suddenly 30

University gave me the much-needed opportunity to break free from the teen years of sadness and insecurity.  I’m not sure if there was a person in the world happier to leave high school than I was. When I think about those years in university, I remember healing friendships, high-quality mentoring and work I loved, and those three things worked together to take me to a place of peace and stability. I spent my early 20s in a bubble of optimism about the future. There were dreams, plans, visions, goals, desires. Everything seemed within my reach, the world was open, I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

I was going to spend my 20s in international journalism. Yes, I was going straight to the top, bypassing the toil of the police and city beats for the chaos and pain of Kandahar and Darfur. I was going to meet the man of my dreams. We would be married when I was 30, start a family, and I would leave my dangerous, adventure-filled life for him, boys, soccer balls and a minivan. I would cook and bake and sew and parent and teach for 20 years, and at 50 when the children were out of our home, I would turn my eyes toward the next thing, a life of outreach, service, ministry.

After re-reading that last paragraph, I wonder if I am better suited for writing novels than writing about real life.

So what happened? I moved to Australia at 23, and no matter how hard I tried, was unable to even get the most basic of journalism jobs. I did work eventually, some things I liked, other things I hated. There was a year-long trip around the world to the blue seas of Cape Town, the streets of Texas, the villages of Ethiopia and a little town called Geneva. I did meet the man of my dreams, at 27 not 30, we were married and had a son. We do have a stuffed soccer ball from Ikea. Small One loves it. There is no minivan. Yet.

The danger and adventure I searched for did not come from work and places as I thought it would. I found my thrills with God, learning to walk blindly, trust deeper and love stronger.

Is there any greater adventure in life than being loved and learning how to love?

I started my 20s in Arkansas as a freshman in university, dancing to Cher on a bridge in a small town and a meticulously-planned surprise party by friends from my dorm hall. I ended my 20s with Small One, Husband and his family as we planned my father-in-law’s funeral. I cannot help but see the stepping stones from one February 13, 10 years ago to this last one, and they are the stepping stones of a crazy love that held, healed, bound up, and released.

I do not start my 30s with the optimism of my 20s; my dreams are firmly focused on getting a full-night’s sleep. It wouldn’t change the world, but it would change my world. But if I could finish my 30s receiving more love and giving more love, and yes, if I could dream again about what is to come, if I could taste more of the goodness that can only come from the hand of God, I would consider that a decade well spent.

getting lent

Dinner last night was so healthy, I almost felt sad looking at the table. It was tasty thanks to the fried onions, but when it’s Pancake Tuesday and you’re putting a spinach smoothie, quinoa, zucchini and herbs in your mouth, it is a tad disappointing. I blame bad planning on my part, and the lack of a good frying pan in which to make pancakes.

I was tempted to congratulate myself for making what seemed like a good Lenten meal, but this year that feels a bit too religious for me.

I have nothing against traditional observations of Lent, but I have never understood it. Fasting anything is a good idea, and I’ve found that setting aside something physically on which I can be dependent, requires me to rely more heavily on God, but the feeling of being “required” to fast something for Lent irritates me.

It’s only been in the last few months that I have been able to put my finger on why. I think the link between fasting and Lent must be because of two reasons (and a disclaimer here: I say this with zero research, just my own thoughts). Reason one, Jesus gave up his life on the cross, and so we give something up as a way of identifying with what he did. Reason 2, I suspect this tradition evolved during a historical period when mortifying the body – by way of beating, personal penance, fasting, etc. – was a way of making oneself more holy, and therefore more acceptable to God.

Whatever the reasons are, the people I know who fast for Lent do it because there is a sincere love in their hearts for Jesus, and it is their joy to do this for him. Even though I am not fasting for Lent this year, I admire this.

Today I am trying to find a middle ground, celebrating Lent and meditating on its meaning but creating something that is meaningful for me and for us as a family. Jesus carried the cross, and he tells us that anyone who follows him needs to take up their cross as well. Instead of giving something up, I am going to take two habits on for the next 46 days.

We’ll see what happens.

• Quinoa Salad  I used a combination of this recipe and this recipe. Cook the quinoa and set aside. Chop mint and coriander and set aside. Chop an avocado into chunks and set aside. Chop zucchini and carrots, tossed it with olive oil, salt and chili flakes and roast in a hot oven until tender.  Slice a whole onion (or more!) and fry in olive oil on low heat until you can smell the lovely frying onion smell and it gets all golden and tender. I also salt the onions in the pan. I am a salt fanatic and tend to salt all parts separately before assembly because I don’t like taking unsalted bites of food. Stir the avocado, roasted veggies and onions into the quinoa and top with the chopped herbs. I also made a simple dressing of lime juice, red wine vinegar, salt and pepper to add into it.

a make-shift salsa

Life does not always turn out the way we expect it. This and “do not pretend to be engaged to someone who doesn’t know you” are some of the valuable lessons I learned from “While You Were Sleeping.”

I had a few kitchen surprises in store for me yesterday even as I made something that requires very little thinking. Tacos are a go-to food when I don’t have time or creative energy. It was one of our favourite family meals when I was a teenager, and because finding flour tortillas in the Philippines was tough, it was a special treat whenever we did have tacos.

Now when we eat it, we have it on corn or wholewheat flour tortillas with guacamole, spiced meat and a basic pico de gallo or chopped tomatoes. Husband is not a fan of packaged taco seasonings, so I usually just flavour the mince with whatever I feel like (this time I used cumin and coriander powder, lots of paprika, a tiny bit of sugar and salt plus onions). I keep it fairly basic, no cheese, no sour cream and no beans.

Yesterday I was in the mood to make tomato salsa instead of pico de gallo. I made it several months ago following The Pioneer Woman’s recipe. I didn’t follow a recipe this time, but I had her’s in my mind when I bought my ingredients and threw it all in the blender.

Here’s the thing though – I don’t think much when it comes to how much onion and garlic to add to things. I usually put one onion in almost everything unless it’s a larger quantity, in which case I put two or more. I think I had almost a kilo of fresh tomatoes that I chopped and put in the blender, and I added to it a whole onion and the other ingredients.

It would probably be more accurate to call it onion salsa.

Yes, one whole onion was probably a bit much, but thank God we all like onion in this house. (When I was an under-two-year-old, my parents tell me I used to walk around the house gnawing on and eating raw onions, so I blame my childhood for this mishap.) To make matters more amusing, Husband assembled his first taco while I was still sleeping – we had a late dinner – and he put some “refried beans” on it as well. When he asked me about the “refried beans,” I told him that I had not made any to go on our tacos. I had, however, made some buckwheat porridge for Small One’s breakfast, and it was still cooling on the stove.

I wouldn’t recommend porridge as a taco ingredient, but Husband says it wasn’t too bad.

• Basic Tomato Salsa   I do think that the ingredients for a salsa is what matters, and we all adjust the quantities based on our taste preferences. I used fresh tomatoes (canned can be fine), garlic, coriander, lime juice, red chilies, salt, brown sugar and as you know, onion. Throw into a blender and you’re finished after a few minutes.

simple food

It feels like it’s going to be one of those weeks. Those weeks that demand everything you have to give emotionally, spiritually and physically when you have nothing to give emotionally, spiritually and physically.

I’m a list maker; this is how I win my daily battles. Without a plan for the day, for the week, I feel like I have lost before the day begins. This week I am determined to win, to defeat the voices in my head that say it’s going to be too difficult, to defeat my bad attitude, to step on the selfishness that nips at my heels. Last night I made a detailed list for today, what to do for almost every hour with Small One, what to do during each nap time. So far I am three hours in, and other than feeling physically wasted, the day is going well.

Can you relate? I have a feeling you can. If you’re a mom (a first-timer, even?), I am speaking your language, I think. But it’s a self-pity trap to think that only stay-at-home mom’s are stretched. Whether you’re single, married, male, female, a student, working, young or old, we all have pressures and expectations weighing on our shoulders. The Western lifestyle demands high emotional and physical output from everyone and provides little to no input unless we go searching for it.

We must not stop in our search for high-quality input into our lives no matter how long we have to wait for it. I do not know where it will come from, but I know that I need it, and to be able to survive I will have to find it.

In the mean time, I am going to keep going to the next thing on the list. Lunch for Small One and I. Play time with Small One. Reading time with Small One. Nap time for Small One. Admin time for me. Play time again. Dinner. Tomorrow, we repeat.

This is simple food, not quite the kind to make weary bodies strong and not necessarily full of nutrients. But it is simple, it is warm, it is tasty, and most importantly, it is easy. I’ve made it twice now, and I think it took me 10 minutes to make (including the prep time, but I don’t really wash mushrooms very well).

• Mushroom Carbonara (from delicious.)  I followed this recipe closely and only added more garlic (we like garlic around here). Adding more mushrooms makes it a bit heartier. The cheese is not necessary, but it does add a nice flavour.

years go by

My new black, leather pumps clicked against the frozen February ground this morning, the low heel making crunching noises with every step. The sun was shining, and it almost felt like a spring day. Husband and I walked hand-in-hand to the chapel on the cemetery grounds to view Papa’s body for the last time.

He and Mama started their married life together a five-minute walk away from this burial ground. That was 41 years, four months and a few days ago.

They spent every year of their married life in the same town, on the same street, in the same house. The basement still has the Pampers boxes from Husband’s baby days more than three decades ago. The boxes are in great shape and usable. The salad bowl we use to hold Oma’s famous potato salad was a gift they received at their wedding.

I was baptized as a baby in that church over there, Husband says as we walk from the car to the chapel, pointing to the town’s Roman Catholic church that is separated by a large field from the cemetery chapel. That was 34 years and a few months ago.

A few hours later and we are 20 minutes away from the start of the funeral service. The sky is grey, it is colder, but the ground softened from its morning hardness. We all stand outside the chapel to greet people, and eventually I am told to go inside because the cold is not good for the baby. I wait in the back of the chapel and listen to the prelude on the keyboard.

Husband’s friend is playing “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation.” He wasn’t asked to play this; it is just the song he decided to play while everyone took their seats. I know this song; it was the recessional at our wedding. That was one year, seven months and four days ago.