remaining

My scripture reading this morning was about the vine in the branches, remaining in Christ, as to not wither away.

remain.

it's so hard, really.

Sometimes you can't see very far from the place you are at.

so what else is there to do?

The scriptures say if we do, then we can ask whatever we want.

I don't really know what that means?

Ask if God will take my anxiety away?

more friends?

Can I live on the beach?

perhaps not.

but maybe peace. comfort. joy.

perhaps those are things he cares more about.

our hearts.

I honestly don't know. But I do know the moment where I feel like no comfort is to be found, it always shows up. 

remain.

I'm trying.

we change, we stay the same.

I was thinking the other day about identity and who we are. The things that are just US. We can't undo them.

I can't undo the South. Or the beach. and sand in your feet, as normal. I can't undo afternoon thunderstorms and those tall green pines. I can't undo Y'all and yes ma'am. or sweet tea. ever. I will never undo sweet tea.Although, I do take it "split" now. But I won't ever go unsweet. If I am in a fix, sweet n low will do, but splenda or equal. no way.

I do feel I have given up SOME things, though. I feel like people get a little high and mighty with all the different diet options these days. "paleo", GF, Vegan, bla bla bla. I peruse those blogs and I even make your recipes, but I resist the categories.

But health is a good subject, and the south, surprisingly, is not known for it. I was looking through an old cookbook the other day, and every recipe had cream of chicken or mushroom- and I thought, yep, that's what Christmas dinner was all about! So that has changed. I have not used the cream of chicken cans in ages. I do miss those dishes every now and then, but they are mostly gone.

I've learned that going the extra mile and actually making cookie dough, or making taco seasoning, for example, has some measure of gratification to it, and using real ingredients is better and mostly feels better. It doesn't always happen, but it does most of the time, which is a good thing.

But I don't think that's any fault of the South. I think my ancestors cooked from scratch and then someone invented boxed cake mix and it all went down hill from there.

Even with all my efforts, I am still not sure about the train my food had to take to get into my mouth, and my organic eggs might even give me a run for my money if I actually saw where they lived, too. None of this is perfect, in fact I am sure, save the tomatoes you eat from your own back yard, it is all quite broken, to some degree.

But I learn, am learning, will continue to learn- that there is me, and there is the moldable me. That some things change in us, because we are transformed by something that is true.

I think making cookie dough is more true than slice and bake. I think something in me knows that is true, and that's why it feels good to participate in that.

I know this is a weird post about the South and food, and they may or may not be related.

But it's my blog, right?

here's to praying that I keep changing and longing for true things.

here's to not cursing inside when I hear one more person say they are PALEO:)

it's all good people. it's all good....

nod over coffee

Do you feel as exhausted from last week as I do? Between Boston and the Texas explosion and all the abortion doctor coverage- I was done.

Our hearts long for peace. We cry for peace. and yet often, there is no peace.

I am not linked to any of these tragedies, and I still feel the weight of survival guilt. My life that has been mostly kind to me. The warm food. The mini van. The good job.

And yet still, the unsettling occurs more often and I wish it did.

This Wendell Berry poem was making its way around the internet this week, and I felt deep comfort from it.

maybe you will, too.

*"nod over coffee" is a pierce pettis song. I was thinking about coffee and writing, and there you go.

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

if we were to have a cup of coffee.

* this is 100% stolen from another blog, but I really liked the writing format- an opportunity to write in a different way.


So, if we were to have coffee, which I can think of about 20 people I would love to do this with, but most of you live elsewhere, I might tell you this....

I was in Fayetteville, Arkansas this weekend. It's a quick day trip from here, but its tucked away in the foothills of the Ozarks, and its 100% southern hipster, whatever that is, but it feels more like home, so I got my sweet tea fix in, and went into about 5 shops, all of which had cutesy things you could get your name on, because YALL know how much you love your name on things in the South.

My child is sitting in my lap, which I am trying to cherish and yet begging her to go play. hum.

Someone lamented about people talking about laundry on Facebook, but I don't care, I have never seen so much in my life, and all my systems fail me.

It just never ends. ever.

I walked into a baby store the other day, and felt a wave of grief. To have or have not? Having a baby for me means almost a year of utter misery. Would it happen again? Am I ready to pack it all up. I am starting to feel older, 40's on the horizon. All of  my fears seem rooted in loss.

so scared to lose. anything. anybody.

Lincoln. Finally watched it! Well, most of it, but totally intrigued, and now I want to get my hand on a biography.

Spring is coming. It is, and as my friend said, it is being rather coy this year.

It's Monday. till next time.

love, brooke