I like grocery shopping like some people like a cold beer. After a bad day, nothing is quite as soothing as a trip to my favorite food sanctuary. It calms me to remember that no matter how long I was at work, how badly a meeting went, or what kind of disarray the house might be in, we will still need to eat, and food will still taste good. I love picking our apples for the week (should I stick with tried and true favorite Braeburn, or will the Fuji's be better this week?) and finding jewel-like tomatoes still on the vine.
On my most luxurious visits, I wander into the long aisle of gourmet cheeses and read the descriptions below each one. Every once in a while I buy one to try - what an extravagant thing to be able to eat something I have never before tasted!
Maybe its an expensive form of therapy, but considering it doubles as our grocery bill, I'm going to consider it an approved expenditure.

Surprisingly good

Sliced raw zucchini and black bean salsa.

Its not that I'm that heatlhy...I just really wanted salsa, and we didn't have any chips in the house.

Add it to your list of things to try, especially now when stores are practically giving zucchini away!

I'm going to skip the explanation/excuses for why I haven't posted in months, because none of them are interesting or valid, so I'm sparing myself the wasted energy and you the wasted time. Besides, I'm pretty sure I've done away with any readers I may have once had by smothering any hope that I would post on this blog again.

So I've been participating in a little experiment over the last week, and will attempt to continue this experiment over the next three weeks. One of Andy's fellow teachers challenged us (and everyone else he has any influence with) to cut back significantly on our food allowance, with a two-fold purpose in mind. The most forthright purpose is to donate the money we didn't spend on ourselves to the Heifer International organization, which gives families a sustainable gift (usually an animal) as a means of becoming more self-reliant. The less measurable second intent of this project is to realize what it means to survive on $1/day, as much of the world does.

A few weeks ago, before we had heard about this idea, something reminded me of one my favorite family quotes. I think Daniel was about 3 when he used to say this, and the frankness of it always made us laugh. It always applied to food, and it was usually in reference to something favorite, like candy. My mom would give him what she deemed the appropriate amount, and he would more often than not contest that she hadn't given him enough and ask for more. Not one to be swayed by begging, my mom would firmly explain that she had given him what she thought he needed - enough. At this point, he would become quite emotional and say "I know mom, but I want too much!" This had the effect of laughter on anyone in the near vicinity, though it didn't seem to work on my mom. I'm not sure what brought this memory back to me, but it hasn't really left my mind since then. There have been several times that I consciously tell myself I need something, like new sandals, or a cute summery shirt, or a tall cup of caffeinated goodness. But really, I don't need much of anything. I know this, and I sometimes comfort myself by just knowing this and buying it anyway. But this past week, I realized I have completely lost touch with what I need.

I haven't exactly figured out what it is I really do need to survive, and since I live in America, I am virtually guaranteed that I will never have to find out. But I have nailed down for a fact that I consistently want more than enough, in ways that go far beyond the bounds of food and basic necessities of life.

On a more basic level, I've also figured out that for $1/day, rice and beans are your very good friends.

I like...

• guilt free shopping, which includes buying gifts (because how can you feel guilty for spending money on someone else?) and using gift cards from thoughtful friends.
  
• making breakfast, and having the time to sit down and eat it. Today's special: whole wheat honey and cherry pancakes; I'm still full and its 2:30 in the afternoon!
• throwing things away. Don't worry mom, no important papers, and no keepsakes. Just junk. : )
• new music
  
• and old music
• and listening to music while doing things I don't particularly like, such as laundry, or cleaning the bathroom.
• making to-do lists
• and laughing at myself when I realize I've just made one week's worth of projects for a single day off

a few thoughts

I am probably writing this mostly to myself, since anyone who checks this blog on even the most erratic basis has been consistently disappointed, but I just need to write today.

I had a conversation the other day with a friend, and it has left a nagging question in my mind that I really can't answer. Or perhaps the question was already there, and it's just uncomfortably close to the surface now. As we talked about the ways our lives have changed since we last talked, we stumbled into one of our recurring, yet always unanswered, questions: what does it really look like to be a Christian? How does it make us different, and would the people I come into contact with on a daily basis be surprised to hear me profess my faith?

A beautiful, though I think only partial, answer has been formulating in my mind since then. I feel that part of being a Christian has to be the value we assign to each other. To know that every person is a reflection of the character of our Creator completely shifts the way I view someone. If this is true, I have no right to marginalize, or to constrain people to a rigid role my mind has assigned to them, or to value someone more or less according to what I think they can offer me. I know that this answer ignores a few key points of salvation and grace, but right now this thought won't leave me, and I feel like there must be a reason for that.

I've struggled so much lately with my job - I am around someone who constantly and unashamedly makes fun of anyone who is different than himself. Last Friday, this involved a female Episcopalian minister who came into our office, who he proceeded to compare to (or perhaps just decided she actually was) a lesbian (even though she was married), a muslim (?!), a tree-hugger, and a women's right activist. All of this before he had even met her! Disgusting enough on its own, but even more so when you know that this same person is a professing Christian, goes to church, teaches Sunday School to children, and makes sure we all pray together before we start our work day. Words often escape me on days like that.

I don't know what the whole answer is, but surely it must be informed by this? I always cringe when people pick a Christian who doesn't exemplify their idea of God and say "If that's what being a Christian is, I don't want anything to do with it!" I wish I could direct their attention to someone else, in part because the person they are pointing out usually is a poor example, but also because it seems like a weak excuse to pick out the person who just proves your point. But right now, I can see how hard it is to look past something like that. I'm not giving up, but I am certainly questioning how faith and grace can truly exist in what seems like such a hateful heart. And even more, I am wondering what it is that I am blind to.

A different world

I'm home in Michigan this weekend visiting family. I've only been here for 17 hours, but already I've forgotten all my usual stresses.

Normal Friday: rise at 5:30, drive almost an hour to get to work, rush to see our patients on schedule, most likely fit an extra patient or two in at the end of the day, and fight the traffic to get home.

Today: slept in until 10, sat down for a leisurely cup of coffee (3 actually), visited with my extended family over a meal I didn't lift a finger to prepare, went to hear my little brother play in his band for the state festivals, and went to a talent show (in which he won 3rd place!) I also managed to fit in a rousing game of Mario Kart with Andy; not surprisingly, he won.

I could get used to not working.

I have a recurring daydream which surfaces periodically, usually provoked by a story or picture depicting the lure of a world somehow different than my own. What would it be like, I wonder, to live somewhere new, where no one knows me, where nothing has been given the chance to grow boring and mundane?

The other day I was listening to NPR and they were interviewing random people who live on Route 50, an interstate stretching from the Pacific to the Atlantic. As each new interviewee answered questions and revealed their perspective, my mind began to wonder what my life would be like if I lived in Eureka, Nevada or Leawood, Kansas? What job would I have? Who would I know? Who would people think I was? It always seems so much more adventurous and quixotic than my own predictable life.

I always feel guilty when I think like this, because I'm actually quite happy and feel confident that I couldn't, and wouldn't, leave the world I know, no matter how tempting the mysterious unknown.

Concurrently, I am reminded of the blessed ties that bind; my loving husband, friends I cannot imagine losing, and a family I already miss.

The romance of the unknown pales in comparison to my treasured witnesses, the ones who are there to see and listen to the mundane details of my life, to verify that I experience, grow, change, exist.