food.

i'm curled up on the couch in my room at the guest house, eating my favorite combo (yogurt + fruit + cereal = perfection in endless variety), and reading recipe blogs. food is so awesome. we've had a mixed relationship, and only recently i have really come to love, embrace, and savor the beauty of food. apples. eggplant. tomatoes. peaches. swiss chard. bok choy. black beans. red beans. rice. not to mention cheeses. cherries. and always, chocolate.

each ingredient in a recipe brings its own unique flavor. mixing and matching them takes your tastebuds from one continent to another. like cilantro and its progeny, cumin - so essential to cuisine in latin america, southeast asia, and north africa. go figure.

the best thing, though, is how food so quickly becomes more than just food. a meal prepared for friends becomes the foundation for community-building. friendships are forged through food - whether that's grabbing lunch with a co-worker or grabbing a donut in the parish hall after church. food - it's collection, preaparation, and service - plays a central role in every culture on earth, past or present, and it's hard to deny that mystical bond in the kitchen, as i slice onions like countless women and men have sliced onions, since onions were first discovered/cultivated/eaten.

baking bread is like that, too. there's a slow magic to how the dough rises, a sort of intoxicating goodness in the smell of yeast, and again that connectedness to others through the moment of floury, arm-exhausted satisfaction of finally getting your loaf in the oven.

for the past few weeks, the readings in mass have been from luke's gospel - the section on jesus as the bread of life. it can't be more aptly timed, as the book take this bread by sara miles sort of fell into my lap a week or so ago, thanks to my mom. the book is an intimate look inside the moment/journey of conversion that this irreverent, gay, activist female experiences. it is beautiful in its raw emotion, and part of my soul as well as my intellect resonate strongly with her words. for one of the first times in my life, i realize how absolutely fortunate i am to have been raised with the eucharist. sara's sheer, enthralling hunger for christ's body, despite the way christian faith flies in the face of everything she previously held as truth, challenges me deeply.

i'm still chewing on this (terrible pun, i apologize, but i couldn't resist!), and hopefully will unpack more as i continue reading, but in the meantime, i've got some banana bread to make...

gratitude

sometimes i get into these funny places where i feel like there are really important things to say - i am drawn back to my blog - but i'm not quite sure what that/those thing(s) is/are. other times, there are things that have just been said so many times that it feels somewhat inane to reiterate them. i'm drifting toward the latter as i realize how often in the last two days i have communicated the same basic message: my job is challenging. there are things i really don't like. there are things that i do like. in the end i'm thankful for the lessons i'm learning.

the funny thing is, no matter how many times i've said it, i don't really feel that thankful. when i woke up at six this morning and had to drive into tyler to pick up supplies for the week, drag a huge cart overloaded with things like bagels and toilet paper up the hill in the sam's parking lot, and when i came back, hot and sweaty, only to encounter the monday/first of the month administrative work piling up on my desk - i wasn't feeling that inner hum of harmony and peace that wells up from a deep place of gratitude. i was hungry, hot, frustrated, and flusterpated (which is kind of like flustered + frustrated + exasperated - imagine a hen that has just moments before been booted across chicken yard). very far from grateful.

as much as i idealize a life of contentment and wish it upon myself, i wonder if that's really in my cards, or - an even bigger question - if it really should be.

my flusterpatedness (now we're really stretching the word) is somehow good and right when raised by stories and newsitems on the violation of women's right in the war zones of the eastern congo, or palestinian children being kicked out of their homes in jerusalem, or the older woman in our church in assisted living with few to no visitors. there are many un-right things in this world crying out to be righted. the blazing temperatures in the pacific northwest are the silent screams of a planet stretched beyond its resources. the border tensions and huge volume of illegal immigration speak to a shattered economy, the fallout of poor trade policies advantaging large corporations at the cost of human decency.

st. ignatius of loyola teaches, in his spiritual exercises, that the sin of the world is all connected - and kind of original butterfly effect. we, as humans, are all tied together, even through our failings. my selfishness and pride contribute to the greater sin of the world by acting as stumbling blocks for those around me. when i exhibit prejudice and biases i contribute to those larger prejudices that lead to situations of gender disempowerment or ethnic disenfranchisement. when all i can see is my own needs and desires, i take part in the greater self-centeredness that forgets the elderly, poor, and marginalized.

contentment is a valid goal, but only if it leads me into a deeper awareness of the others around me. too often contentment can fall into complacency. i don't think god calls us to live apathetically - jesus' example points to something quite different. still, as i journey through indignation and righteous anger at the ills of the world, i must continue to battle against the impatience, lack of faith, pride, and selfishness that warp my ability to see others around me and to order myself rightly among them.

because, ultimately, when i put it all into perspective, gratitude comes.