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.

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.

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.

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.

*I’m marking the various anniversaries that brought Husband and I together three years ago in February when I first visited Geneva. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. 

Geneva was still cold. I was still hungry. But by Sunday February 15, my attitude was better. It was a combination of developing relationships with kind people, revelation (sorry for the lack of more details on this one) and the discovery of new purpose. I was supposed to be in Geneva. I believed it. I didn’t need to understand the details. I was content to live day-to-day and see what would take place next.

I walked out of the Evangelical Baptist Church of Geneva with three other ladies on Sunday afternoon, and we planned to find a place to have lunch. All of us were new to the city and had no idea where to go. We were walking out of the courtyard when we saw two young men walking toward us.

Look it’s Frank from Frankfurt! I said loud enough for everyone to hear.

It was him, and he and his friend became the perfect Geneva locals to give us restaurant advice. We ended up at Husband’s flat where he locked himself in the kitchen to make bolognese. (Husband still locks himself in the kitchen when we have company, but now it’s during the clean-up phase.)

A few special moments happened in the hours before we were in Husband’s flat. I had a craving for peanut butter during the weekend, and a new friend gave me a jar of it that morning. I wanted to sing a specific song, and we sang it during the church service. By the time we were in Husband’s flat for lunch, I felt like God’s spotlight was shining on me, and I was receiving straight out of His hand only good things, not generically good things, but the good things I specifically needed on this day.

And the third specific good thing I received that day was food. Free food.

I remember sitting at the dining table, looking only at Husband’s bolognese and thanking God that I didn’t have to pay for it and also thinking about the fact that it was only my fourth warm meal after almost two weeks in Geneva. I don’t even remember engaging in any conversation with anyone. I took small bites, held every morsel in my mouth, and thanked God for every part of it even though the sauce needed more salt.

At some point I said to Husband in a serious voice, Frank, my mother has been praying all week that I would have a home-cooked meal, so you are an answer to her prayers. 

I wanted to thank this random stranger because he had blessed me in a way he couldn’t understand. In his mind these were the most basic of ingredients he kept stocked in his flat for a day when he didn’t have time to make anything, and he was embarrassed to serve overcooked pasta. He had no idea how much this bolognese was impacting my life.

He followed the pasta with fresh crepes that we covered with Nutella. During this whole time, I do not remember what we talked about – I blame the food coma – but I know that Husband and I rarely spoke to each other. After the meal finished, I was standing at Husband’s bookshelf admiring his collection of classics, volumes of theology, spiritual works, business books and books I had never heard of. This is exactly the kind of bookshelf I expected this guy to have, I thought to myself.

Husband was standing next to me, and we had a short conversation. He finished “The Brothers Karamazov” recently, and one of my favourite books is “Crime and Punishment” by the same author. We talked about C.S. Lewis and “The Chronicles of Narnia.” He told me about his grandparents’ work and some of the books they gave him.

Time felt like it was standing still for me (it is worth mentioning that Husband did not consider this to be a significant moment for him at all). I didn’t listen to the other conversations. What I did notice was that I felt warm, loved, cared for. Husband was standing close to me, his kind green eyes focussed on mine, and he was listening, sharing, engaging.

I quickly snapped out of that moment and lectured myself about how I didn’t meet guys in foreign countries and didn’t have little “moments” like this, and it’s a terrible idea to just start talking to a guy because if you give him the wrong idea, you will have to have the super awkward conversation later on about how this is all not going to work out because how could anything possibly work out in a situation like this. Yes, I thought all of these things.

I held the time we had together as precious, but I thought it was just a lovely moment, something designed to give me a taste of the love and care God had for me. I knew I would remember this day forever and I knew I would remember how it felt to be so warmly cared for by a stranger.

We all walked to a beautiful park and saw some classic Geneva sights. There was a skating rink covered with coloured lights full of people, people playing chess on the giant boards painted on the ground, and it was still cold.

I said goodbye to Husband late that afternoon and never expected to see him again.