by jphilo | Aug 10, 2012 | Daily Life
Pardon the latest of this post, but I just got back from peach pie heaven. Though those of you who shudder at the thought of making 5 fresh peach pies before 10 AM, my peach pie heaven may be your peach pie hell.
But the opportunity to prepare dessert for a wedding rehearsal involving two families who have given generously to us made the time in the kitchen heavenly. While peeling peaches, I reflected upon the ways these families touched ours in the past:
- During our son’s six years as a monk, the bride’s parents subscribed to the monastery newsletter and talked about what they read in it. That simple act of caring meant more to us than words can express.
- The bride and her sister, who are a few years older than our daughter, let Anne borrow a formal for her senior prom. The kicky, funky dress turned out to be Anne’s all time favorite.
- When Anne was in fourth grade, the groom volunteered to play George Burn’s to her Gracie Allen for a school performance project. The groom’s parents helped him memorize his lines.
- The groom did the filming for Different Dream Parenting’s book trailer. Because he has a film degree, he’s been able to help with other audio-visual projects. And he never rolls his eyes when I ask questions with obvious (to the younger generation, anyway) answers.
Such simple things, I mused. But things our family couldn’t do without them.
We couldn’t enter into typical how-the-kids-are-doing conversations with friends unless they understood something about our son’s life.
We couldn’t afford a kicky, funky prom dress for Anne.
We couldn’t be our pint-sized Gracie Allen’s pint-sized straight man.
We couldn’t film professional quality video.
So when our small church group decided to host tonight’s wedding rehearsal dinner for our friends, I volunteered to make dessert.
Not just any dessert.
But fresh peach pie.
Not just 1 pie, but 5.
Enough to feed the whole crowd.
Why volunteer for what some people consider a hellish job?
Because I make a killer peach pie.
Because it’s peach season.
Because this is an opportunity to give back to those who have given to us.
Because being able to give back is a taste of heaven on earth.
How do I know this? Because, I realized, while pouring the last of the glaze over fresh-sliced peaches resting in the baked pastry shell, when God provides opportunities for his people to exercise the unique gifts he’s equipped them with, he’s giving them a foretaste of heaven on earth. And what does heaven taste like?
Heaven tastes serving people who freely served us.
It tastes like the celebration for two lovely, young people making a lifelong commitment.
It tastes like finally being able to give back.
Heaven tastes like fresh peach pie on a warm, summer night.
by jphilo | Jul 12, 2011 | Out and About
Home, sweet home looked pretty good last night, after a 12 hour return trip from Kentucky. But the sticky air that greeted us felt terrible, much muggier and hotter than what we’d experienced during our short sojourn down south.
Apparently the top notch workmanship on display throughout the restored Shaker buildings, their furniture, and other products extends into the realm of climate control, too. Either that or God blessed our anniversary weekend with better-than-expected weather. Whatever the case, our two days exploring every path, visiting every building and museum, following our tour guides, asking questions of the craftsmen, and enjoying the restaurant were delightful.
The Shakers were a sect that considered the Bible their sacred text, but didn’t believe Jesus was God until later in his life. Other beliefs included work as worship in daily life, efficiency and functionality in daily life, and ecstatic Sunday worship. To read more about their beliefs and a fairly complete history here.
My favorite building at Shaker Village of Pleasant Hill was the Meeting House, a 64 foot long structure with no supporting pillars in the center of the room – very important for that ecstatic Sunday morning worship – and the guide took us into the attic so we could see how the beams were constructed to accomplish this feat. I nodded knowingly during the explanation, but haven’t got a clue about what she was saying. But her dress was pretty.
The construction, however, is not what made this my favorite building. The neat rows of pegs made this my favorite building. Don’t get me wrong. Every wall of every room in every Shaker buildings has a row of pegs. (One guide says the combined total of pegs in the village was 30,000.) Not only that, but every candle rack on every wall of every room in every Shaker building has three equally spaced holes so the height of the stands are adjustable. Talk about function, efficiency and order!
But the Meeting House had them all beat. Because every wall in that huge place had three – count ‘em – three rows of pegs marching around the room. I tell you, it calmed the teeny-tiny OCD portion of my brain to see those perfectly straight rows of perfectly straight pegs as far as the eye can see. If it weren’t for the Shakers’ unbiblical view of Christ, their vow of celibacy and the fact that the sect is down 3 members living in Sabbathday Lake, Maine – those pegs might have hooked me in but good. All I can say is it’s a good thing the OCD detective Adrian Monk never visited the Shakers.
He’da been a gonner for sure.
by jphilo | Mar 6, 2008 | Family
Not every central Iowa mom can say her son is a monk, but I can. When Hiram and I learned I was pregnant, we didn’t look at one another, all starry-eyed and say, “If it’s a boy, maybe he’ll grow up to be a monk.” As a rule, Protestants don’t say those kinds of things. Plus, we didn’t even know it was a viable career choice in the United States.
But it is. And when the doctor told us our baby had a birth defect that hits only one in ten thousand newborns, we should have seen the pronouncement for what it was: the precedent by which our son would live his life. From childhood he was on the path chosen by one in ten thousand.
Yesterday, our monk sent an email which directed us to the article Orthodox Monks Find Prayerful Life in State written for the Charleston Daily Mail, about the monastery where he lives. And since people are often curious about his life there, you might like to read it. Our monk son is quoted in the article by his Orthodox name, Father Alban. Within the article is a button which takes you to a slideshow about the monastery. Allen (our unorthodox name for him) is in several pictures, including the picture taken in the goat barn.
I hope you enjoy the article and learn a little more about his days. Though a monk’s life wasn’t the life we dreamed about when we found out I was pregnant, we admire his choice and his dedication. And we know that he has found healing and community and peace there. We know he is growing there. Our relationship with him has improved since he went there. And when we’re in one of those awkward social situations where no one can think of anything to talk about, one mention of our son the monk and conversation flows. No wonder we get so many dinner invitations.
If you need us, we’re free next Friday.
