Quakerism and Other Oddities

I'm doing a research paper on what it means to be Quaker for my Christian Foundations class at school. Admittedly  I am no Quaker. I was brought up within the Catholic faith for the first five years of my life before switching to a mainstream, conservative church until I was nine. At this point, my family joined Northside Alliance Church, which was an offshoot of the Missionary Alliance denomination before becoming non-denominational sometime in my teens as the church became increasingly charismatic  After graduating from high school, I attended a discipleship school for a year that was Calvinistic at its core, but essentially non-denominational as well. Since returning home from that experience, I have attended a variety of churches. The closest thing I would call to my own home is the House of Prayer movement. I feel like I can blend with almost any Christian environment I find myself in while my faith is best served in individual experience and expression. To those who know nothing of church history and theology, I apologize for how boring this post is thus far.

As I read Rufus Matthew Jones book The Faith and Practices of the Quakers written in 1930 and published by Methuen & Co.LTD. in London, I was surprised by a paragraph I read that deeply touches my own sentiments when it comes to faith. He writes,

In the first place, the Churches are bound to face, in a more adequate way than has yet been done, the intellectual reinterpretation of the universe. Christianity is, of course, vastly more than a theory of the universe. But at the same time, it cannot be right to hamper the freedom of the spiritual life of man by trying to keep it fitted into the intellectual framework of apostolic ages, or dark ages, or middle ages, or the reformation age. What one is asked to believe, or to think, or to hold, must fit in with and conform to one's whole system of thinking. Religious truth must always first of all be truth. It must not be determined by the views which prevailed in religious circles in some particular former century, any more than medical truth, or truth in physics, should be so determined. Every truth that has been discovered, verified and demonstrated, is thereby orthodox. Truth in this sphere and field, as in all other fields, grows, expands and enlarges. It must not be limited to what was in stock in the ages when creeds were formed. It is not enough, then, to debate a change of phrase here and there in an ancient formulation of faith. The person who it to be genuinely religious, who is to be a follower of Christ, must be free to believe what his deepest being finds to be true and he must not be asked to say that he believes what he cannot square with the facts of his universe, or with the testimony of his soul. pps. 4-5

How honest can I be when I am told what to believe, told what is right and wrong, told to face the facts? I loved this passage so much because I don't want easy answers. I don't think those really exist in this life. They don't for me, anyways. If they do for you, I am so pleased. For me, my faith is the ripping of new life, the pulling and messy death and rebirth. Nothing is ever solidified or perfect. I crave order, yet the chaos is where I am most at home. My dreams are born out of that chaos. I dream of a church that can love everyone regardless of where they have been or what their personal beliefs are based alone on the love that I see in Jesus. I believe in the work of the cross; it is my hope and stay. I have friends who do not understand the cross at all or who believe God is a giant fairy in the sky, a made up child's story to help people sleep at night. Very good. I still love them even as I hold dear the most precious relationship I have.

If you ask me how I know God is real, it's because I have heard his voice. It's because things happen in my life too often for it to be coincidence. It's because I always have what I need when I need it, even though there is no logical explanation for the phenomena  I believe in God because I know things I should not about other people. I feel power go out of me when I pray for others. I have seen genuine miracles. I believe in God because when things were craziest in my life, when I cried out to God they became peaceful. I believe in God as surly as I believe in the person who gives me a hug because I have felt their embrace. To deny their existence would be stupid on my behalf and make me a madwoman. In the same way, I have felt God, heard His voice, seen the evidence of His activity in my life, and know Him as intimately as I know my best friends. To me, He's real. And if that makes me a madwoman, so be it.

Yes, I think faith has to change and grow. No, I don't think the earth is flat or deny evolution as a change over time that has been seen in the earth and documented. I just still know there are things in the universe I cannot explain, a mystery to it. This is the art of the world, the creativity and soul of it. I ascribe all of this to a personal God who loves me and cares for me. Should you chose to define it in some other way, my disagreement with that does not mean I hold you in any less regard. I still find you amazing.

This is what I struggle to say. When we talk about faith, so many times hostility makes people turn into monsters and lose sight of the value of each person in front of us, regardless of their belief. I don't have to agree with someone in order to love them. I don't have to subscribe to their belief system or lifestyle to respect them. Disagreement is not licence to devalue another human being. Honest questions should not be met with disdain. Learn from others. Be curious. Do not be threatened just because someone else doesn't see it the way you do. Without the dialog, there can be no growth on either side.

But I may just be a madwoman. Who knows? Perhaps the dialog will heal us all.

Finding My Heart's Voice

I was afraid of the shadow
Under my eyes, around my heart.
I was afraid it would mean
A life of loneliness
Set apart
From the love of your embrace.
What would happen if I were to trace
This dark ribbon of my past-
Opened it up for all to see?
Would it swallow me
Into the depths of a black hole
Losing all control
Of my destiny?

But then it happened again-
From pages of the past
The monster took center stage today,
And I realized that by closing my eyes
I helped him make his escape
And kept him safe to haunt me
With scripts too old
To be creative.

So I opened the box
I had locked my heart in,
Found the voice,
A small whisper like a child
Afraid of the dark
Calling for help
Unsure of what to do next,
And I screamed.
I called the doctor
To help me remember
 How to speak.

And no, it's not over yet,
But I'm half way there;
I'm sure of it.
I know I have a problem.
I know I'm not alone,
And I know that
FACING IT
Means you and me
Together happily
One day.
And the monster will go away.
Forever.

I love you, husband-
Whoever you are.
I am fighting this one for you,
For us,
For Love.

Home again, home again

I've had an interesting blogging experience. I am not sure what to make of it really.

I love to write here, and I link this blog to my Facebook page so people can see what I have been up to. But apparently, Facebook friends weren't the only ones reading it. That's fine. I was invited to join Storylane, a new blog site that was opened for about 4 months before joining forces with Facebook and abandoning the site they recruited me for.

I loved Storylane. I loved the way the pages were set up, the prompts for stories, and how people would ask me questions to tell stories about my life. I loved that I didn't have to feel inspired to answer a question, I could just write for the joy of writing. Mostly, I liked that it was a safe place to work out my own questions about life and God and growth. I will miss the community of people.

But I've decided that I am not going to miss writing because I am not going to quit. I love to write; love to share. You better believe that just because my favorite blog site sold out to Facebook, it's not going to stop me from being heard.

Another good thing came from all of this. I am learning that real life friends and actually talking to people about what I am facing, although scary, is the best move I can make in life. So, I am speaking up for myself, not just typing. It's hard, but I think in the long run it will be a good thing. My best friend told me, "If anything, you are finally standing up for your mental health, which is positive." I positively agree.
I am thankful for Storylane, but I am more thankful for blog sites that don't go away! LOL! Who knows, the Storylane team may work miracles on the Facebook notes section. Until that day comes, you'll find me blissfully typing here. The real adventure is in consistency, my friends.

So stay hungry for truth, for connection, and for being genuine. I have a lot more food stories to share, but I just thought I'd give you a heads up on where I have been in blog land for the last little bit.

Until next time, happy eating!

Senior Seminar and Other Trials

I have been working really hard lately, and not sleeping a whole lot. Apparently my brain requires a significant amount of play to shut itself off. While hard work is great for the productivity factor, sometimes it sucks for the unwinding process.

And so, I find myself in the midst of a senior project that has me thinking I love food more than I can say. The ladies I have the privellege of calling my collegues in my major and I are doing a cooking class for our senior project. We've spent a little over a month gathering data, recipes, and ideas.

We took a trip to my home town to talk to Chef Carrie Wong at Extreme Chocolates about how to go about this whole endevor. She was gracious, generious, and fed us a couple truffles each! Amazing meetings always include some form of chocolate! Afterwords, we went to my parents' house and enjoyed the evening together.

A couple weeks later, we had our menu finalized and did some serious recipe testing. There was laughter, dancing, and a few awkward moments too, but overall, our menu was a success and we left tired and thankful to be a part of the food industry.

Do you wonder what the food looks like? So glad you asked! Here are some pictures from our menu testing last week.

Wild Mushroom Bruchetta

Prosciutto Wrapped Dates with Goat Cheese

Curried Pumpkin Bisque

 Sweet Potato and Kale Fetticini Alfredo

Pear Clafouti

Today, when our group met, we were in a flurry of activity, putting the final touches on our presentation and gearing up for tommorow's day of prep work before our final presentation: the class itself. I am tired, happy, and so grateful to have the opportunity to be a part of this team of wonderful women.

My major is being cut from George Fox University, as is my concentration of study. No longer will there be Family and Consumer Sciences offered or any Food and Nutrition in Business concentrations (or majors) offered. It is bitter sweet. I know the FCSC Department is dying; homemaking not being a high enough ambition for many women. I know that OSU has programs for those looking to further their education toward nutrion or the restaurant business. But these women have empowered me not to give up on my dreams, no matter how small to the rest of the world they may seem. They have taught me the power of having the disagreement and learning to work through it regardless. They have shown me what friendship means, and that I am ok, just my crazy, kitchen loving self. I love them all dearly, and I know that if they need me later on in life, I will be there in a heartbeat.

The beauty of food is that it not only nourishes the body, but it also uplifts the soul through the connnections made over it. There is nothing like cooking with someone to truly get to know who they are, what they are about, and how they view life. And if they don't cook? Well, I'm only too happy to cook for them regardless. That's the lesson I'm learning in the kitchen: every person is worth celebrating and feasting with, regardless of individual food preferences. We are all valuable.

So find someone wonderful to celebrate today with, and enjoy a meal together. Who knows? Maybe you'll find yourself at a table of friends where once were only strangers.

Coffee Cottage

The smell of fresh brewed coffee permeates the air as I open the door of a little red cottage and leave the lavender and garden behind me in pursuit of my favorite brew. The baristas smile at me as I once again look at the menu of specialty drinks taped to the counter top, and I try to pick something I haven't tried before. The soft music fills the air, and I look on the chalk board to see if there is a new quote of the day posted. The Coffee Cottage has become my third place these days as I transition from summer to school mode. And I am grateful, because I have learned so much from these people, this place, and the times I have spent at the coffee cottage.

 

It started on the week before my first year at University. I was enchanted by the place because it roasts its own beans, is a small town coffee house, and had the warm feel of home, complete with a wonderful menu that contains gluten free options. I would find myself coming to the Coffee Cottage when I needed a place to be that wasn't school or home, had some homework to do that I didn't want to be interrupted while completing, or just needed to take a break from life. This was the place that I met my best friend at University at, and the place where I reconnected with old friends in. It has become a second home for me.

 

So now, I shouldn't be surprised when I find it is a place I am learning wisdom from too. One of my dearest friends from high school got me started going to music at Coffee Cottage on Friday nights. I was too afraid to go to the shows by myself. Luke went with me a couple of times, and now I am hooked. I love to go listen to the local artists, even if I am the only one there. Something about the simplicity of the music always brings me back to focus. As I listen, I write or draw and am reminded of days gone by when the world was my playground and life was not so hard. The cares of the day seem to melt away as beauty and peace are restored to me. I am learning the wisdom of taking time out and just being present in the moment.

 

Another thing I am learning from all of this  time spent drinking coffee is that there is wisdom to be found behind the counter as well. The baristas at the cottage have done so much to cheer my soul and teach me that life is not as narrow as I make it out to be. I met one who had worked his way around the states and completed his college degree. When he found out I was a non-traditional student, he told me, "You are not alone." Those four words have set the tone for this year for me. I am looking around and instead of seeing how so many people are different from me, I am starting to see how we're the same. Another always smiles at me and makes me laugh. Today, when I went into the Cottage on my break at work with a co-worker to caffeinate the kitchen where we are employed (we bought seven drinks total), one of the baristas told me she works doubles every weekend and is excited to go back to school soon. She asked if I thought she was crazy, and I just laughed and said I knew how it was. Because I do. We do what we have to do right now to get by. Somehow, this little place that I call my living room has done more to let me know that I am in the same boat as so many others than anything else in this town.

 

Finally, sitting down with friends over a cup of coffee (or tea, or a smoothie) has helped me to connect with what I am learning both in and out of the classroom. I conducted my first interview for a class last spring with my friend, Ogie. He told me how in management, you have to make your team your family. I conducted my most recent interview for another management course with Jessica. She talked about what had led her to become a leader on campus. And then, there is running into old friends at music, like Friday night, when I saw my dear friend Laura for the first time in a month and got to sit and talk with her and just be a silly girl. Maybe what builds community is not so much what is said, but the feeling of good that is given when each one of us shares something genuine and unique, our own essence, what no one else has to give.

 

The Coffee Cottage to me is a place that I can let my hair down and experience life. I don't have to be or do or behave a certain way. It is the closest thing I have to my own here. I don't know why I feel this way about it. I do have my own (insert item here) after all. But something about the place feels like home to me. Maybe it is the fact that people gather just to share, to believe in the power of connection, and to live life together. The coffee is amazing, don't get me wrong. I am at the point of brewing it every morning as my morning wake up call. But the place, the place is truly a gift to the community of Newberg. It's a gift I don't take for granted and am thankful for every time I step through the doors and smell the coffee. 

Chocolate Chip Cookies and Classes...

Well, it's official. I have clearly gone off the deep end in food land. I woke up yesterday morning at 4:30am totally awake and ready for the day, and instead of reading to go back to sleep or doing a ton of homework, the first thing I decide to do is go to the grocery store so I can make chocolate chip cookies for my friends. Yes, I have crossed the line into food insanity!
The second week of school had some serious hiccups for me. I missed an assignment in one of my classes, I was sent home sick from work because of stress, and I missed a class because I forgot what time it was at, even though I wrote it down in my phone. All this to say, there has been some serious reevaluating of my life going on. The evidence is clear: I have had my priorities messed up, and it's starting to effect all the areas of my life.
So, while I was making cookies for my friends out of Gharideli dark chocolate chips (If you want the recipe, check the back of the bag and substitute one cup of coconut for the optional cup of nuts. This post is more story, less recipe, but it's worth the trip to the store for the chocolate chips.), I came to the conclusion that the reason I have been having such a rough go of it lately is not because of a lack of things to do, fun times to be had, or people in my life. No, the real reason is that I was made to be a giver. Over the summer, I got burned a few times from giving. But the times when I do give and it is received well, those are the best times of my life. I get love the most by giving love.
I also realized that I need to slow down. I cannot give my life to others or have any time for myself if I am constantly racing off to the next task (thank you, Mom, for pointing this one out so eloquently to me and Rose for expressing your concern in the first place). Part of loving others and self is the ability to be, to rest, to abide. If it's one task after another, there is no time for that rest. So, some sacrifices are going to have to be made, but in the end, I think it will be worth it.
I am thirsty for life to the full. I crave to know heaven. This whole crazy cooking business started with me asking God what cookies taste like in heaven. I don't believe that there is supposed to be a dividing wall between heaven and earth, otherwise, why would Jesus have prayed, "Your kingdom come your will be done on earth as it is in heaven?" I know that I miss this goal so often. I try not to drag myself through the mud for it, try to lift my gaze. I'm not perfect, but I don't think that's what heaven's about. I think it has more to do with right relationship and less to do with perfection than we make it out to be.
This week has been about right relationships, about finding out what it means to be not so alone, and about loving myself enough to say no. Chocolate chip cookies always say, "Welcome Home," to me. I finally feel that about Fox. This is my home now, for the next year any how, and I intend to spread as much love and heaven as I can while I am here. I just don't know exactly how yet. So have a cookie, and enjoy your classes. I know I will.

My Oregon

Hi, again!

I have been busy this summer having some amazing adventures throughout the Willamette Valley. As a result, I have sorely neglected my blog. OOPS! I have all of these pictures that I took with the intent of sharing them here with you, and I just totally have not taken the time to sit down and write. So, I will be adding three new blog posts here in rapid fire succession in order to get current and share all these amazing adventures with you. I hope you don't mind too much.

One of my favorite things to do is learn something new. I love to seek truth and wisdom from all areas of life. Growing up, I learned a lot about the Oregon Trail because Oregon is where I hail from. The people of Oregon voted to decide if they wanted to be a part of the USA or not, and the decision was pretty close to split down the middle. The for's won in the end, but the place where it all took place, Champoeg, is located a mere six miles from where I live. I couldn't believe it. It was a beautiful July day, and I decided to hop on my bike and close the six mile between me and Champoeg State Park. And I'm so glad I did.

When I arrived at the park, I found a replica of a pioneer kitchen garden. Early pioneers grew much of their food in the rich farmlands that the Willamette Valley is famous for. The kitchen garden supplied a dependable source of food and was vital to the home economics of the day. The replica garden was very beautiful, full of life and birds! I had such a wonderful time wandering through it.

To give you an idea of what a pioneer garden looks like, I took some pictures.

I have been doing organic gardening this year in the community garden I am a part of, and it was interesting for me to note that the techniques I have been learning to use are not so new after all. Organic gardening is the way things were done before we had pesticides, before we had mass production of products and an accessible food supply. When families relied on what they could grow and the work of their own two hands in order to stay alive, it was organic farming that they used. Life was hard, but a lot simpler too. I sometimes question the sanity of our pace of life and our blindness toward where food comes from and what it goes through before it gets to us. Wandering through this historical site's garden made me realize that good things don't happen on accident. Everything grows in its season according to its type and with the proper care. I think people are a lot that way too. Maybe we've done ourselves a disservice by making our food sources so impersonal. In a way, we no longer know how to care for each other because we've failed to learn the lessons of cultivation from the earth. Just a musing...

Beauty and hardship seem to be inherently intertwined in Oregon. I think it's not just here though. When I got done wandering the garden, I went into cultural visiting center. They had a painting that a man devoted his life to of the event of Oregon becoming a state. The painter did a whole lot of research on the painting, spent his lifetime working on it on site working as a groundskeeper while painting. He ended up basically broke, never seeing his masterpiece sell. And now, it's on display at the State Park, along with his amazing story. I was caught by how much vision and strength of purpose he had to devote his life to a single act of greatness. His story touched my heart because I think we all want to be great and to be recognized for that greatness. Sometimes we get to experience the recognition in our lifetimes, and for some souls, the recognition comes after they are gone. I don't know if it is better to live in people's hearts while we are here or in their minds forever. I'm not sure which I would chose. Regardless, I think we should not withhold our very best from others. Here's a picture of the artist's best.

When I finished looking at the painting, I hit the trails the state park is known for and found a shady spot to eat my picnic lunch at. I enjoyed it so much. I live right by a busy highway, and the noise sometimes gets to me. Well, it was really nice to sit in the "silence" of nature. But I wouldn't exactly call it silence. It's more like a symphony of wild and unrestrained sound. I really enjoyed just relaxing in the summer heat and blowing bubbles into the branches of the trees.

And when I got done with all that and headed back, my back tire blew out on my bike and I limped it two miles down the road to a crossroads. My roommate picked me up half hour later, and I was left to muse on the beauty and hardship of Oregon. Adventure is never what we expect it will be. But the moments of pure joy mixed with the struggle are what make it worthwhile. I wouldn't have traded my trip to Champoeg for anything, not even a full tire. The beauty and the pain both let us know that we are alive and that we have so much to offer, to give, to love, and to strive for. This is my Oregon.