Yummy Thursday - Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

Neither recipe this week is especially fancy, nor can I claim them as my own.  But they're down-home delicious, and we're creating family traditions here.  What could be yummier than that? Enjoy :)
-------------------------------------------

I'm 30 years old, and before last Thursday, I had never made a homemade pie crust.  Now I'm sure there are a lot of 30-year-olds who could care less if they never make a pie with storebought crust, let alone homemade, but given my deep love of cooking and baking, I figured it was high time THIS girl started to figure it out.

At some point back in our college days, Tim and I made the amazing discovery that January 23 is National Pie Day.  I don't know if January 23 was still months away, or maybe we knew right off the bat that once a year would not be enough, but we decided to celebrate a monthly Pie Day on the 23rd of every month.  Our special tradition held pretty strong throughout college, but had since fallen away.  We were only remembering to have pie a few times a year :(

Then we joined a wine club while we were in California in April.  We went to so many cute wineries during our time there, and at our favorite one we signed up to receive a 6-bottle shipment twice per year.  Our first case came last week.  I lined six sumptuous reds in my wine rack and just knew that if I didn't make some kind of rule, they would be gone before I knew it.

So... Pie Day is back, and better than ever.  It's Pie and Wine Day at my house, the 23rd of every month.  That way, the wine-club-wine will last, and I can keep working on my pie crust!

So, back to my first pie crust.  I read a few recipes and decided I better start with a basic shortening crust.  I had no shortening in the house, so I found myself in Wally World a few hours later, staring at rows and rows of glop, wondering if a nice, healthy coconut oil wouldn't make a decent crust instead.  Thank the Lord for smart phones! I KNOW I irritated at least two grandmas and a frazzled-looking, pajama-clad mama of five, trying to maneuver two carts as I stood there in the baking aisle on my phone, probably checking facebook for all she knew.  Well, tired mama, if you're reading this, I promise I was doing something worthwhile: googling "coconut oil pie crust." And here is what I found:

http://bakingbites.com/2012/11/coconut-oil-pie-crust/

It was good! Probably a little more difficult to work with than regular shortening, but what would I know? I've never done this before.

I made a double-batch of the crust, since I have a deep-dish pie plate and wanted a lattice-top, as well.  Then (because I already have rhubarb coming out of my ears) I filled it with this yumminess:

I figured, who better than the trusty old red-and-white BH&G cookbook to consult for my first from-scratch pie?

 

I had a little bit of crust left, so made two little tarts in one-cup glass dishes.  Just the crust, filled with sliced strawberries and a few chocolate chips.  Baked about 10 minutes less than the whole pie.  Ate them last night with ice cream... yum!  But they were nothing compared to the main event... so wonderfully summery and just plain delicious! My mouth is watering already thinking about June 23... another bottle of the precious wine-club-wine, another opportunity to perfect my pie crust (before I'm 31), and the pie, OH THE PIE... what kind shall I make next month, friends?

 

God Sets the Lonely in Families

 

I wanted to post a little something to commemorate yet another of our family’s special days: May 28, 2012, the day we met and cuddled our sweet daughter for the first time.  For a while now I’ve been counting the days until I could re-post this sweet picture of the happiest day of my life.  I planned to write just a paragraph or two because, really, what more can I say about her than I’ve already said?

Then I came across this Scripture passage while reading an article in the quarterly newsletter we receive from our adoption agency: “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families.” (Psalm 68:5-6a)  And I knew then that I would be posting far more than a few paragraphs and a picture. 

The article was written, as you might expect, by a family that adopted two children from an orphanage overseas, and then another two from foster care within their home state.  The article was about orphans.  I usually enjoy these articles because they are heartwarming stories and they get the wheels turning in my head when I think about our next adoption.  But, like most other adoption stories, I can’t fully relate in the case of Elizabeth’s adoption. 

My little one was the farthest thing from “fatherless” or “lonely” when she came to be mine.  She had been loved and cared for and doted upon since the day after she was born by two people who had, at one point, fully intended to put their comfortable lives on hold and adopt an infant in their late fifties.  A month later when her medical condition was diagnosed, they were forced to make a heart-wrenching decision.  After evaluating the lack of specialty medical services available within a three-hour radius of their home, Gene and Dede concluded that this little girl they had fallen in love with would need to call somebody else “Mom” and “Dad.” Somebody who lived closer to the care would need.

 

Five hours north, Elizabeth’s birth-grandma (whom I now consider a great friend and love dearly) faced an impossible task of her own.  Aside from guiding her teenage daughter through the emotional aftermath of having placed a baby for adoption, she continued to fight from a distance for a little girl that she, too, loved dearly.  She sifted through dozens of adoption profiles from multiple agencies, sending a few strong candidates down south to Gene and Dede to make the final decision.  Between the three of them, it took SIX MONTHS to select a family.  Yes, this little girl was loved DEEPLY, and so many people wanted only the best for her.

Tim and I hear a lot of “your daughter is so lucky to have you” and “I have so much respect for you two for doing what you’re doing with her.”  And while we appreciate the thought, usually those kind of comments leave us scratching our heads.  Just what is it about us that makes HER lucky to have US? Having spent the first seven months of her life in such a loving home, it’s not like we “rescued” her from anything.  She had everything she could need or want and then some.  And what is it that we’re “doing with her” that any other parent wouldn’t do for their own child? Yes, we made the conscious, prayerful decision to open our home to a child with special needs.  But lots and lots of biological parents do that every single day in spite of doctors who suggest, even ENCOURAGE them to terminate a pregnancy rather than “burden” their child with a disability for the rest of his/her life.

Sometimes I feel a bit out-of-the-loop when it comes to bonding with other adoptive parents, because my daughter came to me from the best and happiest of homes.  She did not come from an orphanage, she was never in a “life or death” situation, and she had dozens of people loving and fighting and praying for her before I even knew she existed.  I don’t feel like the “hero” that some people want to make me into.  In the past, I have overlooked David’s words in the Psalms – God sets the lonely in families. “Those words are for the other parents, not me,” I would think. “She wasn’t lonely.”

But this day, the words spoke to me differently.  The word “lonely” jumped out at me.  I thought about my life before May 28, 2012.  I WAS LONELY.  Maybe it’s not only her.  Maybe it’s for ME!  I grabbed the first Bible I could find and read the Psalm of praise.  Verse 9: “You gave abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance.” OH, how he has refreshed my once-weary spirit over the past year with the abundant gift of this girl.  Verse 19: “Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.” WOW. How many times, over and over again, did He hear my prayer and feel my faith wavering.  Yet He used the journey not to break me down, but to strengthen me for the journey to come, as a mother to the little one He planned to bless me with before eternity.  Verse 35: “You are awesome, O God, in your sanctuary; the God of Israel gives power and strength to his people.  Praise be to God!”

I dove into the cross-references in the footnotes.  I read Exodus 1, about the amazing, brave midwives who defied the Pharaoh’s orders and let the Hebrew baby boys live.  Through their courage and obedience to God’s will, the Israelites prospered, and God rewarded these women with beautiful families of their own, as well.

I turned to the book of Ruth, notably chapter 4, the “happy ending” when Ruth and her new husband give Naomi a “son” to carry on the line of the Savior.  Though not her biological grandson, a son of her son, she “took the child, laid him in her lap and cared for him.” (v. 16) She loved him dearly and he healed a piece of her lonely heart.

And I knew my tears would come quickly, as they always do, when the footnotes turned me to Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel chapter 2.  Hannah has such a unique story that very few mothers can relate to in full.  She prayed and prayed for years as she longed for a child, and many of us know that feeling well.  BUT how many of us then could have the strength to say, “I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him.  So now I give him to the Lord.  For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.” (1 Samuel 1:27-28) At that point, her story begins to more strongly parallel that of birthmothers, who love their children so dearly from a distance as they are raised by others.

SO MANY LONELY PEOPLE that God has made into families.  Not only the orphaned babies… the lonely mothers and fathers, as well.  The lonely grandparents-to-be that long to see their children happy and fulfilled as parents.  And to the brave and courageous who stand up for what He says about LIFE… He gives the most beautiful gifts.  CHILDREN are a BLESSING from the Lord.

No, Elizabeth was never a “lonely” baby.  But there are a lot of other people in Elizabeth’s personal story who were lonely or disheartened in some way.  I am just one of them.  And God took us, His lonely children, and He set us into a family.  Our own crazy, beautiful mess of people I have called “family” all my life, together with people I have only called “family” for a year, bonded forever by our love for this precious girl.  Someday down the road she may feel a little lonely herself, and her heart might hurt a little when she begins to understand her story.  But it is my prayer that we are still a family then, and we can come together and fill her heart with love and joy, in the same way that God did for us through her.

A year ago today, God “set the lonely,” myself and my husband, into a family with a precious miracle we would soon begin to call “Libby.” In the year since, I have heard more times than I can count how blessed SHE is to have me.  But when I look at the picture and I recall the emotions of that day, all I can see and feel is how abundantly blessed we are to have HER.  We're no heroes.  We need her just as much as she needs us - maybe more.  And we are so thankful that the Lord saw fit to "set us in a family."

Yummy Thursday - Red Pepper Cream Sauce

Oh, YUMMY! This is a sauce I will make again and again.  We ate it tonight over linguine and topped with shrimp, but the possibilities are endless.

• 3 tablespoons butter
• 6 cloves garlic (I know it seems like a lot but it's juuuuuuust right)
• 3 tablespoons flour
• 2 cups milk
• Pepper
• ½ cup parmesan, finely grated
• 1 red pepper
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes
• ½ lemon

Melt butter over medium-low heat.  Crush garlic into melting butter and cook until garlic is soft.  Add flour and stir well.  Let flour-butter mixture cook for about two minutes, until bubbly.

 

Add milk gradually, about ½ cup at a time.  Whisk well; stir out any clumps.  Sauce will thicken as it heats.  When it reaches desired consistency, stir in black pepper and cheese.  Reduce heat to low and let it bubble lightly.

 

Blend red pepper, tomatoes, and juice of ½ lemon in a food processor until small chunks remain. 

 

 

Stir into cream sauce and continue to cook lightly about 15 minutes.  Serve over your favorite pasta with shrimp, chicken, or sausage. 

Mommies-at-Heart

For all the moms-at-heart, smiling through the tears today, with so much love in their hearts for children they’ve never held: children in lands far away, children who are dreams in the form of piles of paperwork, children who *just might* come from your tummy someday if the doctors could ever figure out what the heck is going on.  For the moms who HAVE held their babies, in their arms or in their tummies, for far too short a time. For moms who give up their homes for a short while, and their hearts for a lifetime, to foster children.  For moms of one or two, five or six, and God has placed another on your heart, but not in your tummy… and the world keeps whispering to just be happy with the ones you have.  For moms ready to go, with so much love to give, but are still searching the world for Daddy.  For moms who struggle between love and loss, wondering about the babies that they gave up their bodies and hearts to bring into this world, the babies who now call somebody else “mother.”  For all the moms like me, who have stepped through to the other side, and wonder why they still feel a little pinch of hurt on this perfect, happy day.  For moms of questions and prayers, who won’t get flowers and cards and sticky kisses today:

You are loved.  You are remembered.  You rock.  You are MOMS.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have wondered for a very long time what Mother’s Day feels like from this side of the fence.  About five years ago, I began to allow the once-happy celebration of my own mother to become all about me, an annual bummer-fest.  No matter how nice the weather, I’d rent movies and stay inside so I wouldn’t have to see the perfect, happy moms wearing corsages and pushing their mini-me in a stroller or on a swing.  I’d steer clear of Facebook for the weekend, the endless stream of pictures and quotes and Scripture and constant reminders that Motherhood Is The Best.  I’d quick call my mom and make sure she knew I still loved her, and then recede into my safe, happy bubble where this day does not exist.  Just another sunny Sunday in May.

Obviously I didn’t hate Mother’s Day.  It was just like anything else in life that you so desperately want to be a part of, but can’t.  Eventually you lash out against it, try to convince yourself that you’re better off without it.  When it was time for bed, I would hope and pray for a quick sleep, to close my eyes and hide from the last few hours of this pointless day.  Tim would fall asleep quickly, but of course I never could.  Once the lights went out, once the house was quiet, once the distractions fell away - then all the thoughts I’d successfully blocked out in the daylight would swarm my defenseless, vulnerable mind.  Wide awake, and forced to feel what I had hidden from all day, I would toss and turn, cry and question, and finally pray… “Lord, PLEASE let this be the last one.  Please answer my prayer by next Mother’s Day. I can’t do this again.”

And here we are.  The Mother’s Day I have prayed about for so many years.  It should be so easy to write out what it feels like, right? Perfect.  So happy. Everything I ever dreamed it would be.  And we all lived happily ever after.

Exceeeeeeeeept…. that’s not the whole truth.  Imagine my surprise when I woke up and something still felt “off.”  I can’t quite describe it.  Anxiety? Restlessness? Maybe even a bit of a sting, like stepping out the door into a cool, drizzly gust of wind.  Well, I told myself, surely it’s just my old instincts kicking in.  My body knows that Mother’s Day is here again, and my mind is still too groggy to remind it, “Newsflash! We’re a mother now! Get over yourself!”  But when a cup of coffee and a nice cuddle with the very real, very giggly, and very beautiful Libby Joy didn’t completely drive the feeling away, it became time to think it out.  Blog it out.  Second-cup-of-coffee it out.  And here’s what I came up with.

Today I am very, very happy.  Deliriously so.  I WILL check Facebook, constantly, to soak up every single beautiful Mommy post and picture, to make up for all the years that I haven’t.  BUT… that little piece of me that still feels a tiny bit like I used to on Mother’s Day… that’s because that girl is still very much a part of me.  She always will be.  So this Mother’s Day, I will not hide from her.  I will finally give her a voice, in the hopes that she can brighten up Mother’s Day for other hurting Mommies-at-heart .

Once in a while, people would pull me aside on Mother’s Day and give me a hug and look deep in my teary eyes, and tell me, “You ARE a mother.”  I would smile and nod, and truly appreciate the gesture, but I didn’t believe it.  Past Me didn’t feel worthy.  She hadn’t changed the diapers, cleaned the puke, dried the tears.  She’d been through pain and she loved her future babies with all her heart, but she didn’t feel that made her a mother.  She needs to know, though, that I’m the mommy I am today BECAUSE of her.  I learned things from her that I treasure and that make me love my daughter more fiercely than I ever could have imagined.

1.  Mommies need patience to no end, and grace under fire, for all those moments when your child is screaming bloody murder just because you’re trying to do something nice for them, like put food in their belly or exchange a dripping diaper for a dry one.  Well, past Megan, I got a little “jump start” in the patience department from you, and definitely the grace under fire as well.  Three million variations of “sooooo… when are YOU having kids?”  Grrrrrrrr on the inside.  Smile and nod on the outside.  Be thankful for those moments.  They were tough but they were worth it.

2.  Sometimes mommies require tunnel vision, when all they can do is live for memories of smiles and sloppy kisses, and pray without ceasing for the return of those happy days.  Sometimes when babies are sick or teething, they scream through an entire sermon or for days on end, and it takes every ounce of hope and confidence in God’s goodness to continue to soothe their tears.  I remember days when I was the one feeling that way, not my teething Libby.  It felt like there was no end in sight, and all I could do was wait it out and trust The Plan.  Former me: because you went through that, I now know I can make it through any number of awful days and sleepless nights, because what you endured was much, much harder.

3.  Mommies (and daddies) sacrifice a LOT.  It’s a well-known fact.  For Libby, I sacrifice showers and date nights and loads of other things.  Target used to have a little path beaten in the carpet from the beeline I made to the Missies clearance racks every time I walked in the store.  Now there’s a new beeline… to the racks of adorable frilly dresses and skirts and baby jammies, 50% off so I can stock up for days when she is bigger and louder and crazier.  Sacrifice is not so bad; in fact, it’s downright rewarding to re-wear an old Easter dress so your gorgeous daughter can have a brand new one.  Everyone’s going to be looking at her, anyway :)  But when I sacrifice NOW, it’s for a child I can see and smell and feel.  Back when I was a mom-at-heart, that girl sacrificed simply for the DREAM of such a blessing.  She sacrificed long days and her privacy so that doctors could ask her embarrassing questions before they poked and prodded her. She sacrificed date nights even then, so that the next adoption expense would be ready when needed. She gave up a lot, never even knowing if it would pay off, but because she hoped and prayed that it would.

 

4.  Mommies can’t imagine life without their children, and would give up ANYTHING to keep them safe.  Mommies-at-heart live every day without their children, and would give up anything just to hold them once.  And when God finally, graciously makes us mommies in the way He had planned for us before eternity, we have the blessing of continuing to carry that feeling with us.  Yes, I said blessing.  Not a curse or a scar or a punishment of some sort, but a beautiful reminder of how AMAZINGLY we have been blessed, and to never ever ever ever ever take that blessing for granted.  So, past me, would I love Libby with all my heart if you hadn’t gone through what you did? Yes, of course.  But I wouldn’t love her with THIS heart.  You CHANGED my heart, you changed all of me and made me a better mommy than I ever would have been without you.

So, dear mommies-at-heart, please dig deep and find a way to celebrate yourself today, and I will celebrate you, too.  You are absolutely worth it.  The lessons you are learning, the tears you are crying, and the prayers you are praying are MAKING YOU into a remarkable mommy.  And to those who have made it, who are at peace for now, please pray for these mommies and let them know how much you care.  Share this post with her, share a drink with her - whatever you can do is a blessing to her.  In acknowledging her, you will heal a tiny piece of her heart and give her the strength to keep on fighting.

Yummy Thursday - Chile Chicken Stew

Long story short, due to a “scheduling miscommunication” (which is an occupational hazard when married to a pastor), as of about 4:00 yesterday, I was at a complete loss as to what to make for supper.  The fridge was quite bare, because my twice-monthly Sam’s Club and Aldi run was scheduled for today. I had a ham, a rack of ribs, a kielbasa, a beef roast, and some chicken breasts in the freezer.  I chose chicken: quickest to thaw and submits to experimentation quite nicely.  And experiment we did!

It was a drizzly, cool spring day.  I had been sipping coffee and catching up on The Voice, curled up under an afghan and trying to forget the horror of my morning: Wal-Mart, Target, physical therapy (Libby), and an 18-month check-up with a baby who, it has now been confirmed, is working up SIX teeth.  Libby was in her crib, recovering in her own way: a marathon nap.  I was desperately in need of warm comfort food.  Sounds like a perfect night for a yummy soup and crusty, buttery bread.

Okay.  We have chicken.  We have a Sesame Semolina loaf in the freezer that I picked out of the day-old bakery about a month ago.  Oh, how I love day-old bakery.  What else do we have? I am NOT running back out to the store.  A quick raid of the pantry and vegetable drawer revealed we had the makings of a tasty southwest-type dish.  I pulled some onions and carrots from the fridge, and here’s what I found in the pantry:

 

And away we go!

·         ½ cup (1 stick) butter

·         2 large onions, thinly sliced

·         4-6 cloves garlic

·         4 medium carrots

·         chili powder, cayenne pepper, cumin, and cinnamon

·         1 can cream of chicken soup

·         1 can corn (drained and rinsed really, really well because canned veggies kind of gross me out)

·         1 can diced green chiles

·         1 large can crushed tomatoes

·         3 small chicken breasts, cooked and shredded

I started with the butter, onions, and garlic (and some salt).  I cooked and cooked and cooked those onions until they were really soft and fragrant, sort of French-onion soup style.  In the meantime, I peeled and cooked 4 carrots in the microwave until they were soft, but not mushy (about 6 minutes).  Once the onions were nice and soft, I added the carrots and used my Mix N’ Chop to coarsely chop the veggies, working them into a nice, chunky soup base.  For those whose kitchens are not stocked with this miracle tool, a potato masher might work well, or you might even mix it up in a blender or food processor for a couple seconds to break it down a little.

 

I seasoned with chili powder, cayenne, and cumin.  I could not tell you how much of each; I am a season-to-taste kinda girl.  I got a little silly and decided to add a little pow of cinnamon, too.  The cooked carrots had added some nice sweetness to the otherwise bold flavors, and I thought the cinnamon would help bring them out.  Just a little, though. 

Next I stirred in a can each of cream of chicken soup, corn, chiles, and crushed tomatoes, and my shredded chicken.  Things were looking pretty thick at that point, so I added 3 ½ soup cans of water to get it to a consistency I was happy with.  You might prefer a little more, a little less.

I brought it all to a boil, then reduced the heat and let it simmer about an hour.  It turned out sooooo yummy.  Accompanied by more slices of warm, crusty bread than I care to admit, it was just the kind of soup that my rainy, crappy day had called for.  Cooking the onions for so long had brought in SO much flavor, and the cinnamon really gave it an interesting twist.  I was pretty pleased that it had the flavor and texture of a really rich cream soup, but with no milk or cheese.  Other than the one stick of butter and one can of cream soup, it’s all vegetables and chicken.  The only thing that might have made it more perfect would be some nice black beans.  And I HAD some in the pantry, but not enough time to soak and cook and whatnot.  Beans take time.  We’ll add them next time, when we make Chile Chicken Stew on purpose, not by accident :)

 

Yummy Thursday - Turkey & Ricotta Meatballs

Turkey & Ricotta Meatballs, yummmmmm.  We had them last night already - we had yummy Wednesday this week.  I first made these a couple months ago.  Tim and I barely got one meal out of that first batch, before the dog sniffed his way up onto the counter and polished off the rest of the pan that I had left out to cool while we were out of the house for a few hours.  Little stinker. 

There are two things I usually hate about making meatballs.  The first is that they are SO time-consuming.  You have to mix everything up, then roll out each one, then take the time to brown them in a frying pan, THEN sit and wait while they finish baking.  Well, I decided that as long as I was writing my own recipe, I would skip at least one step and make them NO-FRY.  I suppose you can probably do that with ANY meatball, I’ve just never tried.  And at least with these, I know from experience that they are super-yummy just mixed, rolled, and baked.

The other thing I hate about making meatballs (and meatloaf) is mixing coooooold ingredients with bare hands.  I’m just a wuss.  It makes my hands and forearms literally ache.  I can only mix for about twenty seconds and then I have to go run my hands under hot water before I dive back in.  Well, there’s no avoiding it with these meatballs.  Too many yummy ingredients that need to get mixed in really well.  But my point in bringing it up is that they are SO worth the cold and the pain.  Yummmmmmmm.

My sauce is inspired by Nicholas Sparks.  Didn’t see that one coming, did ya? :) Several years back, I was reading one of his novels, I can’t even remember which one right now.  Bonus points to whomever can tell me.  In the story, some girl ran off to the beach with some guy and it started pouring rain and they ran inside and she made him fabulous pasta.  He was an Italian, so he was baffled at the simplicity (and lack) of ingredients in her sauce.  San Marzano tomatoes, onion, and butter – nothing more.  I had my own doubts (HOW can you not add BASIL, at the very least), but I decided when making these meatballs that it was time to try the Nicholas Sparks sauce, because the meatballs carry so much flavor on their own.  And it. is. yum.

 

·         ½ bunch Italian Parsley

·         2 eggs

·         ½ cup bread crumbs (I used panko)

·         Juice of ½ lemon

·         3-4 cloves garlic, crushed

·         Salt and pepper

·         One secret ingredient that I won’t tell.  Then you will all come visit me to see how mine taste :) Kidding.  The reason I add this is not to be a snot… it’s to encourage your own creativity.  Add something fun to make it your own!

Blend above ingredients well in a food processor.  Or chop the parsley really tiny by hand and mix it yourself.  Try cutting fresh herbs with a pizza cutter – it’s pretty fast! Cover and refrigerate 1-2 hours to let the flavors blend.  The mixture will also thicken up as the bread crumbs absorb the moist ingredients.  Then mix by hand with:

·         1 (15-oz) container ricotta cheese

·         2 pounds lean ground turkey (I suppose you could use beef and it would probably taste fantastic, but I use turkey to cut the calories since you’re also eating a tub of ricotta, half a stick of butter, and a pile of pasta.  Maybe cut out the lemon if you use beef.)

Preheat oven to 375 and put the following in a 9x13 pan:

·         ½ stick butter

·         ½ large onion, chopped

Cook until the butter is melted and sizzly, and the onions are just beginning to brown.  Remove from oven and stir in:

·         1 (28-oz) can crushed tomatoes (I haven’t tried with San Marzano.  No clue where to find them in Darwin, MN :) But I’m sure it would be to-die-for)

·         A drizzle of balsamic vinegar across the whole pan (I know Nicholas Sparks would be upset, but I just can’t resist)

·         A little salt

 

 

 

When the sauce is stirred well, start rolling your meatballs and laying them out in rows, directly in the sauce.  Oops, I should have mentioned this before: you will have enough meat for TWO pans of meatballs.  You can freeze half, or  better yet - make a pan for a friend!  I just prefer to make this amount of meat so I use up all the ricotta and have less parsley left over.  When your sauce is full of yummy meatballs, cover with foil and bake 45 minutes.  Then remove foil and bake another 15.  Serve over heaps of pasta with a mound of fresh parmesan.  And probably a salad, just to make yourself feel better.

Moments

I met my husband in September of 2001.  It wasn’t one of those moments that jumps out at you, waving a brightly colored “Remember This Moment” flag.  I didn’t know my life was about to change.  To be honest, I can’t tell you what day it was, or what either of us was wearing, or who said what.  We were both part of an evening Bible study that included anywhere from 5-15 people, depending on the night.  Tim would come with his roommates, and I with several of my friends.  I have no idea how many times the group met, how many weeks of Bible study passed before I realized it was time to start remembering the moments with him.  It wasn’t long, though.  By October, we were hanging out together on weekends.  We went on our first “real” date in early November, and met one another’s families (future in-laws :) over Christmas.

The moment we decided to get a dog – now THAT is a clear memory.  It was a gray, gloomy day in October 2007.  It was an ordinary Friday.  Tim worked in his office at church all morning, and I had Fridays off work, so I had gotten Starbucks and done some shopping.  I called Tim when I left the Kohl’s parking lot across town.  “Come outside and meet me in five minutes; I have a surprise for you.” To this day, I can’t remember what I had bought him.  I pulled into the parking lot at a busy time of day, when school was letting out, so I had to park far out and walk to the building.  Tim squinted as I made my way across the lot in the late autumn drizzle, holding his “surprise” in my arms.  He was certain the gray, bunched-up Kohl’s bag was a puppy.  The puppy we’d wanted since we’d gotten married a year and half before.  He laughed when I reached him.  “I thought that was a dog in your arms.  You said you had a surprise.”

My reaction was the bigger surprise.  I laughed for a few seconds at the randomness of his comment.  Then I “joked” (not really), “No, but we could go look at puppies right now at the shelter, if you want one so bad.”  He laughed, too, a little awkwardly, because the conversation was quickly turning serious.  It took all of sixty seconds to jump into his car and speed off to the Fond du Lac Humane Society - all because of a bunched-up shopping bag with some mystery item inside.  And so Charlie entered our lives, and little Samson about two years later.  They are our “boys,” our first babies.  They saw us through dark, troubled days as we struggled for years to find God’s plan for our “real” children.  They were always there with cuddles and sloppy dog kisses and unconditional love when we needed it most.

January 4, 2010 was a “medium” moment: I knew something important was happening, but wasn’t sure how big it would turn out to be.  All my life I had struggled to find an exercise plan that I enjoyed and could stick with.  Well, after Tim finished the Seminary and we’d experienced our first six months of church potlucks and trying to work out regularly in Minnesota’s exasperatingly unpredictable weather, we joined a gym with the rest of 2010’s “resolution” crowd.  This time, we tried something new: “Event Training.” Tim set a goal to run a half-marathon by May, and I signed up for a sprint-distance triathlon in August.  Well, if there’s any side of me that’s stronger than the lazy, excuse-making couch potato, it’s the stingy cheapskate who hates to waste money.  I never, ever gave up that whole year because I hated the thought of losing the $170 I had paid for my race registration.  That early financial incentive pulled me through the first, most trying months of 5:00 a.m. wake-up calls and sore muscles.  As my body grew stronger, my motivation began to come from elsewhere: satisfaction, pride, and the burning desire to ACHIEVE that I’d never before been able to find within myself.  For me, Event Training was the motivation I needed to finally make fitness a lifestyle.  I had no idea, the day I signed yet another gym membership contract, that this would be IT, and that three short years later my walls would be decorated with race bibs and medals, and my dresser drawers stuffed full of wonderful memories in the form of sweaty race t-shirts.

There are moments in life that seem so inconsequential as they happen, and you fail to store away the details and make a memory… and all too often, they end up being the biggest of moments.  There are other moments that you KNOW are moments as they are happening, and you remember the whens and the wheres so you can tell your grandchildren all about it in 50 years.  But even in those big, powerful moments, God can still surprise us.  He can use those moments and memories for a much bigger, better purpose than our simple minds could ever imagine.

May 1, 2012 was a BIG moment.  A moment I had been waiting and waiting and waiting for.  Waiting fifteen sleepless nights to hear if beautiful Baby Elizabeth would be ours forever.  On Day One, I had been giddy and optimistic.  On Day Eight I was anxious – surely by now they had chosen a family.  We would get a call any day now.  By Day Fifteen, I had convinced myself that she was going to another family.  I couldn’t allow myself to hope so hard.  I had built myself some pretty major emotional defenses, and was just waiting for the call to say “someone else is getting her,” so I could move on with my life.

But, as the saying goes, no news is good news.  And when the phone finally rang with our social worker’s number, all my defenses shattered on the spot and I felt SO. MUCH. HOPE in that moment that I stared at my phone and collected myself before I picked up.  And you all know the answer we got.  That was a HUGE moment.  So huge that I later took pictures of the exact chair I was sitting in on my lunch break at the coffee shop when I got the call.  It was a moment I knew I would want to remember forever.

Over the past year, bits and pieces of the story have come together from the perspectives of both the birth family and Gene and Dede, who took Elizabeth home and raised her until we came for her at seven months old.  There were several adoption agencies involved during that time, and a host of other familes who ranged from mildly to seriously interested in adopting sweet Lizzy.  But when our profile was shown last April, while I was biting my nails down to nubs waiting for an answer, big moments were happening that I didn’t even know about, thousands of miles away in California.  Lisa looked at our book first and said she “just knew,” despite the fact that our book made it clear that we are Crazy Packer Backers, and she’s a fan of some ugly blue and orange team to the south of us :)

She chose our book, along with three others, to be sent to Gene and Dede to make the final decision, as they were raising the baby and best knew her needs.  Dede picked up our book first.  She looked over the cover, flipped through a few pages, and said to Gene, “I found them.”

“Don’t you even want to look at the others?”

“Nope.” She later said it was like buying a wedding dress.  When you know, you know, and you just stop looking.

“Well, I’m going to at least LOOK at these other three first.”  Half an hour later, Gene knew it, too.  Across the miles, I was clicking away on a computer, or cleaning my kitchen, or training for my upcoming half-marathon.  Little did I know what a major moment in my life had just occurred.

All the moments of my life – big, small, and in-between – had their role in that MAJOR moment of being hand-picked as Elizabeth’s mother.  Meeting my husband in college, a moment that I can’t even remember – and Dede says she could tell from pictures that ours was a love and a family that she knew she wanted Elizabeth to be a part of.  And moments I do remember – adopting our first dog, training for my first race – turned out to be so much more than I ever thought they were at the time.  Those moments became a part of me and made me who I am, and turned out to be very specific reasons that Dede and Gene fell in love with us and chose us.

So it makes me wonder… what was last May 1 all about? On the surface, it seems a perfect memory in itself.  Finding out you’re a mommy for the first time – what could be better? But I’ve seen God twist and turn the roads of my life more than once before to suit His ultimate purpose.  Maybe last May 1 was more than a big moment… maybe it was just the beginning of something even bigger.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

------------------------------------------------------------

This post is dedicated to the amazing strength and courage of my cousin, Becky Piper, and her husband Sam.  One little moment a week and half ago completely changed the course of their lives, and opened countless doors for them to demonstrate their faith, strength, and love for one another as she recovers from devastating injuries.  Please read their story and keep them in your prayers.  Big things are coming from these two, I just know it.

 

http://m.caringbridge.org/visit/beckypiper