There’s No Place Like Home

Since I moved to Kansas, I find myself clicking my heels more and more.  I have no ruby red slippers but the mantra is the same, “There’s no place like home. There no place like home.”

The problem is that I have no idea where home is.

This was made clear to me again when I flew back east for a dear friend’s wedding. She and I have been friends since the first grade and so i found myself surrounded by people who have met me or at least heard about me. Some of these good people even knew that I’d already moved several times in my adult life, but most of them had lost track of me after I moved cross the country from Maine to Washington. They hadn’t heard that I’d moved again and seemed to find it a bit shocking. Every time the topic came up, with each new person, it seemed incomprehensible that I’d moved twice since the last time they last knew my whereabouts. Thus, the same confused exclamation came I shared our new location. Every single time, their pitch raised, “Kansas?!? What brings you to Kansas?”

My response was equally repetitive. “My husband is in the military and it is in Kansas that he is required to be right now.”

I am embarrassingly ignorant of military things. This isn’t a new problem, but one that continues to fester in our relationship. So much so that if my husband has heard this response, which he did several time last night, or another like it, he grimaces and elaborates that he is in the midst of his schooling in the Command and General Staff College. After he finishes that, he continues to explain, we will move again. That is when I grimace.

Before I met my husband, I had looked forward to multiple moves across the country. I liked the idea of learning about how people do church in different parts of the globe. I really liked that idea and subscribed to the concept of a shorter pastorate. I couldn’t imagine being a pastor of a congregation for fifteen, twenty or thirty years. It made sense to me if there were kids in the equation, but at that point I wasn’t considering motherhood. I had no interest in being a single parent and was far more interested in what I might do for God. I didn’t want to be bored for God, but wanted to create beautiful things in amazing places with people just as hope-filled.

That hope had already taken me to two places. I’d gone to Maine where I’d stayed longer than I ever thought I would and we did some good things together, but I got bored. I got really bored and so I looked for what was next and found the good people in Washington. When I moved there, I told the search committee I was looking for two things: love and a place to call home. I found one, but not the other.

On our wedding day, my friend Melanie talked about the five mile stretch of road that leads to the farm that was once and is now her home. Just before she led us in saying our vows, she talked about this stretch of road that makes it heart beat faster and always brings a smile to her face before she advised us to

“be home for one another. Be that place, of unconditional acceptance and love for each other.  Be that place that makes your heart beats quicken.  Be that place where you always see something new and beautiful. No matter what season.  Be that place that in the midst of difficulties you can be at rest. Home.  Be each other’s homes.”

I don’t know if other people think as much about the homily offered on their wedding day as I do, but I think about these words all of the time. I think about them every time I step into the crappy housing the military gave us. I click my heels and remind myself that this shelter is not my home, but the place I find in my husband’s arms is home.

We are each other’s homes, I guess. I like that idea. I like it a lot but I have a few questions for I cannot imagine this without a picture in my head. I am a visual learner, after all. So I need to see it but the only image that I can craft is like bad clip art from a church newsletter in the early 90s. I can see the open arms but I do not want to run toward them. I want to run away for the image is so repulsive. Repulsive is a strong word. I apparently have strong feelings about clip art, and so it must be something else.

Is this the same problem that the wandering Israelites felt in all of those many years of exile? They were told their was a new home for them. It was to be a Promised Land, but they could not imagine it. They did not know what to expect or who to expect. It was just too overwhelming to comprehend. Is that what home is supposed to be? Is the sheer idea of it meant to overwhelm and confound?

In her recent book Roots and Sky, Christie Purifoy wonders “if home is the place from which we come or the place we are headed.” She admits that we wander. It’s what  humans do but she doesn’t find much confusion in that fact. Simply put, to her, “home is the ground we measure with our own two feet. And home is the place that measures us. Home is the place that names us and the place we, in turn, name. It feeds us, body and soul, and if we are living well, we feed it too. Home is the place we cultivate with our love.”

Christie seems like someone who can confidently say, along with Dorothy, “There’s no place like home. There no place like home.” Both Christie and my friend Melanie have ended up on farms. They’ve both awoken from the nightmare of aimless wandering from place to place only to find that their place was always supposed to be on this patch of land they get to cultivate with love. I, on other hand, am still clicking my heels and wondering about home. One thing I know for sure: there is no place like it.

If you follow me on Facebook, you may know that I accepted a challenge to write an essay each week this year. You just read it. I had some internet issues so it’s late but I did finish it before the second week began. I really am trying to set by Vanessa Martir’s in her challenge #52essays2017. These essays are supposed to dig deep and so you might not find my weekly essays here but you will find them on Medium. It’s a double experiment for me.

Cooking with Door-to-Door Organics

For months now, I’ve been clicking and poking around the internet in search of some form of Community Supported Agriculture that might carry us through our one and only winter in Kansas. I’ve tried every thing but found nothing until the week after I finally resigned myself to ordering Door to Door Organics. Only then, in the first few days after I got to Kansas, did I find out in a Facebook group that there is something. Here it is.

fullsizerender-2I had however already signed us up for this other service. And I’m not a quitter so we are sticking with it. Here we are on week three already.

And it’s OK. I don’t hate it but I don’t love it either. Here is my short list of blessings and woes.

  1. It is organic. It boasts this proudly and all of the veggies and other products they sell seem to meet this very complicated standard. This is a blessing.
  2. The good people at Door to Door Organics encourage you to plan and allow you to add and subtract all of the things form the cart that you might possibly want. For someone like me — or maybe someone like you who plans everything to the last detail — this is amazing. A few days before the box arrives on my doorstep, I get an email telling me what will be in the box and I can make any changes I want until 10:00 pm the night before. This is a blessing.
  3. They hint that they will use local farmers to the best of their ability. They do not. It is not local. I get that bananas and tomatoes aren’t growing even in hot houses at this time of year but then give me the stuff that is actually in season.  Make that available. (My husband wanted the fruit. I ddi not win that one.) Give me all of the root vegetables! They have those but they are not from local farms and I am utterly confused. It messes with my stewardship practices and make me really unhappy. Woe, woe to the false advertising.

The box arrives again on Tuesday so here’s a menu plan that caters to our box. You’ll notice that I have a few favorite blogs. That much wasn’t changed though I am cooking a bit more from my cookbooks this week now hat they are finally unpacked.

There is something I’m thinking about though.

I’m thinking aoubt starting a newsletter called News From My Kitchen. I started to design it and everything. I’m imagining it to be an occasional potluck of recipes, writings and whatever else I might be cooking up at the moment. I hope I’m not over using this whole new last name before we’ve even hit our six month anniversary. Sometimes I think it’s too cute. Other times I think I’m hysterical. Really, it depends upon how much coffee I’ve had. No matter, would you be interested? Would you sign up? Let me know. In the meantime, here are some recipes for the week.

SuperSale

Sunday I am going to spend the day in the kitchen making my favorite chili and cornbread.  I suspect that I’ll also be making a few other things while I’m in the kitchen.

Monday There’s going to be a lot of meat in our menu this week. This is not common for us. We tend to eat mostly vegetarian at home so today feels like a good day to join in on the fun of meatless monday. We’ll be doing that by dishing up Toasted Farro with Pear, Hazelnuts and Arugula from Feasting at Home while we hand out candy to the trick or treaters.

Tuesday There are no apples in our box this week but we have so many from weeks prior that I’ll be happy to use them in the Broad Fork’s Pan-Roasted Pork Tenderloin with Sorghum and Roasted Apples. There will be a side of roasted broccoli with this one.

Wednesday The temps are not supposed to dip even a little bit this week but I’m going to pretend that it’s fall (er, winter) and cook up some Winter Squash Curry.

Thursday We will need another salad so it’ll have to be Roasted Sweet Potato and Farro Salad by Cookie + Kate.

Friday When I arrived in Leavenworth, the freezer was stocked with pulled pork from a local church fundraiser. It seems that Nigel got cajoled in supporting a friend’s church and ended up with all of this pork. He called in dismay when it happened but ultimately decided to freeze it. Now, we have to use it. Oh so sad! I’ll be creating my own Pulled Pork BBQ Pizza and maybe even will post a recipe for it here. Maybe.

There is certainly more in the box that will need to get used but that’s what I’ve cooked up so far. I hope it’s a good week with our Door to Door Organics box.

Menu planning is a very occasional feature of my blog. I do more cooking in the ministry I offer in Ingredients for Worship and cooking up new and exciting Recipes for Ministry. (Or at least, I hope they are new and exciting recipes.) I love to cook both in the kitchen and swap recipes for all sorts of things. So, what are you cooking this week? What’s on your menu?

Solitude on the Road

“Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word solitude to express the glory of being alone. “  — Paul Tillich

While my husband is in his classes, learning the next echelon of leadership within the military, I am been alone. I am reading and writing and trying not to feel the pain of this loneliness, but Tillich’s wisdom rings all to true. I find myself in this new and place where nothing is familiar. The landscape is different. The climate is strange and I find myself in this new community in which I feel like a stranger. Or as Stanley Hauerwas might say, I am a resident alien.

I am not on the move. I am here in this place.

When only ten days ago, there was a different kind of solitude that marked my days. For just four days, between Pennsylvania and Kansas, I found myself in solitude on the road — and it was glorious. Just me and my little Prius on the road. My parents (among others) had expressed concern about this plan. They were not sure it was wise for a young woman to travel alone. They feared I might be lonely.

I assured them that I would be stopping to spend nights with dear friends. I would extend my trip to make time for these visits with these dear friends. I would not be totally alone. I wasn’t. I got to eat and walk and talk with these dear friends after hours on the road all by myself. Theses a good thing. It was reassuring for my parents to hear because loneliness is a bad thing. This fact even made the news last week. 72% of people in the United States of America feel isolated. The facts and figures of this study are suspiciously absent from the reports that I’ve found, but the word isolation is not. It is repeated in every article. we are isolated from ourselves and each other. This is what defines our loneliness.

It is not news, however. It is a conclusion that was drawn way back when in 2012 when this article appeared in The Atlantic concluding:

Solitude used to be good for self-reflection and self-reinvention. But now we are left thinking about who we are all the time, without ever really thinking about who we are. Facebook denies us a pleasure whose profundity we had underestimated: the chance to forget about ourselves for a while, the chance to disconnect.

Isolation  or even disconnection is not what I feel on the road. Behind the wheel, careening down the highway, belting out Dixie Chicks lyrics, I don’t feel disconnected from my community or my neighbor, but quite the opposite. I feel connected. I feel like the world is so big and beautiful and there is so much possibility. With every song that comes on the radio, I am flooded with memories of people and places that I have loved. I can’t help but giggle at the wonder of it all.

When my throat has gone hoarse and there is nothing but static on the radio, I roll down the windows and open my heart to pray. Jesus makes a big to do about going to find a quiet place to pray. Or at least, that’s how we think about it. We are the ones that are struggle with the silence and perhaps even the isolation, not Jesus. There is no struggle in him. No fanfare as he withdraws to a deserted place to pray (Luke 5:16, NRSV). He is not isolated, though he may be alone. He does this several more times before he tells anyone how they ought to pray. That’s when he tells them not to forget about themselves. This isn’t a chance to zone out but a chance to see yourself as a part of God’s transformative power.

Like me, I imagine that Jesus needs a little space for this. This is no small potatoes, after all. He needs that time away to sort though all of the thoughts in his head, to be grateful and even to wonder about what might be ahead if he can ever be part of God’s transformation. Even if he doesn’t need that space, I do. Jesus might know his place but I have some questions. So I’ll take the empty road snaking through at the mountains or the deserted road that cuts through a town with empty store fronts to reconnect with God.

There is glory in this. Tillich is right. In this world, where there always seems to be someone grabbing for our attention — something that is apparently being called an attention economy — there is a certain graciousness to allowing ourselves  be alone with our own thoughts and questions. It can be overwhelming, as it feels now that I am settled in one place with too much time to think and ponder by myself. It can surely be painful but there is a certain glory in it — a glory I struggle to name but one I have seen on the road.