A weekly reader-contributed feature in the Washington Post Sunday Magazine is called “Mine” with the subheading, “So much of life is contained in such small things. What holds meaning for you?”
Yesterday’s item, a tiny electric motor from a toy boat that a man keeps from his grandfather’s treasures reminded me powerfully of a music box that came into my possession after my grandmother, Ruth May Loucks Stauffer (mother’s mother) died in 1991.
On the bottom of my Grandmother’s music box it says “Isola Di Capri” (Island of Capri) and “Made in Italy,” with “Swiss Musical Movement.”
I visited Italy with my parents in December 1973 when they came to Europe for about 10 days when I spent my junior year in Spain. They landed in Rome and we took a one day trip to the Isle of Capri. I wasn’t much into buying “souvenirs” that year and brought very few back with me. So this gift, which my mother gave to her mother and then passed on to me after Grandma died reminds me of how spare I was buying stuff for myself that year (couldn’t afford it and philosophically, I felt that souvenirs were what tourists did and I wasn’t a tourist). But I’m oh so grateful for this belated treasure from an enchanted day spent on the Isle of Capri with my parents. (All my photos of Italy and Capri are slides. Bummer. Check here for some lovely images.)
I love that Grandma wrote in a hidden place inside, “Bertha’s gift bought in Italy April 1974.” (Likely April was when Grandma received the box from my mother, since they lived 900 miles away and probably didn’t visit until spring or Easter following that big trip to Europe at Christmas.)
But the other touches that make Grandma’s music box so special are the trinkets she kept inside: hospital I.D. bracelets from three different hospital stays. (How could I ever part with them, since Grandmother didn’t?) Two have only her name and esoteric hospital numbers but one is dated 2/6/76, the year I got married in May, which probably explains why I don’t remember anything about her hospitalization that year.
There is also a tiny “Get Well Soon” card such as what would come with a floral gift. It is signed “From your special helper Penny” and on the back Grandma wrote “This penny a gift on Mother’s Day while I was in Muncie [Ind.] hospital, from Penny Sneed. She helped me walk first, a nice little girl.” The penny, taped to the card, was minted 1974.
So wherever you are, Penny Sneed, “a nice little girl” and likely a nurse aid or perhaps volunteer in Muncie, Ind., thank you for your little namesake gift and helping Grandma walk again (hip surgery?). Apparently Penny’s personality touched my grandmother deeply or she would not have kept it.
I’ll use the Post’s question as my invite for comments:
“So much of life is contained in such small things. What holds meaning for you?”
What older thing are you keeping just because it is special to you?
***
You can read more about my adventures in Spain (and Italy and elsewhere) from my memoir of that year, Departure, still available from those wonderful booksellers who collect out of print books and keep them circulating through Amazon. (original cover not shown in picture).
Part 3.
Here is the promised recipe for Funnel Cakes: yes, just like you get at a fair. Funnel cakes are only a little more difficult to make than pancakes. (And if you don’t like all the little backstory, skip right on down. And here are links if you missed Part 1 and Part 2 to this “Planning a 60th birthday party” series.)
This was a family tradition on holiday mornings when no other big activity was planned: my husband’s extended family used to have their Thanksgiving meal the evening before because of hunters in the family, and so we never had anything special to do on the big day. So funnel cakes for a late lazy breakfast were a fun tradition, or on other holidays like New Years Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day. You don’t want to do this when you have a lot of other big plans for your morning (like Christmas), because the biggest issue is cleaning up the rather grand mess you’ll make.
I found the recipe once in a magazine (sorry I didn’t write down the source) but my paper, as you can see, has now come apart (time to write it up fresh, but now it will at least be online). I Googled funnel cakes and there are of course a lot of recipes out there. My recipe does not use sugar (other than to sprinkle on top) or butter so that cuts the richness just a bit. And some of them talked about using a skimmer so I actually went out and bought one thinking it might make turning the funnel cakes a little easier, or at least lifting them up out of the hot grease. Meh, it worked only so so for this operation.
Basically I use a long handled 2 prong fork and a tongs to turn them. But that’s definitely the hardest part, and if you make them with small children around, be OH SO CAREFUL with the hot grease. Don’t let them come near it. If they want to help, let them sift the powdered sugar over the cooked funnel cakes, which is fun too.
Funnel cakes
2 beaten eggs
1 ½ cups milk
2 cups sifted flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
2 cups cooking oil
In mixing bowl, combine eggs and milk. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to egg mixture and meat smooth with egg beater or small mixer or by hand. Test batter to see if it flows easily through a funnel; if too thick, add milk; if too thin, add flour.
In 8-inch skillet (or electric skillet) heat cooking oil to 360 degrees. (That’s why I use an electric skillet that has a temperature gauge on the control knob.) Covering bottom opening of funnel with finger, pour a generous half cup batter into funnel.
Top: spiral dough in skillet; me using fork to lift funnel cake; daughter sifting confectioner’s sugar.
Hold funnel close to oil, release batter into spiral shape in pan. Fry till golden, about 3 minutes. Turn cake carefully (tongs and spatula). Cook 1 minute more. Drain on paper towel. Sprinkle with confectioner sugar using sifter, or with cinnamon sugar. Can also serve with hot syrup. Makes 6-8 large funnel cakes, or more if you make them smaller.
For the birthday party crowd, I doubled the recipe, and had batter left over, after making roughly 12-14.
Here’s the birthday guy. And below, me with a grand mess.
***
Do you have a special pastry or other “big mess” food that has become a family tradition? (Growing up, we’d make Cracker Jack once a year.) What else?
For my book with more family traditions and delicious recipes mostly from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, check it out here:
Part 2.
As noted yesterday, my daughters and I came up with the idea of having a “lawn party” theme for my husband’s 60th birthday. Here is the lowdown.
First I need to explain that in Virginia, a “lawn party” is a euphemism for a carnival, a term which came into play during a time when carnivals were considered not quite decent or kosher for members of some churches (I have not documented this).
A lawn party is put on as a major fundraiser by fire departments, rescue squads, Ruritan or any club and requires the all-hands-on-deck cooperation of dozens, even hundreds, of volunteers. You have multiple food booths, fair or carnival type games, maybe rides (or at least a jumping cage for the kiddies) and at the really big ones, a Tractor Pull. The general community gets in the act by coming out in droves for two or three nights over the weekend for their evening meal (Thursday, Friday, and Saturday) and many happily donate cakes for a “cake walk” (to be explained shortly). Small town—or up and coming regional bands (or bad karoke music) supply mostly country or blue grass music from a small stage.
So here is how our indoor lawn party went down.
Music. Two daughters prepared a playlist of their father’s favorite music of the 60s and 70s, back when we actually listened to pop music. Great music like: Monster Mash, Up Around the Bend (Creedence Clearwater Revival was one of my husband’s fav bands), Proud Mary, Heard it through the Grapevine, Lookin Out My Back Door, Bad Moon Rising, Smoke on the Water, Radar Love, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (by Iron Butterfly), You Don’t Mess Around with Jim. You get the idea. Good stuff.
Food. I tried to serve typical lawn party food, adapted to the home scene: barbecues, (fried chicken, no I didn’t fry it myself), chips (instead of French Fries), soft drinks—with the addition of veggies and cheese which you would never find at a lawn party but, well, there had to be something a little nutritious! There was not much left at the end of the evening.
Games. Let me tell you, I had no idea how we’d actually do some of the games below going in, but my daughters helped think through plans that would work.
Go Fish! Or Pin the hook on the Fishie. I blew up a picture of likely the biggest fish my husband ever caught as a kid, and we stuck post it notes on the picture with the closest “hook” winning a prize.
Dime Toss. I invited my daughters to scour their cupboards for mugs and cups and saucers they were not using; I also visited the local MCC Gift and Thrift Store and bought up a small supply. I dug up all of the dimes I could find in the house and allotted each player 5 dimes for their turn of tossing a dime, one at a time, trying to land one in a cup or dish. One vase had a dollar bill rubber-banded to it as a special prize. We used the dining room table (but forgot to get a picture of it in action) and for a while the dimes were flying everywhere (but not dangerously, which was a slight concern). Two of the boys later turned it into a ping pong table, using one of the prizes (a small ping pong set) he had won.
Cake Walk. Our version was a little like musical chairs with small posters on the floor each bearing the name of one of Stuart’s vehicles (or our family vehicles) through the years, more than 11 different cars/trucks/minivans. It was fun reminiscing and would have been more fun to blow up old pictures of each one, but that would have taken a lot of digging for photos. So while the music played, players walked around the “cake table” (which was bearing cupcakes), and land on one of the posters stating vehicle brands, and the game chief drew small slips out of a basket bearing the names of the vehicles. Whoever stood on that poster would then win his/her cupcake. (At a real lawn party, each winner would have received a real whole cake. Too much for our small scale party. Cake table shown below).
Log Guessing Game. I’ve never seen this at a lawn party, but taking my husband’s affinity for cutting wood, burning wood, and frequently expecting that his daughters and I just “know” the different types of wood as well as he has come to know them over the years, we came up with 10 samples of wood growing on our property and let people do their best guess of which was which, from a multiple choice list. My environmental scientist daughter prepared a careful answer key, also shown below.
Photo Booth. I’ve never actually seen a photo booth at a lawn party either but this idea was kind of culled from amusement parks where you can dress up in old style clothing. So two daughters brought props and I combed the attic for old musical and Halloween costumes. Some guests seemed to enjoy hamming it up a little for the camera. Especially Abby and Jaiben.
Is Mary a great hippie or what? (she even has the right kind of name)!
Tractor Pull. The game that some of the kids were excited to try was our version of a tractor pull. Again, for the uninitiated, this is where tractors of all sizes and descriptions, and in some cases old antique tractors, line up for a chance to pull a “sled” that increases its resistance as the tractor putts down the smooth dirt track. The tractors belch puffs of smoke, the crowd cheers, and the guy who manages to get the farthest down the track wins.
Our “sled” was an upside down dolly, the “track” was two lines in the basement cement, and we added resistance with increasing weights—up to 70 pounds.
Upside down dolly base
First “weight:” 40 lbs salt
Second weight added: 14 lbs cat litter
Final weight: old brake drum, 16 pounds
The “tractor” was an awesome little wooden riding toy my husband built about 30 years ago for the children (in an adult woodworking class) which is rumored to be indestructible (even a 250-pound man can sit on it with no ill effects to the toy).
The “crowd” in this case were impressed that the toy could pull 70 pounds.
The tractor pull also gave us confidence the riding toy will likely stand up to any punishment our growing grandsons will give it. 
All participants were declared winners, and encouraged to please please please grab a gift from the prize table (mostly while elephants I was happy to move out of my closet).
In the end, yes, it took a little creativity and a little leg work and elbow grease, and I think we had as much fun working together, as friends and family had in participating (and thanks to dads who pitched in to take care of little ones).
We would have loved to invite even more friends and relatives. Weather wise, it was the most beautiful Saturday we’ve had in a while so I hope everyone else had just as much fun doing other things on that fine day. Everyone has busy schedules and we so appreciate all who took the time to come celebrate with us–which is what birthday parties are really about.
On Friday, I’ll blog about making real lawn party food, funnel cakes. As I was preparing for this party, flipping through reams of old photos to find the fishing picture of my husband, I was struck by all the photos of birthday parties in my boxes and albums. That is because it is one of the times parents and everyone is more inclined to snap pictures. I know a family whose grandchildren live 630 miles away yet they frequently drive the 1200+ mile round trip in order to be present for those important occasions. We didn’t often do that—drive to my folks’ for birthdays nor did my parents drive here—but sometimes celebrated in conjunction with other events which 1) made me glad we celebrated as often as we did, but also 2) mindful that you can never get together often enough.
As we planned this decade birthday party, I particularly remembered the line of Helen Poindexter from my church, a beautiful English prof for many years and now in her 90s. At a 40th birthday celebration for our pastor, Helen quipped, “Oh to be 40 again.”
How true. Someday we’ll wish we were “just 60” again. So it goes. The moral is to enjoy each day as you live it, like Thorton Wilder wrote in the play, “Our Town.”
(Most photos courtesy of Brian Sinclair and other family photographers.)
***
Do you have “lawn parties” in your area as described above? I have not run into them, really, in any area other than Virginia. I’m sure there are similar carnivals and small fairs and fundraisers, but does anyone else call them lawn parties? Hope you’ll comment!
Have you ever driven a ridiculous distance for a birthday party of a family member or friend?
Part 1. Hatching the idea.
I’ve been to plenty over-the-hill parties given at the ripe age of turning 40 (and 50, 60, 65), and after about the second one, I was tired of the gravestone themes (especially when so many loved ones die for real way too early); the boxes of “senior” diapers given (especially when your own dad has to start wearing them); and the gag gifts of prune juice and fanny floss.
So for my husband’s 60th, I wanted to do something a little different that was in the spirit of my husband’s many interests and loves through his life so far. Two years ago when I had a decade birthday my daughters threw a wonderful surprise (not to be topped) party where the highlight was everyone pitching in to make homemade yeast raised donuts in the church kitchen. We had made such donuts at least one other time for a party and they wanted to repeat that.
The donut party. Photo by Brian Sinclair
Now that was a party to pull off without your mother’s knowledge, but just beneath surface of her kitchen activity. One daughter gradually whisked all of the supplies out of our kitchen and transported them to the church kitchen, and then disappeared for the day (under the ruse of doing Christmas shopping) to mix, knead and raise the dough—and meanwhile decorate and pull all of the other birthday elements together. I still marvel at how they pulled that off—and arranged for one sister who lives about 400 miles away to come and REALLY surprise me. I was blown away (read more about that one, here.)
The surprise. Photo by Brian Sinclair
So in asking my daughters what we should do for their father’s 60th, I proposed continuing the Davis theme of holding a homemade donut party, but this time at our house. One of them suggested why not make homemade funnel cakes instead—wouldn’t that be a little easier? Yes! Absolutely. We frequently (read, I) made them on for breakfast on holidays when we didn’t have any other big plans: Memorial Day, Labor Day, New Year’s Day.
From there my mind took the next logical leap: here in the Shenandoah Valley, funnel cakes are lawn party food. Why not re-create a lawn party right in our own living room/kitchen/dining room (it being early March and all, in the winter that just wouldn’t go away.) I’ve already written about how through the summer, where there are local lawn parties going on almost every weekend, that’s one of my husband’s favorite weekend activities.
By e-mail, the girls and I brainstormed activities and foods.
We made invitations.
Those were the easy parts. The next steps were actually carrying out the grandiose and somewhat half baked ideas. To be continued.
An indoor carnival of sorts is not your thing? The key is finding something that is “the thing” of whoever you are celebrating. They are big into sports? Hunting? Fashion/shopping? Foodie? Hiking? What do they enjoy doing? That might be a theme and help pull something together they’ll remember until at least the next decade. We hope.
Part 2: On my blog this Thursday, how my three daughters helped pulled off an indoor lawn party without an entire ladies auxiliary or Ruritan Club helping. Working around the needs of two babies who let their needs be known frequently.
Part 3: On Friday, making the homemade funnel cakes–the recipe and how to’s.
***
Have you planned a different kind of decade birthday party? What worked? What didn’t? I’d love to hear from you.
Here are some more “commercial” ideas, and a Pinterest Board of more ideas.
And here is a beautiful recipe and coffee table book with Celebration ideas throughout family life.
I don’t recall my mother making cornbread when I was growing up but I can’t imagine serving chili soup without that option. (See my chili recipe here.) But then, she was a Yankee. No southern cook (dare I be so bold to put myself halfway in that camp) can be without a go-to recipe to stir up on a busy day.
Some cornbread doesn’t do much for me—if it is too crumbly, dry, or hard. I guess I also like mine best with a little sugar in it, which by most accounts is not true southern cornbread. The real thing, according to some, also has to be baked in a cast iron skillet.
From my experiments, reading recipes, and trying the cornbread others make, I think the best combination includes enough flour that the cornbread is not super crumbly, and just enough sugar to make it a little sweet. Some recipes call for a cup of sugar (for a 9 x 12 pan); my recipe, which came from a cornmeal box, just includes ¼ cup sugar. I’m betting you could weasel that back to 2 tablespoons if you wanted.
I love this recipe because it takes liquid shortening (vegetable oil) which makes for super easy mixing and clean up, just one bowl with one spoon and one measuring cup. I cut this recipe in half now that the children are gone and it bakes up just fine in a bread pan.
Corn Bread (adapted from cornmeal box; original used 1 cup corn meal and 1 cup flour)
¾ cup yellow corn meal
1 ¼ cup flour
¼ cup sugar
4 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
¼ cup vegetable oil or other shortening, soft
Sift dry ingredients (first five) together.
Add next three ingredients.
Beat with spoon until smooth.
Bake at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes.
Makes enough for a 9 x 9 inch pan, or 12 muffins.
How easy is that? I’ve whipped this up while doing a load of laundry, unloading the dishwasher and entertaining a clingy toddler or two. While a pot of chili is simmering. Not because I was a supermom, this recipe is that easy.
For more recipes from Shenandoah Valley cooks, turn to Whatever Happened to Dinner: Recipes and Reflections on Family Mealtime.
The last snow we got, when I got up the second morning, the world was still covered with snow. I looked out my window and thought I was dreaming.
There were three beautiful horses in our backyard. And, um, we don’t own or keep horses on our eight acres.
It was still almost dark. I was just waking up. I blinked and looked again. I would not have been surprised by cows (there are close neighbors with cows on both sides of us) or deer, or one horse. But three beautiful, tame, well-cared for horses made me think I had died and woke up in almost-every-little-girl’s la la land.
My husband was still sleeping so I just let him sleep. No biggy. Likely the next door neighbor’s horses just crossing over into greener (snow-covered) pastures. We’ll call him later.
Long story short, after contacting all the neighbors we knew who had horses, after posting on Facebook and calling the local radio station, no luck. So several hours later we called the local sheriff’s office which said they would send out someone from animal control. We were leaving on a trip, so we never saw how or when the animals eventually got to where they needed to be. But the point is this:
It looked like our yard had been hit by 12 Budweiser Clydesdales. Those three productive ladies (?), in just several hours, left manure like they were a herd.
When life gives you horses, you collect the manure as compost for your garden.
I felt like my father-in-law with the free booty, who used to find (usually free), deliver, and pitch horse manure for people’s gardens to earn a little “pocket money” as he called it. Many people for miles around knew Hershel as the horse manure man. And knew him as the best gardener in Bridgewater, Va. (We’ve been thinking of him a lot these days as he died 16 years ago on March 1.)
I felt like my sister who, if she had her choice, would choose mucking the cow, hog or sheep manure over housework because … it got her out of the house and into the barn. We always suspected (the two sisters who got stuck with the housework) that she chose barnwork because it gave her a chance to sneak off to the hayloft to play with the kittens.
(View of our house, garage and chicken house from the upper window of the barn’s hayloft, where kitties played.)
My main surprise with the free barnyard booty? How light and dry it was after a week or two: nothing more than dried grass. Not gross at all. I know that in rural parts of some countries, people still burn cow dung for fuel.
But mainly, I felt like a farm girl again, when there was always a lot of manure to muck. Not too much different than a lot of workplaces these days.
This post is be “rich” in metaphoric (and punning) possibilities. And even the Bible uses the dung heap as a metaphor. In the passage from Luke where Jesus talks about the cost of being a disciple–of the need to count the cost of following him–Jesus said disciples who are not committed are useless to him, and then finishes with this example:
“Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure pile; it is thrown out.” (Luke 14:34-35).
I was left with a nice pile of manure for my garden. Jesus implies that there is value in the manure pile–but not in unsalty Christians or disciples. As Jesus finished that particular story he gives his slightly cryptic, “Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.”
Am I listening?
February is finally almost over. The shortest month, stretched into the longest winter ever since Laura Ingalls Wilder. Right?
Of course we all exaggerate and have short memories. Because family harmony is frequently ruined arguing about such things, I keep a notebook that has some of the big snowfalls of past winters in Harrisonburg, Va., in case anyone’s interested (from the Daily News Record, 2010). By these figures, this winter’s snowfall has been just a little below some of the years I’ve highlighted below showing some of the bigger snowfall accumulations for our area.
Area Snow by Winter season (and this is nuttin’ compared to states like New York recording upwards of 100 inches so far this year.)
1993-94 35.25 inches
1995-96 53 inches
2002-03 28.5 inches
2003-04 29.75 inches
2009-10 29 inches
2013-14 23.5 inches so far (From WSVA’s Weather Data, added together.)
And from another helpful chart comparing Harrisonburg’s average annual snowfall to Virginia’s and then to the U.S.:
Average Annual Snowfall, #57
|
Harrisonburg, VA |
25.12 inches |
|
Virginia |
14.85 inches |
|
U.S. |
23.27 inches |
And as my husband always warns, some of the biggest snowfalls in our area seem to come in March, frequently just in time for his birthday.
Now we’re getting to the yummy part, a fresh take on a quick bread: cheese muffins, and a great way to warm up an early March meal. I will confess I never would have made these if Valerie Weaver-Zercher, the managing editor for a new edition of Extending the Table Cookbook, had not been looking for friends and colleagues to try out recipes. I also tested this slightly more exotic recipe, Het Fang Shei Khaii for this new edition.
But a recipe for cheese muffins originally from El Salvador sounded easy peasy, and it was. Would they taste like Red Lobster’s beloved cheesy biscuits? The cookbook says that in El Salvador they call these little breads “quesadillas,” not to be confused with Mexican type quesadillas which are cheese-filled tortillas. “Both derive their name from the Spanish word for cheese—queso.” (From Extending the Table, 1991 edition, p. 57.)
Take any hot bread, add cheese, add butter (if you dare) or a jam and you’ve pretty much got something wonderful to sink your taste buds into. Without paying a Red Lobster price. Great to go along with a pot of homemade vegetable soup, chili, or for a brunchy breakfast.
And yes, the new revised cookbook with gorgeous food photography will soon be here—scheduled for release in May, 2014. See pictures from a photo shoot for the new edition, here. If you can’t wait, see or purchase the original cookbook here.
Cheese Muffins (El Salvador)
Cream:
½ c. margarine or butter, melted
¾ c. sugar
2 eggs
Combine:
2 c. flour
2 t. baking powder
Add to creamed mixture, alternatively with the flour mix:
1 c. milk or sour cream
Beat until smooth.
Stir in
1 ½ c. grated cheese (Mozzarella, cheddar, or combo)
Put paper baking cups into muffin pans and fill ¾ full of batter.
Sprinkle with sesame seeds.
Bake at 350 degrees for 15-18 minutes until golden, or toothpick comes out clean. Muffins freeze well. Makes 18.
–Submitted by Karen Canales and Dolores Braun, Saskatoon Saskatchewan; Angela Mendez and Edna Hohnstein, Edmonton, Alberta
Not sure they’d use cupcake papers like this in El Salvador… Anyone know?
Image courtesy of Gualberto107 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
The moon is great and big and bright as I sit momentarily, cross legged on the living room floor, peering out to the West where the moon lingers over an early morning sky. Suddenly aware that I have too few moments like this, I let its beam reconnect me with the God of the Universe. How many miles away, and our eyes can still see this light. Marvelous.
Let’s see, how that light gets there … ah yes, it is but a reflection of the sun’s light burning elsewhere in the universe. In line to cast a light so luminous from the moon that my husband called me on his way to work just the other day to make sure I didn’t miss the great ball of light edging down between the trees on the next farm. How did God plan all of that? Oh yeah, it just happened. Right.
No, I believe that somewhere in God’s creative goodness the Almighty had at least a master plan, a grand design. What fun. What a window into the mind and majesty of God! Imagine a being so magnificent to dream and scheme and connect all the dots. God may have used many years, may have used the process of evolution, may have figured it out as it progressed. But all that stuff didn’t just happen. Things—creation—the ways of nature—the wit and grace of mammals—couldn’t have just happened.
And God was lonely at one point in the process (tradition, the Bible, many creation stories say); so lonely that God made humans. The human body—the human mind—the interrelationships between people—procreation—all with the ability to connect powerfully with the spirit of this great God.
Hello, God. It’s been too long that I just sat here or somewhere and basked in that companionship, friendship, awe, love. You are still too often lonely, missing the connection and friendship of all these beings. Us. Me. Sorry.
I’ve been busy. You know that. But, that’s no excuse not to linger and absorb your great love.
Yes, I believe. How could I not?
See you around. I’ll try not let it go so long next time til I just sit and soak up the love and goodness you have for us if we but take it in. Not praying, not reading something, not even reading your good book. Just hanging out. Thanks for being there.
Your friend, Melodie
O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory above the heavens.
When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
The moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?
How do you get in touch with God? How does God get in touch with you? Where do you best reflect on God’s glory and goodness and friendship?
If given the choice, would you rather receive an object type gift for your birthday or Christmas—or an activity, gathering, adventure-type gift for the same?
Do you like, need, and collect things (useful or not) —or do you crave experiences?
If you are married, you are likely married to the opposite of you in this department. At least I am. Give my husband a new tool or even a new flannel shirt or jacket and he’s gonna be happy. I am just as happy with going to a concert, eating out, a trip, or adventure. Ultimately, both of us are quite happy with any kind of gift or remembrance.
Over a year ago when I first heard that virtuoso (that just means expert) violinist Itzhak Perlman was going to solo with the symphony where our daughter works, I knew I wanted to go. In fact I said “I’m going,” come you-know-what or high water. Well, as it turned out, it was the biggest snow in ten years for that city but we made it anyway. My daughters all chipped in to buy us some very nice tickets for my birthday present back in December for the concert, which took place Feb 15. (Yeah, I took a blog break this past week, with other travels and responsibilities playing, um, first fiddle.)
Hearing Perlman live in concert was truly as virtuoso and marvelous as I could have wanted, a bucket list event, for me. I believe I’ve heard of Perlman most of my life, who first appeared in the U.S. on the Ed Sullivan show in the late 50s as an 11 year old child, with his polio crutches. Not that I saw him then, we didn’t have TV. So that little subtext had escaped my notice all these years in just hearing conversation about him. In fact my daughter, who has twice helped to host him as a guest artist in two cities, never mentioned polio. To her credit. Why mention a little thing like motor issues with legs and feet when you can make a violin talk like Itzhak Perlman? The strains from his strings pierced my inner spirit in a spine-tingling way. You can read much more about Perlman at his website, including the fact that it was Perlman who played the haunting violin solos in the Academy Award winning Steven Spielberg movie, Schindler’s List. You may also remember seeing him play at President Obama’s first inauguration in bitterly cold weather.
The Charlotte Observer gave a beautiful review of the performance we saw (here) playing Felix Mendelssohn’s “Violin Concerto in E Minor” so I’ll not repeat that. What I personally loved though was watching the showmanship of Christopher Warren-Green, the orchestra’s usual conductor in absolute command during the first half of the concert when Perlman was not soloing, complete with gloriously wavy white hair blazing like Leonard Bernstein. And then, like an ambassador or vice-president standing aside in deference to a queen or a president, Warren-Green graciously turned aside from the limelight as he “allowed” Perlman to basically conduct the second half of the concert. Every now and then Perlman would glance up like a little boy at Warren-Green as if to say “Oh, yes, I’m supposed to be following a conductor here, oops.” But it was Perlman romancing his sweet little Stradivarius as Warren-Green and the symphony orchestra followed along. British born Warren-Green, if you’ve forgotten, is no stranger to royalty himself, having conducted an orchestra for the 2011 wedding of Prince William and Kate (now Duke and Duchess of Cambridge) at Westminster Abbey, and other royal events over the Big Pond.
It’s always fun to be in the presence of people you’ve heard of for a long time but never thought you’d hear/see in person. My daughter was too smart to let us go gaga over the stars so we toured backstage without seeing either Warren-Green or Perlman, but it was marvelous just the same. We didn’t want to be like groupies, heaven forbid.
And what a birthday-Valentine’s treat I will treasure a long time. Thanks, kids.
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Do you like experiences or events over gifts? I’d love to hear your favorite adventure or experience given or received as a gift.
Incarnation—the idea that God became human and lived among us in the form and spirit of Jesus—what does that look like in 2014? That is what I agreed to write about for this syncroblog post with the MennoNerds blogger group.
What does it mean to live as if God is still living among us?
It may look like one thing for the women (two) who blog at MamaCongo living as expatriates in Congo, Africa. It may look like another thing with my friends living in Tembisa, South Africa, who I’ve gotten to know through our church’s partnership with St. Peters Uniting Presbyterian Church, some of whom I “see” frequently on Facebook. Local doesn’t feel like just Harrisonburg, Virginia anymore, with the World Wide Web.
Youth from St. Peters Presbyterian Church in South Africa came to spend three weeks with youth from Trinity in Harrisonburg, Va.
What I know of local mission though, doesn’t just come out of a vacuum. In my last post for this “missional” syncroblog series, I talked about my own family and church background and its powerful influence on “incarnating in the local context.”
The church we have been a part of since 1975 was organized and founded on the principles of Church of the Savior in Washington, D.C. which is nothing if it is not local mission. When I was a student at Eastern Mennonite University, one of our Freshmen required field trips included a stop at this exemplary congregation in the middle of the nation’s capital to see what we could learn. Founded by the late Gordon and Mary Cosby, the church taught that the organizing bedrock of the church and its small groups or covenanting communities (called house churches at my church) is mission: the more local and present tense, the better.
Why? Our church has four core values or areas of focus, which we name “marks of the church”: worship, nurture, fellowship and mission. Each house church is to actively practice each of these values, and include mission as one focus. In fact, we “issue a call” around a mission vision. Someone wants to deal with homelessness in the community. Fine, organize around that. Someone sees a need to connect with individuals and families dealing with AIDS in the early 80s when nobody knew much about it. Etc.
Emily Gilkeson, left, long time mainstay behind the Clothes Closet house church, always enjoyed
greeting and talking with the children and babies who came to the Clothes Closet.
Through the years house churches have been organized around calls to look at or minister with offenders/inmates, adult day care, youth in trouble, arts/drama outreach, needs of those with intellectual and physical disabilities, international students and families in our midst, refugees, poverty, housing, racial relations, hunger, health issues, loneliness, those with head injuries and permanent disability, environmental issues, a coffeehouse ministry, emergency housing, a mobile homeless shelter, and more. This in a congregation which has never had more 100-150 members, founded in 1963.
The quote on the banner, which we used at our church’s 50th anniversary last fall, says “That which is heard in the holy places, must be lived in the marketplaces.” The banner represented the long ministry of “The Marketplace Coffee House” in Harrisonburg.
The South Africa house church, eventually dubbed African Partnership has been one effort that bridges across continents. While you might wonder how that could be considered “local ministry,” it has been foundational in shaping an awareness that the church is never just local, but international and helps us keep in touch with the bigger fellowship and ministry of Christians around the globe. The fact that it was first called into being by the youth of the church helped too in stretching us to be involved.
Being a faithful follower of Jesus in 2014 goes right back to about the year 33 when Jesus asked his followers then, and us now, to “Go into all the world and make disciples.” Sometimes the world is next door or the next town. Sometimes it is 5,000 miles away. The heart of the gospel is living faith wherever we are and responding to the needs we see around us, just like Jesus did.
In the recent winter issue of Leader magazine (published by MennoMedia) most of the articles focus on families and church, but Dave Maurer, pastor of Bethel Mennonite Church, West Liberty, Ohio, talks also about “building relationships in the neighborhood. He points out that congregations need to remain intentional about the fact that church isn’t just about teaching the church’s own children and enjoying a clubby type of fellowship ourselves. The church is about reaching out. He references Jesus’ words in Luke 4: 14-30 where Jesus is in his hometown, reads from the scroll in the synagogue about Elijah ministering to the widow of Zarephath (different city/region) rather than the widows of Israel. “[Jesus was] suggesting that the people minister to those outside of their circle and the people trying to throw him off a cliff for saying it.”
Sometimes we’re that way too—not ready to listen to the words of Jesus about reaching out beyond our own flock.
Jesus left excellent operating instructions for how to go on without him. In Matthew 28 we read, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations …” And in Act 1:8 we get “Ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth.”
How does your church engage the surrounding community?
Is it as outward focused as it is inward? How do you balance?
This post is part of a MennoNerds Synchro-Blog on Missionary Spirituality for the month of February. MennoNerds is exploring “spirituality through an Anabaptist-Christian lens” and what it means concerning participation in the mission of God. Find other MennoNerds blogger posts on this theme here.
findingharmonyblog 