovering attention, I’ve had more free time and emotional space (or so I thought); thus, I’ve experimented with my schedule, agreeing to take on tasks and projects I couldn’t have pulled off two years before. I thought I had adequate capacity, so I experimented.In the past, these experiments have often worked well. Lately, however, they haven’t.In the past three weeks, I’ve realized that I’ve taken on too much; I’m operating at maximum capacity—probably a smidgen over capacity. I’m less patient, discerning and attentive. I feel drained. I even missed an appointment on Monday, and though it turned out okay in the end, I spent most of the day scolding myself and feeling like a failure. I knew it was because I had too much going on.I’m living over capacity and exceeding my limits.And I can’t continue like that.What can change? Here’s the start of my Slow-Down Fast “To-Do/Not-To-Do” list:

• During my slow-down fast, Lord willing (which can be assumed with each of these points), I won’t launch any new projects or take on new tasks. If people ask for my help, I’ll ask if it can wait until after Easter.
• Unless we’re faced with imminent issues in that time frame, I will avoid making major decisions.
• When I reach closure on a project or commitment, I won’t fill that open time slot with something new.
• I’ll try to do something fun every day.
• I’ll try to do something relaxing every day.
• I’ll listen to music. I’m not as auditory as some folks, maybe, but for some reason I have neglected this. Of course, I do have young musicians pounding away on the piano two feet away from my desk, so maybe they’ve become my default soundtrack…along with the quiet that follows when they’re finished?
• While I may not post all of my list publicly, I will continue counting “One Thousand Gifts” with Ann Voskamp, picking up where I left off long ago.
• I intend to maintain good habits I have in place (reading, journaling, praying).

How do you hope to slow down and simplify during Lent (or any time)?

Credits: Photo of reading in hammock by Ann Kroeker, taken on a late summer day in 2009. Slow-Down Fast button created from a photo by kacos2000/Costas, used under a Creative Commons license permitting the image to be shared and adapted for non-commercial purposes.

The post Slow-Down Fast & Simplify: To-Do/Not-To-Do List appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

In my mind, I can return to the times when I sat under the arbor, picking Concord grapes that hung from above. I remember chewing on the tough skins and spitting them out on the grass, and Grandma was in the yard maybe pulling weeds from among the day lilies along the side of the house or clipping some baby’s breath to add to a bouquet. She would point out to me the pansies planted in a shady spot near the porch, and sometimes she would pick one of the purple-and-yellow blooms, press it between pages of an old book, and use it to decorate a handmade card or bookmark months later, after it was flat and dry.

When we arrived, she pulled out her sugar cookies. Instead of rolling them out and cutting them into shapes, she would drop them onto the cookie sheet and sprinkle some colored sugar on top or stick a gumdrop in the middle, or a piece of pecan. She stored them in a green pan, a vintage roasting pan. As soon as we arrived, my brother and I wanted some “Grandma cookies.” I hunted for the ones with gumdrops or sprinkles.

Not long ago, my mom pulled out the green pan and offered it to my sister-in-law or me. My sister-in-law was delighted—it matched her kitchen in both color and style. Then something shifted. I was happy to let her have it, but maybe my eyes said something else. Honestly, my brother ate as many sugar cookies plucked from that pan as I did. He deserved it as much as anyone.

But my sister-in-law said I should have it. She wanted me to have it, she said, and though I knew it would look perfect in her kitchen, and though I knew my brother would cherish it, I accepted the pan.

Even though it doesn’t match my kitchen, the pan sits on top of my refrigerator. I see it every day, many times a day, and I store small treats in it, like Hershey’s Kisses or leftover Valentine’s candies.

After reading Nancy’s post about her own grandmother’s cookie jar, I couldn’t get the green pan out of my head.

Nancy wrote:

Grandma’s cookie jar always sat atop the refrigerator in the old farmhouse kitchen, and I remember looking up at it as a child and imagining it contained the same kinds of cookies that decorated it, ones cut in heart and flower shapes and decorated in sugary pink and green icing…At the time, it never occurred to me that having cookies on hand for the grandchildren was a luxury my hardworking farming grandparents could barely afford….Years later when I was cleaning things out of my mother’s house and came across the cookie jar, I knew I wanted to have it, to hold onto it.

I know the feeling. I want to hold onto the wooden door that thunked shut, and the pansies, and the grape arbor, and the baker’s cabinet, and the green pan and the sugar cookies with the gumdrops stuck in the center.

Grandma passed away in 1987, and the house is gone now. The wooden door, the pansies, and the arbor—all gone.

But I do have the recipe for Grandma’s sugar cookies.

And the green pan in which to store them.

This post is part of Charity Singleton’s TheHighCalling.org (THC) community project, “There & Back Again.”

Go THERE: Out of My Alleged Mind to read “Grandma’s Cookie Jar,” then come back HERE again!Each Thursday, consider going “There and Back Again” yourself. It’s simple.Here are Charity’s steps:

1. Choose another High Calling Blogger to visit. It can be someone you have “met” before, or do what I do, and work your way through the “Member Posts” section of thehighcalling.com to meet someone new.
2. Visit his blog, digesting the message until it becomes something that you can write about.
3. Go back to your blog and write about it, being sure to link to the post that gave you the idea so that your readers can visit, too.
4. Add the button to your blog so your readers know you are participating in “There and Back Again.”
5. Go back to the Network blog and leave a comment so your new friend can feel the link love!
6. Complete the journey by returning here, to Wide Open Spaces, and enter your link so that we all can benefit from the new High Calling connection you have made.

Credit: Images of Grandma’s cookie pan by Ann Kroeker

The post There & Back Again: Grandma’s Cookie Pan appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

After a tragic banquet-hall collapse, of which he was the sole survivor, Simonides was asked to give an account of who was buried in the debris. When the poet closed his eyes and reconstructed the crumbled building in his imagination, he had an extraordinary realization: he remembered where each of the guests at the ill-fated dinner had been sitting. Even though he made no conscious effort to memorize the layout of the room, it nonetheless left a durable impression. From that simple observation, Simonides reportedly invented a technique that would form the basis of what came to be known as the art of memory. He realized that if there hadn’t been guests sitting at a banquet table but, say, every great Greek dramatist seated in order of birth — or each of the words of one of his poems or every item he needed to accomplish that day — he would have remembered that instead. He reasoned that just about anything could be imprinted upon our memories, and kept in good order, simply by constructing a building in the imagination and filling it with imagery of what needed to be recalled. This imagined edifice could then be walked through at any time in the future. Such a building would later come to be called a memory palace.

A memory palace! That’s what I need—an imaginary palace in which I can store the treasures of Scripture or the names of people I meet. But…a palace? I don’t know the layout of any palaces to use for my memory work.Not to worry! The author clarifies that these so-called “memory palaces” don’t need to be palatial; in fact, they don’t even need to be buildings. “They can be routes through a town or signs of the zodiac or even mythical creatures,” he says. “They can be big or small, indoors or outdoors, real or imaginary, so long as they are intimately familiar.”It could be, therefore, a building such as my childhood or current home, or a path such as my standard running route. I suppose it could even be the layout of my favorite grocery store.In that “palace,” I would paint scenes within its rooms and along its hallways, each scene “so unlike any other it cannot be forgotten.” I personally don’t have the goal to memorize material quickly, like the author did, but I would like to do it accurately. The author stated that many competitive “mnemonists” who enter speed memory contests claim that “their skills are less a feat of memory than of creativity.”He explains:

[O]ne of the most popular techniques used to memorize playing cards involves associating every card with an image of a celebrity performing some sort of a ludicrous — and therefore memorable — action on a mundane object. When it comes time to remember the order of a series of cards, those memorized images are shuffled and recombined to form new and unforgettable scenes in the mind’s eye. Using this technique, Ed Cooke showed me how an entire deck can be quickly transformed into a comically surreal, and unforgettable, memory palace.

The author is a bit crass in developing memorable images to help him make connections, but he practiced a lot and became a memory champion. I wonder if I could employ the basic ideas—without the crudeness—to improve my ability to memorize Scripture or names?Reacting: Gas prices may be soaring to $4/gallon in the months ahead. This has me thinking about our weekly schedule and driving habits, wondering if we should plan ahead and simplify in any way.Also, another study exploring the health effects of low-level radiation emitted from cell phones is “among the first and largest to document that the weak radio-frequency signals from cellphones have the potential to alter brain activity.” I recall the conversation I had  yesterday with a friend, chatting by cell phone. I had that gadget pressed against my head for half an hour or more. New resolve: locate my earpiece and use it!Writing: I’ve been working on four messages for a women’s retreat (March 4-6). It’s such a different process, writing something to be delivered by voice instead of the page or screen; but I’m looking forward to a weekend with a lovely group of ladies!There you have it. A Curiosity Journal that reveals what I’m reading, playing, learning, reacting to and writing.

Credit: Palace of Versailles image by Aaron White. Used under Creative Commons license via Flickr.

The post Curiosity Journal: Feb 23, 2011 appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

I’m inviting you to join me as I embark on a “Slow-Down Fast”: a season dedicated to humbly and boldly simplifying and slowing (schedule, habits, activities, thought-patterns) in order to experience a more focused and intimate relationship with God in my everyday life.The “fast” will begin Ash Wednesday, March 9, and end on Easter Sunday.I’ll be preparing and planning for the next two weeks, publishing Slow-Down Fast posts on Saturdays in conjunction with Cheryl’s Simplify theme. To participate in Cheryl’s Simplify “carnival,” pop over to Culture Smith after writing and publishing something about simplifying your life. She’s got a linky up already for today.You can also link up ideas for your own “Slow-Down Fast” here:

Ann’s Personal Slow Notes:

I fill the tea kettle. Dishwasher sloshes, dryer whirrs, both machines working in the background as I sit to think, to write, to pray.It hits me: How rare to be alone.As a part-time freelance writer and editor, I work from home. I’m also, however, a home educator; thus, many hours are devoted to planning and guiding my children’s academic requirements; holding them accountable to assignments; helping them manage their time; listening to them practice piano, flute or saxophone; preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner; holding them to their chores and inspecting their work.Though this lifestyle may sound complicated, most of the time it is relatively simple.But it is a peopled life. As I said, I’m rarely alone in the house.On most days, I manage to carve out a few minutes for myself, slipping away to a quiet spot in the context of a full house. Some mornings I exercise in the basement on a stair-climbing machine; I try to read, pray and journal at the table before the kids come down for breakfast.But sometimes I just want the whole house to myself.Sometimes I want to sit at my desk—which is situated in the middle of a high-traffic area because we have no extra rooms for an office—and know that I’m not going to be interrupted. I’d like to finish composing a blog post or retreat message without the pounding of piano keys working out a tough solo a mere two-and-a-half feet from where I sit.I flourish in the simplicity of silence and solitude.Though this is no sacrifice on my part, I’m going to ask my husband if he can help me find a way to have regular time alone in the house during my slow-down fast.And I’m going to bask in it now.How will you slow down or simplify?

The post Slow-Down Fast & Simplify: Silence & Solitude appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

I’m sending you to Cheryl and inviting you back here again thanks to inspiration from Charity at Wide Open Spaces, home of There & Back Again.

The post There & Back Again: Slow-Down Fast & Simplify appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

• Progress Report #1
• Progress Report #2
• Progress Report #3

Each Progress Report is an opportunity to encourage one another along the way and celebrate our progress.How are you doing? Has it come easily or are you facing struggles?Check in using Linky Tools if you write a Progress Report on your own blog (you can link up any time during the week).Or just talk to us in the comments.[Linky Tools is shutting down, so have to add this]

Ann’s Progress (or lack thereof)I was hanging out with Charity this weekend, and as each of us shared our sorry progress, I realized with frustration that I couldn’t recite anything to her without reviewing first.This morning, on the way to church, I could only barely pull up the most familiar verses, which for me are the last few because of my last-verse-first approach.So I’ll be cramming this week. Oh, yes, I’ll be reviewing like crazy to see if I can get it in before next Monday.I’m not going to bother trying to type it out, as it will be an epic fail.One of my favorite verses of all time is in this passage, however, and I can recite it by heart:

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.

And it serves as a reminder that remaining in Jesus is key to bearing fruit, even in locking in these memory verses.By the way, I looked up John 15:5 in Bible Gateway online, to check my work, and I gasped because I thought I had that wrong. This is what Bible Gateway’s NIV translation of John 15:5 is bringing up: “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” But when I look it up in a print copy here at home, it is the same as I memorized it years ago (see above). What’s happening? Did Bible Gateway get it wrong? Is the NIV changing its translation of that passage (and others), updating for some reason?

The post MMM 2011 Progress Report #4 appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Here at the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe.If you want, you could join the book club at TheHighCalling.org and post your responses to the essays in The Spirit of Food; because, you see, we’re pretty relaxed over here. Posts like that are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (the big one above or smaller option at the bottom) to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually.Then link your post using Linky Tools.

Food on Fridays with Ann

For the next few weeks, the Book Club at TheHighCalling.org (THC) is dipping into The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting toward God, edited by Leslie Leyland Fields.I’ll be joining that discussion, posting at least one response to the reading right here as part of Food on Fridays. It’s a way to write in community with you all regarding food in general and with my friends at THC, when I link up to book club on Mondays.If you’re curious to see how the THC book club works, you can visit our discussion of the first five essays at “What the Earth Gives,” which went live last Monday.This coming Monday, we’ll be discussing the next four essays:

1. “The Heavenly Onion,” by Fr. Robert Farrar Capon (recipe: Scrap Soups and White Stock)
2. “A Way of Loving,” by Stephen and Karen Baldwin (recipe: Basic Pasta)
3. “Go Feed People,” by R. Gary LeBlanc (recipe: Jacmel Jambalaya)
4. “And She Took Flour: Cooking Lessons from Supper of the Lamb,” by Denise Frame Harlan (recipes: I. City Slicker’s First Pot Pie; II. Advanced Real Pot Pie)

I decided to do more than read “The Heavenly Onion.” I decided to live it.

In this excerpt from The Supper of the Lamb, Robert Farrar Capon invites the reader to take an onion (he recommends a yellow onion, but I ended up with a white onion), a paring knife and a cutting board, and sit down at the kitchen table.

I was to acquaint myself with the onion.

Hello, onion.

Yes, it was just me and the onion; the onion and me. Together at the kitchen table.

An occasional child passed through.

“What are you doing with that onion?” one asked.

“I’m getting to know it,” I replied.

The child shrugged and moved on. My kids are used to seeing their mom undertake various experiments for the sake of books, blogs, or just basic curiosity.

So they left me alone to look at my onion as if I’d never seen an onion before. I was to meet it on its own terms—to abandon all of my preconceived notions of what an onion is.

First, I was to notice its two ends: the end where root filaments descended into the earth.

And the upper end, the part that pushes up, defying gravity, seeking light.

Contrary to my preconceived notions, Capon is quick to point out, an onion is not the simple sphere. It is linear, “a bloom of vectors thrusting upward from base to tip.”

With Capon’s encouragement, I’m trying to be generous toward the onion, devoting this kind of time to it; because you see, I’m not all that fond of onions. I can’t digest onions very well. I won’t elaborate, but let’s just say they disagree with me.

But Capon didn’t ask me to eat the onion.

He asked me to see it. Smell it. Examine it.

That, I’m willing to do.

Remove the skins carefully, he instructed. Just the skins. The main pieces come off easily.

The skin is thin, brittle and dry; yet, to borrow Capon’s description, elegant.

Well, except for the little bits that pull off stubbornly. Capon sees incredible beauty in them, but they look a little flimsy and scrappy to me.

I feel them: delicate, but smooth.

I’m still game. I want to see and learn, so I continue.

Next: the cut.

I got a chef’s knife for Christmas, so the cut is fun.

And look at what I’ve done.

He says, “You have opened the floodgates of being…Structurally, the onion is not a ball, but a nested set of fingers within fingers.”

What elegant, fluid lines curve and meet at the top.

Moisture glistens on the cut surface and drips at the base onto the cutting board. “You have cut open no inanimate thing,” Capon says, “but a living tumescent being…the pieces of its being in compression. To prove it, try to fit the two halves of the onion back together.”

“It cannot be done,” he continues. “The faces which began as two plane surfaces…are now mutually convex, and rock against each other.”

He’s right. I can’t push them flat together again. Released from its pressure chamber, the onion is swollen—expanded. There is no turning back.

Next I am to lift out, one by one, the layers.

I line them up, and just as Capon says they will, they look something like Russian church spires.

Or tongues of fire.

They seem firm and solid. If I tap the curve with the flat of my knife, it offers a hollow sound, “something between a tock and a tunk,” as Capon says. I am told to take one of these pieces and slice it into slivers.

Pressing and smooshing out the juice from one of the slivers, I see that the onion is, well, limp. Depleted.

Empty. Finished.

“The flesh, so crisp and solid, turns out to have been an aqueous house of cards…the whole infolded nest of flames was a blaze of water.”

That is the onion, its shapely figure admired, sliced, emptied and better understood; perhaps even appreciated.

I have smelled it (still smell it, in fact, on my fingertips where I pressed liquid from the sliver with my nails). And I have seen that it is different from what I thought. It is more than I thought. I have paid attention, for the most part, and Capon has shown me that I can take more time to “look at the things of the world and to love them for what they are.”

It’s easy to look at an onion and say, “Oh, sure. I know what that is. It’s a round thing.” It takes attention to look at an onion and see it for what it is and, in some way, love it for what it is.

God saw the onion, along with all that He made, and it was very good.

Why don’t I take a closer look and see all that He made?

I have seen one real thing, made by the Creator alone.

And it was very good.

_______________

Source:The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting Toward God, edited by Leslie Leyland Fields. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. 2010. (pages 46–54)

Photos by Ann Kroeker

The post Food on Fridays: The Heavenly Onion appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

Welcome to Mega Memory Month (MMM) Progress Report #1.

This is intended to be a place and time to encourage one another—we’re in this together, right?But if you’re thinking what I’m thinking, you may be wondering: January just got started…how much progress can a person make in two days?Every word is progress, friends. Every single word.For that matter, just getting organized is progress, too. Don’t you think?Take a minute to describe your memory tools and share the first words you’ve attempted to lock down—or if you are just finding out about MMM, stop by the headquarters and announce your intentions. It’s definitely not too late.Check in using Mr. Linky if you write a Progress Report on your own blog (you can link up any time during the week).Or just talk to us in the comments.

Ann’s MMM Progress #1:Guess what? I found my old cards. This is progress, folks, and a sure sign that 2011 is going to be a really good year.I used them last time when I focused on John 14. I didn’t get far into John 15 that time. What I managed to tackle was shaky and didn’t stick.Or so I thought.I went ahead and read through the first card several times on my way to church. Despite my meager efforts from the last Mega Memory Month, I got some of it back. It’s not locked in or anything, but I think that the little I dipped into last time will find a home in the old noggin.Without looking, I typed the first section, then corrected afterward by crossing out what shouldn’t be there and adding new in pink:”I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off any every branch in me that does not bears no fruit, while any every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bears fruit on its own by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither will can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.”It’s not perfect, but the fact that I retained any of it shocked me.Maybe I really will finish well?Our minds can hold more than we think they can.

Visit Mega Memory Month Headquarters to get started!

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Whether it’s a year (Happy 2011!), a project, a commitment or a lifetime, I long to finish well.So as I launch Mega Memory Month 2011 (MMM), I start to worry a little.Will I finish well?It’s interesting to look back at some of the the passages and poems I’ve undertaken: Colossians 1; Philippians 2: 1-11; Psalm 121; John 14 & 15; Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”I achieved some of my memory goals, but sometimes fell short. I didn’t always finish well.So instead of starting something new, I decided to return to John 15. When I first dove in, I only made it to verse 17 and retained very little.This time, I would like to make it all the way to John 15, verse 27, “And you also must testify, for you have been with me from the beginning.”So, for Mega Memory Month 2011, I intend to memorize John 15.As I refresh my efforts from previous attempts, I will also revisit John 14. The words of that chapter are tucked away somewhere in a dusty, neglected drawer of my mental filing cabinet. I would like to bring it back to the forefront.How about you? Have you announced your intentions at the Mega Memory Month headquarters? Click HERE to head over and link up! As we commit to our mega memorization efforts, let’s turn to “the Spirit of truth who goes out from the Father” (John 15: 26) to help us finish well.

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(smaller button below)

Here at the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe.If you want, you could simply describe Christmas leftovers and New Year’s Eve snack plans OR join the book club at TheHighCalling.org; because, you see, we’re pretty relaxed over here. Posts like that are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (the big one above or smaller option at the bottom) to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually.Then link your post using Linky Tools.

Food on Fridays with Ann

For the next few weeks, the Book Club at TheHighCalling.org (THC) will be dipping into The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting toward God, edited by Leslie Leyland Fields.

The THC Book Club operates something like a blog carnival, where we read, think, and write in response to what we’ve read, then publish our posts and link up on Mondays over at TheHighCalling.org. Join the conversation not only by visiting participants’ blog posts and publishing your own, but also by commenting at the main site.Because The Spirit of Food is all about food, I decided to publish my own book club posts on Fridays, to share with my Food on Fridays friends. If you find yourself inspired to pick up the book, feel free to jump in at any time and join the conversation.Our Book Club facilitator, Contributing Editor Laura Boggess, asked participants to read the first five essays in preparation for this Monday’s discussion (a recipe from the writer follows each essay):

1. “Wild Fruit,” by Patty Kirk (recipe: Apricot, Chokecherry, and Plum Jams)
2. “Late October Tomatoes,” by Brian Volck (recipe: Spicy Tomato Soup)
3. “The Communion of Saints,” by Jeanne Murray Walker (recipe: Scalloped Potatoes for the Church Potluck)
4. “The Land That Is Us,” by TheHighCalling.org editor Ann Voskamp (recipe: Tangy Glazed Pork Roast)
5. “For a Sweet New Year,” by Margaret Hathaway (recipe: Sweet Raisin Challah)

:::

Though I grew up on a modest farm of forty acres, my dad was not really a farmer. A full-time journalist, he leased out the tillable acres and kept a small herd of Black Angus cattle on the rest. Because Dad was not fully a farmer, I never thought of myself as a farmer’s daughter, even though Dad looked the part when he changed out of his suit and tie and donned his John Deere cap, Carhartt coat and manure-speckled boots.Because I wasn’t fully a farmer’s daughter, I got by being rather lazy when it came to chores. I enjoyed the property, though, playing around the persimmon tree in the back yard, tiptoeing around ripe fruit that thumped to the ground and burst open, oozing pulp onto the ground. We planted a garden most years, and I developed a taste for warm sliced tomatoes eaten plain alongside sweet corn-on-the-cob slathered with butter and coated with salt.I grew hungry for this and more while reading the essays in this section. I craved homemade jam after reading “Wild Fruit” and longed to slice a fresh tomato after reading “Late October Tomatoes.” Oh, how I miss fresh tomatoes this time of year. Reading this book in the dead of winter may prove to be a form of torture, awakening a craving for inaccessible food.When I read “For a Sweet New Year,” I found some relief in the thought that I can bake bread year round. In fact, I resolved to bake bread as soon as possible. I bought more wheat berries some time ago to grind into flour with the little hand grinder we borrowed from a friend. The wheat berries are sitting in a container just waiting to be transformed. I may not be able to pick blackberries in January, or make elderberry jam, but I can bake bread right here and now, even in January; even in my suburban home. Yes, tomorrow I’ll bake bread.Where I lingered longest, though, was with Ann Voskamp’s essay…and not just because she’s a friend. It’s because her prose, like poetry, whispers truth and unsettles the soul. I began to ache a little at the thought that by settling in suburbia, we may have settled for less.Though my dad sold off the cattle several years ago, he still leases the fields to a full-time farmer. Persimmons still fall from the tree in the back yard in summer. And my husband and I wonder sometimes if we should sell our suburban home and move out to the farm. The question Ann poses is one that has haunted us over the years: “How much do I love land?”I don’t know that I love that particular land; it’s just that I could probably have access to it. Dad’s not quite ready to turn the farm over to someone else; yet, if we wanted it, we could probably arrange to tend it. Should we?How much do I love land?The barn and out buildings could use some sprucing up. The fences need work. Are we up to the job?As we wonder, dragging our feet, I’ve been gardening in our back yard plot, where I grow tomatoes and peppers, cucumbers and zucchini.Is that enough?Reading the essays and revisiting the question of land inspired me to snatch up a seed catalog that arrived in the mail. Flipping through, I stopped at photos of apple trees and blackberry bushes. We don’t have the space in our back yard for an orchard. I sighed and looked out at the dormant yard. Unseasonably warm temperatures are melting away the snow to reveal leaves we’d heaped into the garden area. The leaves are contained by bent wire held by green metal fence posts leaning unsteady. I shake my head. We can’t even keep a small back yard garden trim and tidy. How could we repair and rebuild a barn and out buildings and mend fences surrounding 40 acres? How could we manage an entire farm? Perhaps this suburban back yard is all I can handle.Ann ends her piece with the question, “Who will stay and dwell in the land?”I look at the wobbly wire and slanted posts. Not everyone can handle the land.Not everyone will grow acres of grain. Some will buy just a few pounds of wheat berries at a time and bake bread. Not everyone will tend orchards. Some will pay to pick berries and freeze just enough for their families.Not all are called to stay and dwell in the land.But I marked the seed catalog and pulled out a gardening book. We will try to grow kale this year. And chard. Peas and spinach. Basil, tomatoes, peppers, squash. Tomatoes. Corn.For now, we will love this land, right here in this neighborhood cul-de-sac.Come spring, we will straighten fence posts and pull the wire taut.

Join us for Mega Memory Month!Details at MMM headquarters.

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(I make my own buttons. Can you tell? Smaller version and html code available below)

It’s back and bigger than ever:

Mega Memory Month 2011!

As we launch the new year, we’re also launching Mega Memory Month 2011.Mega Memory Month (MMM) began back in 2008, when I invited people to join me in a month-long memorization extravaganza. Over the years I’ve hosted MMM during the months of January, June and October; but I’ve concluded that the best time to undertake a mega memory project is in January, when resolve is high and few holidays distract us from our goals.So here we are: January 2011 is just days away.What would you like to hide in your heart?Take the next few days to pray, plan and prepare. Then launch your memory project on Saturday, January 1, 2011 (detailed instructions below).

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing…If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. (John 15:5, 7-8, emphasis mine)

Mega Memory Month Participants:

Here’s how to participate:

1. Pick something you’d like to memorize. Something long. Something formidable. Something Mega. (Mega to you may not be mega to me–simply challenge yourself relative to what you’ve tackled in the past.) You could select a passage of Scripture, a poem, a classic hymn and/or a famous speech. It’s up to you.
2. Announce it on your blog whenever you like.
3. Return to this post to link up, talking about how you’re going to take the challenge and participate in the Mega Memory Month carnival. Facebook users can interact at the MMM 2011 FB headquarters.
4. Mega Memory Month Progress Reports. On Mondays (because it offers the best alliteration), I’ll write a Mega Memory Month Progress Report. Chime in with your own progress report that day (or any time during the week) in the comments or link to your own MMM Progress Report post. That way we can visit and encourage each other.
5. Share memory techniques you’re using, so we can borrow ideas that work. Click here for a list of memorization tips and techniques I’ve collected and here for a great resource someone else has compiled.
6. Final Celebration! By the end of the month, present a creative culmination of your work (ideas: a video of you–and your family, if they’re participating–reciting it by heart; write it out by hand and take a photo; type it up on the blog).

Join me?

Don’t want to post a brain coral button on your blog? Here’s an alternative:

And…a little one with the “splat” motif.

Large Brain Coral button html code:<p style=”text-align: center;”><a href=”https://annkroeker.com/” target=”_blank”><img title=”MMM2010″ src=”https://annkroeker.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/MMM2010-300×214.jpg” alt=”” width=”300″ height=”214″ /></a></p>Small Brain Coral button html code:<p style=”text-align: center;”><strong><strong> <a href=”https://annkroeker.com/”><img title=”MMM2010small” src=”https://annkroeker.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/MMM2010small.jpg” alt=”” width=”200″ height=”166″ /></a></strong></strong></p>Large Splat button html code:<p style=”text-align: center;”><strong><strong><a href=”https://annkroeker.com/”><img title=”mmmsplat2″ src=”https://annkroeker.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/mmmsplat2-300×214.jpg” alt=”” width=”300″ height=”214″ /></a></strong></strong></p>Small Splat button html code:<p style=”text-align: center;”><a href=”https://annkroeker.com/”><img title=”mmmsplat2011small” src=”https://annkroeker.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/mmmsplat2011small.jpg” alt=”” width=”200″ height=”143″ /></a></p>

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“Wendell Berry here all week”

Wendell Berry? Right in my own state…at my alma mater?

Sure enough. Last Tuesday night he was to read from his work; Wednesday was an interview of some kind; Thursday he would do another reading; and Friday night he was participating in a concert intermingling his readings with music.

At first it didn’t look like I could attend any of the events. My days were full, so the thought of all that driving—three hours round trip—for just an hour or so of Wendell Berry didn’t seem like a wise investment of my time. After all, I’d be coming home late and needed to be rested for several meetings. Plus, I still had papers to grade and two classes to teach at our co-op. It just didn’t seem prudent.Then something clicked.

Suddenly, I wanted to make it happen.

I wanted to go.

I wanted to go, even if I was tired the next day, even if the papers went ungraded, even if I was unprepared for class and sleepy during the meetings.

I wanted to go see Wendell Berry.

And, if possible, I wanted to go with a friend.

So I phoned around.One friend couldn’t make it. Another friend couldn’t make it. A third didn’t return my voice mail, so I was about to give up. Then I texted her one last time, and at the very last minute she agreed to meet me, so we drove to the campus for the Wednesday conversation with Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson (moderated by Scott Russell Sanders). We met up with the mutual friend who told us about these appearances and arrived at the lecture hall just after 7:00 p.m. for the 7:30 p.m. event. The place was packed. My friends and I had to split up to find seats.

With my telephoto lens, I could snap some casual shots as the gentlemen were setting up.

At one point, Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry were trying to tie up a piece of artwork using rope. Clearly there was a lot of discussion about the best knot and the best system for raising the artwork.

Scott Russell Sanders stood and observed, amused.

Scott Sanders and Wendell Berry watched as people filled every seat, sat along the steps, stood four-deep in the entrance area, and, we were told, spilled into the hallway. They spotted a familiar face here and there.

The two men didn’t need too much prompting from Sanders to keep the conversation moving along, as Wes and Wendell are good friends who stay in close contact with one another, even collaborating on projects.

I scribbled notes on tiny sheets of paper during the talk and did my best to keep up. Now I’d like to share with you excerpts from their conversation. While I did my best to track their words, I may have missed a word here and there.

The two men began by describing what it was like to grow up on a farm. Each talked about the crops and animals they tended in their youth. Wendell went first. After his detailed account, he said:

Wendell Berry (WB): It took me a long time to get myself home and weaned from the idea that I’d been explicitly taught—and this must have come from teachers and friends—that to amount to anything I’d have to leave home.

(This idea of the value of farming—even his phrasing—reminded me of Ann Voskamp’s amazing post in October, “In Defense of Food: and all who bring it to our tables.) Then Wes Jackson (WJ) talked about his life growing up on a farm and mentioned the long rows of vegetables he had to hoe and how he grew to really dislike hoeing. Wendell Berry spoke up. WB: You can’t enjoy not hoeing unless you hoe.

Scott Russell Sanders (SRS): This brings up a theme that you both write about: work and the pleasure of work. But work seems to be a four-letter word for most of America. Can you speak to that?

WB: A couple of months ago, I saw an article in Progressive Magazine. It was called “Less Work, More Life.” That kind of got to me. The implication is that you’re not living when you work.

I used to work with some people in a university setting where I didn’t think the activities were too strenuous: they didn’t have long hours, and yet on Fridays [they would exclaim their relief that Friday had come and celebrate the end of the work week]. So…what I’m taking from this is that you must be working all week at a job you evidently despise in order to have a weekend in which you live.

Well, I wrote a reply [to the Progressive Magazine article]. I said something to the effect that you can’t write like that unless the word “vocation” is reduced to “job,” and public discourse is reduced to slogans like “less work, more life.” Our goal should be to have work we enjoy, not despise. If you say “more work, less life,” it’s almost suggesting you are enduring a type of involuntary servitude, which in this country we used to call “slavery.” If that’s what it’s like, I’d say it’s time to get new work.There’s a certain kind of writer who likes to speak in public about how desperately miserable writing is. If I felt that way, I’d quit. I think it’s worth infinite trouble, but it’s not worth suffering. I have bad days as a writer, and more good days I’ve liked being a writer. I’ve liked being a farmer—even dreading some of the work beforehand and getting to do it and liking it very much—but I don’t think my life has increased when my work has decreased.

WJ: Work doesn’t have to be fun. Satisfying, yes; but it doesn’t have to be fun. And the satisfaction is what comes as a result of meeting a perceived necessity or some possibility.

Wes described the dread of heading out on a cold, dark, snowy winter morning to milk the cow…but then how the process of wiping down the cow, and pulling out the can and sitting down to start the milking started to improve his mood. By the time he finished and took the milk inside to separate it, he felt good about it. He concluded:

WJ: What you weren’t really looking forward to, you’ve done. And you feel satisfied. Calling it fun trivializes it. Work is just part of being.

WB: It’s life!

The men spoke of the “fruitful provocation” they provide for each other. Wendell claimed that Wes was rooted in Scripture as a scientist; that “it’s a science that accepts limits.” Wes talked about how Wendell provided him with effective language to explain the necessity and possibility of an agriculture that allows people and land to avoid being competing agents. One phrase he used even for the title of a book is from literature. Wendell pointed it out to him; it’s “consulting the genius of the place.” He pointed out that this approach is quite different from the view that nature can be subdued or ignored.

Wes began to explain his vision for a new way to work with the genius of the prairie by planting a new kind of grain, a perennial wheat that his team of scientists has been trying to breed.

He said that Wendell wrote that when we came across the continent chopping down trees and turning over the soil, “We plowed the prairie and never knew what we were doing, because we did not know what we were undoing.” In other words, as Wes would say, we paid no attention to the genius of the place.

The men who had worked together to rig up the rope before the event worked together again, this time to unroll the poster.

The illustration of two plants and their root systems was so long that Wendell got out of his chair to help unroll it and show that the root system on the left goes down, down, down.

The idea, if I understand it, is that ongoing tilling and planting of wheat and other grains (which is necessary because they are annuals) is, over time, causing the prairie topsoil to wash away; and the topsoil that remains needs nutrients.So this high-yield perennial wheat—a cross between standard wheat and the grasses that grow abundantly well on the prairie—would hold the soil in place and feed it…and farmers would no longer need to turn over the the soil each season to plant it.

They said that they’ve taken this idea to the U.S. Department of Agriculture—to the Secretary of Agriculture—and presented it to various senators, as well.

SRS: What was the response from the Secretary of Agriculture?

WJ: Well…nothin’.

The audience laughed.

WJ: But Wendell and I are used to being ignored, so we’re toughened to that.

I’m not a scientist, nor am I a farmer, so I know little of how effective this solution could be, but I sure enjoyed listening to these two men share their vision.

My friends and I walked from the lecture hall to a nearby cafe, where I ordered a piece of plum tarte and coffee, and we talked until 11:20 p.m. At that point, we decided we really should get on the road and head home.

Due to a long delay on the freeway, I arrived home close to 2:00 a.m.

However, neither fatigue nor a full schedule kept me from going back down the next day with Charity Singleton.

To be continued…

The post Wendell Berry Road Trip (Part 1 of 3) appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

“Though I am always in haste, I am never in a hurry,because I never undertake more work than I can go throughwith calmness of spirit.”

~John Wesley (as quoted in Ordering Your Private World)

Why was Wesley okay with “haste,” but avoided “hurry“? What’s the difference?

How can we accomplish our work with “calmness of spirit”?

Work Cited:MacDonald, Gordon. Ordering Your Private World. Nashville, TN: Oliver Nelson. 1984. East Sussex, Great Britain: Highland Books, 1988. Print. (191)

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A life all turbulence and noise may seem,To him that leads it, wise and to be praised;But wisdom is a pearl with most successSought in still water, and beneath clear skies.

~ William Cowper, The Task (1785). Book III. The Garden

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I recently read a fascinating book by James Gleick. It’s called Faster: The Acceleration of Just About Everything (Pantheon, 1999). Gleick shows how our lives have been sped up by technology and the cultural shifts it has spawned. “We have reached the epoch of the nanosecond,” notes the author, “This is the heyday of speed.” Gleick adds, “We humans have chosen speed and we thrive on it—more than we generally admit. Our ability to work fast and play fast gives us power. It thrills us.” He supplies an illustration that I found particularly telling and ironic: “[One doesn’t buy] deep-blue denim jeans with their dye stiff as tin, resigned to wearing them for a year before achieving a faded ‘look.’ One buys them prewashed, prefaded, and maybe prepatched at the knees or seat. Who can wait for nature to take its course?” Actually, the most recent pair of jeans purchased by one of my teenaged children did not even have patches. It featured several unpatched holes!

My kids want those ripped up, pre-aged, quick-ripped jeans, too…and they want them now.This speedy mindset sidesteps situations where we might have to practice and develop patience.Yet, love is patient. Roberts says:

[T]he Greek verb translated in verse 4 as “is patient” is makrothumeo. It is built with the word makros, which means “long” in distant or time. Patience is the ability to wait, often for a long time, for what you want. It assumes a sense of peace in waiting, the very thing that often departs when we’re forced to wait for someone.

Patience. Waiting. Peace.Three words that counter our culture of speed; three qualities that help us learn what love is.A friend of mine was married on Saturday–in fact, my husband was one of the groomsmen.Our friend waited many years for the right girl to come along. He waited patiently, with hope. In fact, when he moved into his small house several years ago, he wasn’t dating anybody. Nevertheless, he painted and decorated every room in neutral colors so that one day, when he married, his future wife could add her colors and flair.That time has come. He is married, and for their wedding colors, the bride chose a rich pink.I think that today, as I ponder the joyous wedding of our friend, pink is for me the color of patience; it’s the color our friend waited for all these years with patience, hope, peace…and love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.(1 Cor. 13:4, emphasis mine)

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Photo by Ezran Kamal via stock.xchng.

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In it, I reflected on a famous study done in the 1970s in which seminary students who volunteered to participate were divided into groups that were put in a low-, medium- or high-hurry situation. Half the students were given the task of preparing a message on the story of the Good Samaritan and half were asked to prepare a message about something else unrelated to the parable.

The variable that made the biggest difference—bigger, even, than the subject matter of their messages—was the level of hurry.

Very few of the high-hurry students bothered to stop.

Following the basic idea of the original study, ABCNews created a similar scenario (click here to learn more) using actors and hidden cameras.

If I were in the same situation as those women—by myself, in a big city park where no other people were around—I know I’d be nervous to stop and help a moaning, weeping man.

I like to think I’d muster up enough courage to do something. Even if I just tracked down a police officer to assist.

But I don’t know. The results of the original study and this simplified ABC project suggest I won’t.

Lord, I don’t want to miss an opportunity to help just because I’m rushed. Please slow me down and give me a big heart.

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Lately valuing silence more (or really at all) means I tend to be more silent. Less words. The goal is not to diminish and belittle the importance of words…The goal is to realize the goal stated in the Book: to know God better, to be in closer communion with God and with those in Jesus, as well as to share this love with all people.

To achieve his biblical goals of knowing and loving God and knowing and loving people, Ted is slowing down his words…speaking less…falling silent.I remember attending a leadership conference at Willow Creek years ago (so long ago it was still called a “Pastors Conference,” though church leaders were invited to attend, as well).John Ortberg gave a message, but I skipped it because it was geared for pastors. Afterward, everyone was talking about it. Several of my friends attended his session, and I remember what they said about Ortberg’s message better than anything else from the conference.He said (and I paraphrase from their paraphrase from about 15 years ago) that pastors are word people—they use words all the time as a natural outgrowth of giftedness, of ministry, of life. The same words that can minister, however, can also be a source of trouble. Word-people can sin with words, deeply wounding people intentionally or unintentionally.Ortberg’s solution was very simple: talk less.In fact, if I recall correctly, I think he may have actually said: “Shut up.”By speaking less and letting our words be few, the words we do speak become more powerful and (hopefully) meaningful.That’s come up again and again in my life.My in-laws speak very little. In fact, it’s hard to engage them in conversation. I’ve often wondered why they remain so quiet. Because they live in Belgium, I’m not with them often enough to observe them in a lot of different situations, but not long ago they were visiting and I got a clue.They said something about the Bible encouraging us not to speak much. They mentioned a verse. Quietly. Honestly, I didn’t hear what they said. This is not a joke.It may have been Ecclesiastes 5:2:

Do not be quick with your mouth,do not be hasty in your heartto utter anything before God.God is in heavenand you are on earth,so let your words be few.

Or maybe it was Ephesians 4:29:

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.

In any case, their default mode is to let their words be few…to say little…to listen. And when they speak, they hope and pray that their words are helpful for building others up according to their needs.Ted M. Gossard, John Ortberg, King Solomon, the Apostle Paul and my in-laws remind me to let my words be few…to slow down my words…speak less…and fall silent…to listen.And when I do speak, to speak only what is helpful for building others up.This goes for writing, as well.In silence, I can listen. And by listening, I hope to not only speak but also to write only what is helpful for building others up.

God is in heavenand I am on earth,so let my words be few.

“Sh” photo by Ann Kroeker.

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Yesterday at High Calling Blogs, Michelle of Graceful posted a story about how she was caught fake-listening to her son.

• How often do I tune in or out?
• How guilty am I of fake-listening?
• What are my canned responses “interjected at appropriate moments to maintain the illusion of conversation”?

How often do I tune in or out?This is tricky, because as a work-from-home writer and editor, I don’t keep regular office hours. Worse, my desk is situated in a large shared room with the piano and comfiest couch, so someone is often in the room while I’m tapping away. The result of this arrangement? To get anything done I have to tune out! When I need to work uninterrupted for a chunk of time, I alert the family and they have respected my need to focus.Other times, when I’m doing light editing or answering e-mails, the kids come and go with various requests. Sometimes I’m in the midst of composing an e-mail (or blog post!) and need a few minutes to finish a thought. In those cases, I ask for five minutes to finish so that I can give them my full attention. When they have something to say and I’m able to break away, I do try to swivel away from my laptop in order to look them straight in the eyes.How guilty am I of fake-listening?I grew up with a family member who told and repeated long stories. The stories dragged on and on; as a result, I developed pretty impressive fake-listening skills. I could be generating a storyline in my head and still give the illusion of listening. When I was in top form, this person seemed to believe I was completely engaged, though perhaps the speaker was also pretending—pretending I was listening to the story in order to have an excuse to continue talking. That’s possible. We humans are pretty desperate to be heard. I’m not proud of my fake-listening skills and do not want to be practicing them with my husband and kids.But I have moments. Two of my four kids in particular love to have an ear and can go on and on. I’ve had to snap to attention and get my brain lined up with their stream of words. At the same time, I’m trying to teach one of them to summarize and pick up on clues from others, especially adults, who are trying to break away–important “emotional intelligence” skills to develop in order to relate well to people. What are my canned responses “interjected at appropriate moments to maintain the illusion of conversation”?I share “Really?” “Wow!” and “Hmmmm” with Michelle as three top responses. Maybe even “That’s interesting.”But my top response is “Oh.”I like its versatility. It can be expressed with a hint of surprise: “Oh!”Or it can invite the speaker to elaborate: “Oh?” Sometimes it’s a way to communicate that I get a person’s joke or learned something new: “Ohhhhhh” (a grin and knowing nod accompany this one). In this use, the “Ohhhhhh” occasionally morphs into an “Ahhhhhh.”This handy word (or is it just a sound?) can also acknowledge that I heard them and there’s not much more to say in response other than a simple and earnest, “Oh” (or “Ah”); as in “Oh, I see” or “Ah, yes.”I’ve even noticed one of my kids picking up on this use of “Ah” as a means of acknowledging that he heard and processed my response. For example, today my youngest asked, “What does ‘promote’ mean, Mom?”“We could look it up,” I said, “but it means to cause someone to kind of move up to a better job or position. A boss can promote someone at work.”“Ah.”I admit that my use of “oh” can be a way to fake-listen. But it can also be a legitimate response after truly hearing what my child (or anyone) is saying.Yesterday afternoon I was feeling extremely tired, so I headed up to my bed to lie down for a few minutes. I was planning to let my mind wander a little in the quiet of my room.“Mom?” my son called out to me. “Mom? Where are you?”Sigh.“I’m upstairs.”He bounded up the stairs and stood in the bedroom doorway. “Can I come in?”“Sure.”He slipped to the side of the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked.“I’m fine. I just came upstairs to lie down for a few minutes. You can join me, if you like.” I folded back the covers and scooted over. He climbed in and lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute.“Percy Jackson had to defeat a Hydra in some building in Nashville, Tennessee,” he began, reviewing some key scenes from the movie Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief. “And then he went to some garden where he defeated Medusa.”I was relaxed and reflective, but I was listening. “Hmmmm,” I murmured.“I think it was in Michigan,” he continued, “but I’m not sure.”“That’s interesting,” I replied.“But his mom got out of Hades and he got the lightning bolt back to Zeus.”“Really?”“Yes, and then it ended with him practicing fighting with Athena’s daughter.”“Ohhhhh,” I replied. “That sounds nice. Did he get to meet his dad?”“His dad? Poseidon? Yes, he did.”“Ah.”Same words as my canned responses, but these weren’t canned. I was listening. And in spite of how hot it was that afternoon, I let my son snuggle close and kissed him on the cheek.“listen to me…” photo by Michela Mongardi. Available under a Creative Commons license through Flickr.com.

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The post Tuning In and Out appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

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Here at the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. If you want to research plantains or papayas, that’s great. Posts like that are as welcome as menus and recipes.When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button (the big one above or smaller option at the bottom) to paste at the top of your post and join us through Mr. Linky.Here’s a Mr. Linky tutorial:

Write up a post, publish, then return here and click on Mr. Linky below. A screen will pop up where you can type in your blog name and paste in the url to your own Food on Fridays post (give us the exact link to your Food on Fridays page, not just the link to your blog).You can also visit other people’s posts by clicking on Mr. Linky and then clicking participants’ names–you should be taken straight to their posts.Please note: I’ll do my best to update this post by hand. In the meantime, please click on the Mister Linky logo to view the complete list.

Food on Fridays Participants

Food on Fridays with AnnWhen we planted our garden, we put in three zucchini plants.“I can’t wait to eat zucchini bread!” my son exclaimed. “I looooooove zucchini bread.”That was back in May. When we would go out to weed or water the garden, he’d ask if the zucchini was ready.“Not yet,” I’d reply.“Awwww….I was hoping we could make zucchini bread.”“We have to wait until we get a bunch of them,” I said, “or a couple of big ones.”I sent out my son with peelings and egg shells for the compost. “Do we have any zucchini?” I asked.“Nope,” he replied. “I looked. Not yet.”The other day I was invited to Charity’s house for tea. But she didn’t serve just tea. She made brownies, as well.Zucchini brownies!They were fantastic! I eagerly and shamelessly accepting a second piece when she offered!I told her that my son often asked if the zucchini was ready, but we got our garden in late and so…no zucchini. In fact, I told her I’d seen blooms but no fruit, so I wondered if they needed pollination. She described how she successfully pollinated hers the year before. I thought about enlisting the help of my science-minded daughter for that task.“For now, I have more than enough to share,” Charity said, “so I’ll send some home with you and you can make zucchini bread with your son.”What a fantastic offer: I’d be bringing home zucchini for my little boy.After the brownies, we got involved in discussions about blogging and art. We forgot all about the zucchini. I left without it.Fortunately we saw each other a couple of days later, and fortunately Charity kindly remembered the zucchini.What’s more, the very next day I discovered our first zucchini of the season, ripe and ready for picking. Right there in our garden!Suddenly, we were awash in zucchini (cucumber, too, but that’s another post)!So I set my son to work making the zucchini bread. He said he wants to be a great cook, so we decided he should learn to make the things he likes, to share them with his friends.He followed this recipe, underlining where he was and checking off what he’d done:I pulled down some of the ingredients for him, but my son did it all himself…everything except pouring it into the pans.He even handled cleanup, which is important for a beginning cook to learn.And the breads turned out great.He was only interested in learning to make zucchini bread, not the brownies.But I was interested in making Charity’s brownies.The batter looked kind of weird and wormy at this point, with the shredded zucchini mixed into the batter. My picky-eater daughter refused to touch it.For some reason it looked better when spread into the pan.I snapped a picture after it was baked. It’s no thing of beauty, but boy was it moist, rich and fudge-like.We’ll be making these recipes again, not only because we’re about to be inundated with zucchini, but also because they were delicious.Charity’s Zucchini BrowniesFrom Simply in Season

• 1 cup flour
• ¾ cup whole wheat flour
• 1/3 cup baking cocoa
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon salt

Combine in a large bowl.2-3 cups zucchini (shredded)Stir in.

• 1 egg
• ¾ cup sugar
• ¾ cup brown sugar
• ½ cup plain yogurt
• ½ cup oil
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine in separate bowl and beat with fork. Stir into zucchini mixture. Spread evenly into greased 9×13 inch pan.

• ½-1 cup semisweet or mint chocolate chips (Ann’s note: I used semisweet and mixed them in instead of spreading on top)
• ½ cup nuts (chopped; optional)

Sprinkle on top of batter. Bake in preheated oven at 350F until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, 35-40 minutes.NOTE: I (Charity) used yellow squash instead of zucchini. I stirred in a whole bag (12 oz) of chocolate chips rather than pouring on top. Also, I had to bake for close to 45 minutes.My Son’s Zucchini Chocolate Chip Bread

• 3 c. flour
• 1/2 c. white sugar
• 1 c. brown sugar
• 1 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• 1 tsp. cinnamon
• 3 eggs
• 2 c. grated zucchini, unpared
• 3/4 c. oil
• 3 tsp. vanilla
• 1/2 c. chopped walnuts (we left out the nuts)
• 6 oz. chocolate chips

Mix all dry ingredients together; then mix eggs, oil, vanilla and zucchini in a large bowl. Add dry ingredients to wet mixture and mix well. Add nuts and chocolate chips.Grease pans. This batter can be poured into 2 loaf pans or 4 to 5 mini loaf pans, or into muffin pans (about 24). Bake at 350 degrees. Large loaves take about 50 to 60 minutes; mini-loaves about 30 minutes; and muffins about 15 to 20 minutes.

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The post Food on Fridays: Zucchini Recipes appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.