The Complications of Santa

  I say with a sigh of relief and only a hint of sadness that Christmas is over. I say it with relief  not because I do not enjoy the holidays.  Not because I have eaten more than my body weight in sweets and meat.  And not because I am exhausted to the very marrow in my bones.  I am glad because Santa Claus has become a thorn in my paw, a complicated man who complicated my life this year from November 1st to December 25th.
  I will share with you a conversation I had with my almost eight year old as we drove to the store to get gifts for his siblings.
   Child:  "So Mom, why can't we see Santa?  Why does he have to be secret?"
   Me:"Because if we see him he loses his magic."
   Child: "Well good thing he hires all those guys to pretend to be him then."
   Me:"Good point."
   Child:"Why do the elves get to see him then if no one else can see him?"
   ME:"Because they are his helpers. He needs helpers you know. It is a big job for one person."
   Child:" You said he was magic, if he is magic he shouldn't need helpers.  Did you know there is witch who delivers presents?"
   Me: "A witch?  I don't think so.  I think you are confusing your holidays."
  Child:" No there is. Mrs. F said so in school.  Kids put out 13 shoes and get a present in each shoe."
  Me: "That sounds like more than one story."
  Child: "Well it's true . How come everyone doesn't have Santa? And why does he look different in pictures? And why do you keep telling me something is too expensive for Santa if he is magic he just makes whatever we want,right?"
   I would like to say this was the end of the conversation but it kept going until I steered him into the store and distracted him .  This is nothing new for our middle child.  He is the most curious and the first one to question just about anything.  I did however have to look up the "witch" thing and as it turns out one of his teachers must have been explaining the Italian "witch" who brings toys to children on the Feast of Epiphany on January 6th.  The legend of La Befana says that the wise men stopped at her hut to ask directions to Bethlehem and invited her to join them.  She refused and then refused a shepard later and when she saw the great light in the sky she thought she should have gone with them. She gathered toys from her home that belonged to her deceased child and tried to find the manger.  She didn't and it is said each year she travels to find the Christ Child and leaves toys for good children and coal for bad children.  So as usual my middle child was giving me the true story.  One of these days maybe I will learn.
   I do not remember being so curious or asking as many questions.  Perhaps I did.  It just didn't seem so complicated.  We took it on faith that Santa was everywhere. It never occurred to me that Santa couldn't be at the mall and at G.Fox at the same time.  He was just where I was.  I never gave any thought to how he delivered everything in one night, when in truth it has to be a logistical nightmare.  I am not sure how he does it when I cannot even get three kids to three different places in one afternoon without calling for help from the National Guard.
  Kids are more sophisticated today I suppose.  They have too many things in an instant.  They can look up anything they want any time they want and get an instant answer.  Too much that is explained and explained some more so that just believing in something becomes nearly impossible.
  When we were kids, in my memory it was just more simple. My sister and I were taken to Hartford to see the lights on Constitution Plaza, eat dinner, when we were very young I suppose we saw Santa also.  I think then he was in G.Fox&Co.  That was a tradition for many years.  We would get a book then too.  I still have two of the books I got..."Strega Nona" and "The Phantom Toll Booth." We would also take a tour through the toy department that was up on top floor.  I remember this because the ceiling was so low I thought my dad might hit his head.  The year I was in fourth grade, we made this trip and when I came to the toy department I stopped in front of the dolls.  There was a section of Madame Alexander dolls. I  had no idea that they were the American girl doll of today back then, I just fell in love with one doll.  She had blonde hair that curled at the bottom and blue eyes that shut when you laid her down.  She was in a package and I just stood and stared at her.  I pointed her out to my dad who said,"Umm."  I think he took a glance at the price tag and then ushered me elsewhere.  I managed to point her out to my mom and that became my soul focus for Christmas. It was that simple.  One doll.  How hard could that be?
  This year my 4 year old caught sight of the "Doc McStuffins Check up Center" as it was advertised on television.  I glanced at it, did what my dad did and said,"Umm."  It wasn't until a couple weeks later and only two weeks before Christmas that she mentioned it again with the same enthusiasm I had for that doll.  So I logged on and searched.  It was listed at Toys R Us.  I added it to my cart and a box popped up that said "item no longer available".  So I searched WalMart.  I found one at a local Walmart, added it to my cart and smiled to myself.  Less then 24 hours later I got an email saying the item was no longer available.  I panicked.  I started searching.  Google searching, eBay, Craigs list.  Nothing. I even searched stores in the towns near my father and in-laws; many, many zip codes away. Apparently it was one of the hot toys this year, like the Cabbage Patch doll in the 80's.  Each day I tried to find it.  And each day drew another round of Christmas panic.  I tried explaining to my 4 year old one afternoon that she might want to ask Santa for something else just in case.  And this is where the 8 year old came into the conversation telling me that Santa can do anything, he makes everything so why wouldn't everyone get what they want.  I did what any smart mother would do I delegated to my husband.
 "Your turn."  I said "You find the elusive Doc McStuffins Check up Center."  Well he did five days before Christmas on Craig's list.  It was more then I wanted to pay and to be honest the thought of my husband driving off to some stranger's house to get a toy, a few days before Christmas made my stomach flip into my throat.  So while he was driving I took one last look.  I found one at WalMart and called my husband.  We would have it by Christmas Eve.  My husband turned around and came home.  Disaster averted.
   Later that night, the same night my 8 year old was grilling me about Santa and all his mysteries, we were wandering through K Mart when he stopped in front of a toy and shouted," Mom!  This is what little miss wants from Santa! Do you think she'll get it?  Maybe we should get it just in case Santa doesn't."  Without looking at the toy I said,"Oh I am sure Santa got her what she wanted."  He moved in front of me with a box.  It was a small box and not what the 4 year old told me she wanted.
  I looked blankly at the toy in the box while my 8 year old smiled at me.  Are you kidding?  A small toy for less than 20 bucks in a store less than 15 miles from my house.  It was that easy?  I had spent countless hours searching, worrying,negotiating other toys into the bargain when it was really much more simple.  I had lost sight of everything I was trying to help my own children believe.  I had become so focused on finding one "perfect"gift I hadn't even been paying attention.  I had turned something simple into something complicated and loathsome.  I had lost trust in the magic of the season.  Luckily along with his gift for asking too many questions, my 8 year old has the ability to take in and remember anything said or done within a three mile radius of him.
  When we got home I asked little miss what she wanted from Santa and she confirmed she wanted the Octonauts Octopod.  My 8 year old smiled at me.  I bit the inside of my cheek and said with as much sweetness as I could muster, "And how about the check up center?  You know Doc McStuffins?"  My sweet child smiled back and said simply," Oh I want that for my birthday."
  Just as my daughter doesn't know what occurred before Christmas morning, I don't know how the Madame Alexander doll was purchased for me that wonderful Christmas.  I don't know if my father said no because it was too expensive and my mother wore him down or if he thought it was the perfect gift for me.  I don't know if he travelled back to G.Fox or if they found it somewhere closer. Or if they had to search because it was a tough gift to find.  It didn't matter for all I knew Santa had brought it and my parents had nothing to do with it.
  On Christmas morning as each gift was ripped from it's wrapping, squeals and shouts filled our living room.  My 4 year nearly passed out when she opened the small box with cheaper toy.  My 8 year old was right, it was exactly what she wanted.  Perhaps it had been Santa who sent us into that store two nights before Christmas.  He is magic after all.

  My daughter is four.  She is sweet and funny, what some might have called her years ago is precocious but I hardly ever hear that word any more.  She is shy around people she doesn't know but once she feels confident that facade slides away like a small pebble in a strong tide and you can hardly keep up with her conversation.

   When I was pregnant with her I was convinced she was a boy.  Everything about my pregnancy seemed the same as it had for her brothers.  My husband picked out a name for a boy and we hardly discussed any options for a girl, we were that sure it wouldn't be a girl.  I wasn't even confident I would know what to do with a girl.  Our house was full of trains and superheroes, boxer shorts and star wars t-shirts. Where would a girl fit in?

   When she was born and my doctor announced the arrival of a baby girl I burst into tears.  My poor husband thought I was disappointed but I guess even I didn't realize how deeply I had been hoping for a girl.  My husband dialed our phone and called my dad who had been staying with our boys.  When I heard his voice I started crying again and told him we had a girl. He responded, "I am so glad.  I was hoping you would have a girl."  Perhaps we were all hoping but we were all afraid to say it. 

   It didn't take me long to realize having a girl isn't very different from having a boy.  She had the same needs as an infant but was even more quiet and agreeable then either of her brothers.  She smiled quickly and easily and she never had colic.  When she was four months old our pediatrician had some concerns about her left hip and sent us off to the children's hospital just to get "checked out".  As it turned out she had hip dysplasia and they placed her in a Pavlik Harness that same day.  As we walked out of the hospital she cried and fussed which made me cry and fuss.  It was a rainy day in July and cold for a summer day.  The grey sky matched my mood. 

   As we reached the elevator another mom came up behind us.  Her daughter, perhaps eight years old was very disabled and in a wheelchair.  I looked at the mom and stopped crying.  This was a little bump and we would get through it.  And we did.  Our four month girl just took it in stride.  It didn't interrupt her sleeping, she slept on her back, legs hanging in mid-air thanks to the harness. 

   Four months later we had our final check up and the nurse practitioner pulled off the harness.  I put little shoes on her feet and smiled all the way home.  So did she.  She grabbed her toes in the car as though we had just added them to her body.  Her face full of wonder and excitement.

    As she has gotten older she has maintained that beautiful easy going attitude, now with a side of sassy-ness which I have come to admire.  I love the way she will hug me while I am washing the dishes.  Or whisper from the back seat of the car that she loves me.  But most of all I love her ability to wear a pink striped shirt with orange plaid pants and strut out our door with so much confidence it is dripping like syrup, thick and sweet.  If you are wondering if I let her go out in such an outfit the answer is yes.  I pick my battles.  I also don't want to put in her mind that she has to fit into a particular mold.  That she is like all the other little girls her age and she should wear pink with pink and orange with orange.  I am past trying to squeeze her into clothes the way I did with her oldest brother.  That poor child wasn't allowed out unless he resembled a GAP ad.

    My own mother would not have let me traipse about wearing mismatched clothes.  It would have looked too much like I was one of the orphans her own parents cared for when she was growing up. I matched.  And for years my sister and I matched.  We wore matching polyester short set in summer and matching flannel nightgowns, especially on Christmas morning, I still have the photos to prove it. Our hair was neat and combed.  We were pressed and ironed.  We wore stockings and skirts and patent leather shoes.  My mother might be amused by my daughter's flare for personal fashion , then again she might have wanted to buy out the local Gymboree. There are times when I am tempted to put a sign on my daughter's back that reads, "I chose my own outfit today, my mother had nothing to do with this."  It isn't worth the effort.  Mothers of little girls look at me with that secret knowing smile and I know they at least understand.

    Last weekend my precious little girl took craft scissors in hand and cut her own hair.  Her , may I say, beautiful wavy blond hair that had finally grown out from her last attempt to cut her own hair.   She appeared in the kitchen, small mirror in hand and large sad eyes on her face.  When I saw her I am sure my own face mirrored her feelings and she burst into tears.  She had given herself a mullet only Mel Gibson could have been proud of.  Once the shock wore off though she was fine.  I was having trouble breathing especially after finding the pile of hair on the floor.  I didn't have time to take her to my own salon and get it fixed until later in the week.  On Sunday she went to a birthday party when not a single friend seemed to notice her handy work, even though it was staring them in the face.  On Monday she walked proudly up to her preschool teacher and announced that she and mommy had cut her hair.  I did quickly explain the truth and searched for materials to make sign.

    By the time we reached the salon three days later she was perfectly comfortable with her hair and was perfectly angry with me for getting it cut more.  My stylist didn't have much to work with and she did the best she could but it wasn't what my daughter wanted.  If you asked her today a week later if she likes her hair cut she will tell you unequivocally "No!".  But then she will tell you "It will grow."  She's sassy and smart.  And I admire her for it.  I admire that she can walk around looking like a small child out of "Mad Max"  and wear clothes that don't match and carry that without an ounce of self-consciousness leaking into her being.

   A few weeks after she was born while I was sitting on the couch cradling her and sniffing up her new baby smell.  We had not planned on having a third child.  We had not planned on having a girl.  Before we found out I was pregnant again we had given away almost all of our baby stuff.  I guess sometimes you don't realize what you need in your life until it is there staring you in the face. My husband came and sat next to us and smiled down at his daughter, who has managed to wrap him up like a present in her own way over the years, and said, "She is your mother's last gift to you."

   He is right. Only my mother would dress her differently.

I Guess I am Part of the Problem

  Yesterday morning, thanks to a loud and annoying cat who will soon be up for adoption should anyone want him, I was up at 5:30.  By 7:00 AM I realized I was missing the avocados for my appetizer I told my sister in law I would bring.  Not that the day would crumble around us without my fabulous dip but after two cups of tea and being awake that long it became like that itch you cannot scratch.  So I threw on my coat , grabbed my shopping bags and told the two of three children awake I would be back soon and left with the warning to not wake up their father. 
   Once at the grocery store it was so quiet and peaceful, there were about three of us there at that hour.  I decided to not just get my one item and hoof it home, why not shop for the coming week?  I was alone, I had a list in my pocketbook I had intended for another day over the weekend and even had some coupons!  It was like hitting the lottery.  So I ambled through the store, enjoyed taking the time to look at items, figure out it the coupon was beneficial or not.  Going slowly enough that I was not doubling back in the store several times because there was no one to distract my attention from he task at hand, not even someone else's kid!
   It wasn't until I got the register and saw the very unhappy faces of the both the young woman at the register and the young man bagging my stuff that I realized I was what I claimed not to be.  I was a Thanksgiving day shopper.  I tried to smile and pretend I had no idea it was Thanksgiving.  I tried to pretend it wasn't 7:30 in the morning.  I tried to pretend I was the anti- Thanksgiving day shopper I have claimed to be.  I shrunk down into myself and pulled the collar of my coat higher, wishing for a pair of sunglasses, trying to hide like a celebrity.  I wished them both a happy Thanksgiving because I thought it was the least I could do and it was met with grumbles.  I can't say that I blame them.
   When I got home I confessed to my husband and stated," For the record , even if I am missing something next year I am not shopping on Thanksgiving Day!"  His answer," How many holidays have you worked over the years?"
   He is right.  I won't count the number of Thanksgiving dinners I missed or left early.  The New Years' Eves I missed or Christmas Eves and Days I was working but although I never enjoyed leaving my family on those days, at least when I got to work I understood that the people I was serving had to be in the hospital, it wasn't their choice to be away from their families.  They weren't out shopping for the best deal, shoving and pushing their way to the latest electronic gadget they just had to have.  They were there because the most important part of their life; their health was ailing and they needed me and my colleagues to help them get better.
   Holidays in hospitals and nursing homes have a festive atmosphere, as festive as it can get I suppose.  Families of the loved ones they are visiting almost always bring treats for the staff.  The staff bring treats for the staff.  One place I worked we had a whole dinner set up, each of us bringing in something to share.  It was always hard to leave my family but it always felt good when a patient was happy to see me.  I had many apologize to me because I had to work. I never grumbled because I never felt that angry about it.
   There is a difference.  I heard someone say it was good for our economy to have stores open on Thanksgiving, that all those people working would get over time and they probably needed it or they would turn around and spend it therefore helping our economy more.  I think it is sad that our lives have dwindled down to the greater good of the economy and not the greater good of our society.  Perhaps that woman at Wal-Mart cashing you out already works 60 hours a week and now instead of that one day she can sit with her family she is working yet again.  Over time in your bank account isn't nearly as long lasting as over time with your family.
   So next year I will not even head out to the grocery store on Thanksgiving morning.  I will not be part of a growing trend on our society that feels buying gifts and spending money is the only way to be happy or make others happy.  I will stay home and even if we're missing the turkey we'll make the best of it and be thankful for the blessing of what we have and not rush out to get what we don't have.  In the end the people who love us is the greatest gift all year round.

                                          It's a Dog's Life

One bright Saturday morning in may thirteen years ago my husband to be awoke early and cheerfully said "let's go see some puppies." And even though we have known each other since the 6th grade I had yet to learn that "let's go see" translates to "let's purchase, buy, bring home" as I did learn several years later when he went to "see" about a boat and that boat wound up in my driveway..but that is a story for another morning.



That sunny morning we drove to Massachusetts. I knew he was interested in getting a dog. I wasn't against the idea. I love animals and had wanted a dog when i was growing up. I was excited. But I will also say we were 6 months away from our wedding day. In retrospect a puppy was not something we needed at the time. We arrived at the breeders home and my husband sat down on her kitchen floor and a puppy, all clumsy and wobbly fell into his lap. My husband looked like a five year old. His grin spread wide like the Grinch when his heart heart grew five sizes that day. A half hour later we were driving home and an hour later little Phoebe threw up all over me and our relatiosnhip was over before it even had begun.

Phoebe, it turned out was a lot of work. Which puppies are if you are not familair with puppy training. It is almost equivalent to having an infant in your hosue, which I can say because I have now had both. Phoebe was up at 5 am ready to play and run. We would take her for very long walks and still her energy was not drained. Mine in contrast was. She needed to be walked twice a day and trained and trained and trained some more. It wasn't what I thought it would be. I was a busy woman. I had flowers to order, bridesmaids to corale and a full time job. I really couldn't understand why the dog had to stop and sniff every little blade of grass , the same blades of grass she had jsut sniffed less then ten hours earlier. I thought Phoebe would just go with the flow. She would follow commands and obey the rules because that is what dogs did. I had a very Lassi-esque idea of of what owning a dog would be like and Phoebe was not living up to the expectation. What made matters worse was Phoebe's ambivilance towards me. She was always delighted to see Greg. She would come when he called. She would sit and stay when he commanded. I could call her until the sun set, until the moon was high and she would just look at me , as though I wasn't saying anything she could understand. My husband said it was because my voice wasn't low enough. But I knew the truth, she didn't like me enough to be bothered.

From the beginning Phoebe and I had a casual relationship. It was obvious to her because she was a smart puppy that I wasn't going anywhere and she would have to share my husband. So when he wasn't around she would reluctanctly respond to me and I in return would bride her with treats off my plate and lots of cheese. She loves cheese. a year after we were married we moved to our first home in Nw Britain and Phoebe became a wonderful protector. She had and still has a fierce bark and yellow eyes that can look menacing if you don't know her. She managed to scare away people who wanted to sell us things we didn't need and people who wanted to help us get saved. She barked at the mailman until he threw her a bisquit and she barked when someone came past the house.

Our life moved along and with each new baby Phoebe adjusted. She never growled or snapped. She was walked less and given fewer treats but still she barked fiercely at strangers and stayed close. When we first moved to Portland another dog wandered into out yard as I was outside playing with the boys who were 1 and 4 at the time. Before I knew what had happened Phoebe had this intruder pinned to the ground. We were her pack and she would give all for us. And yet I still felt like she wasn't living up to my expectations of how a dog should be. She was happy being in another room. She only wagged her tail for my husband and rarely showed affection towards the kids. It felt disappointing. I felt let down.

And it took a simple conversation with my husband to bring it all to light. This spring my husband and I did what we have done for the past several years. We flip our garden soil, we pick out plants. We buy annuals and vegetables. We plant and in the beginning I help to water and weed. I like to dig. I enjoy making holes in the ground and placing plants in. I enjoy picking out colorful flowers and arranging them in pots. But as time goes on I forget to water and I forget to weed. I once joked to a friend , who is like my husband, an avid gardener; that I love perrenials because they just show up year after year. How hard can gardening be? Gardening is not easy. There is a science to knowing what plants need, how much sun, water, shade. The truth is I do not enjoy watering, or weeding. I enjoy the look of the garden but not the work that goes into it. My husband came in the house a couple weeks ago with a few tomatoes. I said "wow look at those! Tomatoes already?" " He nodded and looked just slightly aggravated. He said "yes already and you would know that if you helped to weed once in awhile." I nodded back but then I realized he was asking me to be something I am not. I am not a gardner. I have tried. But a true gardener loves the whole process. A true gardener enjoys picking the weeds, deadheading and keeping plants fed. This is not who I am.

I smiled and said" The truth is I don't like weeding. I would rather sit in your pretty garden and read a book while you do the weeding." He looked genuinely disappointed for a moment but his smile returned. It has taken several summers of frustration for my husband to realize he did not marry a fellow garden enthusiaist. I promised to stop digging holes and planting perenial beds that he would have to later weed. I also added " I do have other good qualities you know." " Yes ," he said' You do". Although at that moment he was probably working hard to conjure up a few.

We have the tendency, I believe to not always accept people for who they are. To somehow take the base model with the idea that we can add what we want as time goes on. That with a little extra work we can make someone fit into the mold we have created in our minds of who they should be. Sometimes we do this before we even know someone well and sometimes even after we have known someone for a length of time. We say things like " I love him but". "She is great excpet". There should be no "except" only acceptance. the truth is relationships only work when we accept people for who they are. We accept their strengths and weaknesses, love them for their talents and try to over loo where they may fall short. Whether someone is organized or constantly in disarray, affectionate or unable to display affection, a true gardener or one who just enjoys the beauty of the garden, each relationship we have feeds some part of our soul. Inspirational writer jonthan Lockwood Huie says "happiness lies in accepting everyone in our lives exactly as they are. We cause ourselves untold misery whenever we believe others to be imperfect and try to change them." We can focus on people's weaknesses, sometimes it is easier then finding their strengths but really don't we all know our own wekanesses? I could list some of mine for you but the list seems to grow each year. She talks too long when given a captive audience" so I will move on .
 
Phoebe grew old without us noticing and last Decemeber we rescued a puppy in the hopes of giving Phoebe a little boost. it worked for awhile and she still has some spark in her even though she is now 13 years old. Ellie , our very large Great Pyrenese/Lab mix is a loveable , clumsy mutt. She comes when I call. She follows me from room to room and her excitement in seeing our kids is beautiful until she knocks them down in her enthusiasm. I have spent more time with Ellie and done most of the training myself. I read books and watched many episodes of "the Dog Whisperer".My conversation revolved around postive reinforcement and calm, assertive energy. It finally dawned on me that Phoebe wasn't being a bad dog. That Phoebe loved my husband because he was the one who sat on the floor and welcomed her into his life. My husband was the one who walked her with patience and trained her with his kindness, while I jsut wanted an instant Lassie. I wanted the beauty of the garden without all the work.

Ellie is a lot of work. She gets into trouble. stuffed animals have lost eyes and dolls have lost arms and legs. I have quickly tossed these chewed items into the trash, making me either an accomplice or an enabler. She is after all still a puppy. Which is hard to believe since she is about 100 pounds. Looks can be deceiving. I find myself reminding my husband how Phoebe was when she was a puppy and I know that even though I have joked for the past 13 years that Phoebe has only tolerated me, we have been intricately connected by those we love. And that even though she was not living up to my idea of what a dog should be she has always been true to herself. Phoebe is now a gentle old dog who still wags her tail for my husband and comes to me when I open the cheese drawer. but she is who she is.

And I realized as I watched Ellie, our new puppy dig up our back yard while Phoebe just watched that I had misjudged Phoebe all these years. I had held Phoebe to a standard that she has never been wired to live up to. Yes she is a dog but not all dogs are created equal. She has not been the affectionate, lassie-esque dog I thought she should be and so each day I set her up for failure in my eyes. Each time she didn't come when I called, each time she would run when I said "stay". She had failed. When in truth I had failed her. I did not understand that just she is not only a dog she is also her own person. She has a personality and she has likes and dislikes. Yes she and ellie are very different dogs. Ellie wants to sit in your lap and Phoebe is happy sitting in another room. Ellie will wag her tail fiercley for anyone and Phoebe only wags her tail for my husband. She has always loved him most and intead of admiring her for her good taste in men, I resented that she wasn't the dog I thought she should be.

　

　

Cesar MIlan, The dog whisperer says " you do not get the dog you want, you get the dog you need." I suppose this is true of people as well as dogs. People come into our lives because we need them. We need the gifts they have, we need the lessons they can teach. I needed Phoebe to teach me humility, to show me that we may all look similar and we have mechanics that make us move and think and feel in a similair way but within those mechanics are the intracies of emotion, gender, humanity. We cannot live without one another.

We thrive on the love , support and intimacy our relationships allow us. It is up to us to treat one another with kindness and respect. For love is patient and love is kind. When we welcome people into our lives we should do so in a way that does not set them up for failure but rather brings their strengths to the surface because we all benefit when our talents are encouraged,nutured and shared.



Our realtionships spread before us something akin to gardener's empty bed in spring. We will reap what we sow.
  

Phoebe and Ellie, enjoying a walk

Ellie and me

   I had the privilege this summer to deliver the message to our congregation while our minister was away.  The following post is the first one.  I thought I would share it with my readers.  Enjoy.


This summer we will explore our senses. Today I was asked to talk about taste. I thought it would be an easy thing to talk about but I found it a very broad subject. There are five tastes bitter , sour, sweet, salty and savory. I thought perhaps I would discuss bitter versus sweet. But that is really self explanatory isn;t it? We know what it is to have a sweet life and what it is to have bitterness. We see it , we read about it perhaps we have experienced a little a of both in our lives.



In reading and preparing for this morning I thought more about my experience with food, what tastes I have come to enjoy and what tastes I am pretty sure I will never enjoy.

My culinary experience as a child was not wide ranged. I enjoyed peanut butter and jelly, mashed potatoes, pickles. Things that were crunchy but not necessarily nutritious. When I was very young we had a well meaning neighbor who dropped a dinner off for us. My mother was in the hospital so this neighbor brought over a tuna casserole. My father warmed it in the oven and scooped a pile onto my plate. Oh no, whatever that was sitting on my plate was doing things to my stomach I just didn't understand. I didn't eat it. As a parent I can now understand the frustration I am sure my father felt, being in a hurry to get to the hospital to see his wife, having two daughters who were turning their noses at a meal he was thankful he didn't have to prepare; but I held firm. WHen he dropped us at another neighbor graciously helping out, she greeted us at the door with small bags of chips. "Karen cannot have that," my father said," She didn't eat her dinner." I am sure a knowing look passed between the adults but it didn't matter. It is nearly 40 years later and I stand by that decision. So I guess you can say I was not hungry enough to enjoy what I thought would most certainly be bitter to taste.

My taste stayed simple over the years. I didn't experiment much. I didn't like strawberries for their texture and I didn't like fruit that was soft and juicy. I didn't eat tomatoes and I didn't even know what asparagus was. It wasn't until after college that I tried to be more adventurous. While living in New Jersey I met a wonderful young nurse who was from the phillipines. SHe introduced me to sushi and I never looked back. I realized how much I could be missing by not at least trying something new. When I moved to Tuscon I was introduced to Tex-Mex and a wonderful herb called cilantro. And another world opened up. Black beans and re-fried beans. The sweet , the salty and the savory! While living in MAryland a friend invited me to dinner at his home. His father, who was also from the Philipines made a chicken and rice dinner that I can still taste if I concentrate. Filled with garlic and sesame and soy sauce and not Uncle Ben's rice but a jasmine infused delight. What fun eating had become!

But I had not ventured into cooking. It seemed rather complicated. I was able to boil water and make spaghetti. I could cook some chicken and steam brocoli but to try anything fancy was beyond my scope. I had cookbooks. Betty Crocker and The Joy of Cooking. But where do you find exotic ingredients to make a recipe work? How do you prepare meat so it is tender and not tough and chewy? Cooking, it seemed was a lot of work.

It was many years later when I was a new mom. Drake was an infant. It was a cold winter and I was not used to being home with nothing in particular to do. Drake was a calm and easy baby, my how things can change, but he was and if I enjoyed shopping we could have hit every mall between here and New York. But I don't . So we got cable instead. And I discovered Food Network! I am a visual learner. Things come so much easier if I can watch it happen then copy it. In school I would read about a medical procedure but until I could see it in action it didn't make much sense and so it was with cooking! Oh the excitement of watching someone bring the food together step by glorious step! It opened my culinary curiosity. I learned to chop, saute, mince and sear. I started to describe food as creamy, succulent. I told people I was letting the flavors "marry" when I described my food preparation. I bought a fancy knife and saute pan. I discovered what a lemon could add to a recipe. I learned how to "zest" and I made fresh lemonade. What is sour when you bite it becomes sweet with a little effort.

My husband was very happy that winter. His taste buds had always been more adventurous than mine but now he was coming home to cilantro pesto pasta with shrimp, soy seared scallops and home made hot fudge. Even meatloaf became an occasion with thyme and bacon added to the recipe. Most dinners were successful. But even when they weren't he ate them. I learned that silence meant I had hit the joy button in his stomach and a polite, " This is good." really meant "you don't need to make this again" . And that is okay because it was and remains a learning process.

It was around the same time my taste buds were trying to expand and reach out to new flavors, my spiritual side was calling out. I was working for a company that sent me from hospital to hospital to fill in where there was a staffing shortage. I enjoyed the experience and with each new town I found a new church to try out. I tried Lutheran, I tried Baptist, I tried some not so traditional. Some were engaging and welcoming and some not so much. In Georgia my good friend Paula invited me to church with her, a large congregational church that was welcoming and I enjoyed it. But in all these trips to church I never onced opened a Bible. I don't know why . I guess I didn't think it was necessary. Or perhaps it just seemed too large , too omninous. I had watched The Ten Commandments with my mother when I was young. I got the general jist. I tried reading the Bible once when I was in HS and I couldn't get past the Old Testmament and all the names and who was the son of whom so I gave up.

There was no Bible Channel to bring it all to life. The visual side of me just needed someone else to bring meaning to all the words.

I have Bibles. I have several. None of them are mine. I have my grandmother's confirmation Bible given to her on her confirmation day June 1914. I have my grandfather's Bibles. And a Bible given to my mother by her grandfather. But all of these are of sentimental value, they are worn and near falling apart. So the words sit unread. In 2001 I joined a congregational church and left the work to someone else. it's like eating out, you get the benefit of someone else's knowledge and experience and you walk away with a full belly. .

This past winter I attended a Bible study a friend was hosting. On the very first morning we sat in her comfortable living room surrounded by food she had prepared . Normally I would have been asking her about her food where she got the recipes how she prepared each item but it was her Bible that had me intrigued. It was huge! So much bigger than any of my sentimental Bibles and I thought this Bible study may take longer than I thought. When I asked her about her Bible she gave me a smile filled with joy, " it has an index" she said. " A what?" An index she explained so when she wanted a Bible verse she could look up a word and find a verse that might speak to her, bring meaning or understanding in a difficult time or express the joy in her life. She handed the Bible to me and I opened it. Nirvana! It had pictures! Photographs, maps, diagrams and an index. just like you would look up peppered flank steak in your cookbook you could look up "faith", which I don't necessarily recommend unless you have lots of time to burn. I had found my cook book Bible! I had found a version of food network for my soul! I ordered the same Bible. When it came my husband flipped through it. He stopped at Mathew 6:25, his favorite verse. "Therefore I tell you do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothes?" Simple , to the point and how my husband lives. Being a man who prefers a recipe with less than five ingredients, one Bible verse pretty much sums it up.

Now it didn't seem so daunting. Finding a scripture was at my fingertips. "Gracious words are a honey comb sweet to the soul and healing to the bones." It is like having hot fudge at your finger tips, okay almost like having hot fudge.

We need to feed our souls just as we feed our bodies. We have to balance the sweet and the sour in life. Life is not full of all or one. There is a CHinese proverb that says " Sour, sweet, bitter, pungent must all be tasted." And it is true. We cannot appreciate the sweetness if there is not some sour or bitter along the way.

On my husband's 40th birthday I arranged a small dinner party. I prepared tyler Florence's horseradish crusted prime rib and Rachel Ray's "you won't be single for long Vodka cream sauce", which I can tell you from personal experience is true to its title. One of our friend's who was coming for dinner asked me a week or so before when I told her what I was preparing inhaled sharply and said " aren't you nervous it won't come out right?" " I simply said no. it was hard to explain the faith I had in Tyler Florence and Rachel ray and in Pizzeria Davinci should it all go wrong. (when in doubt , order out) And so it is in the journey we take with God.

Faith is not a sprint, it's more like a marathon. Just as you wouldn't crank the oven to 500 degrees in the hopes of roasting the chicken quicker. You don't just wake up full of faith. Faith comes in bits and pieces, it comes from following the words given to us. The Bible is our cookbook for life. It gives us the words we need to be successful, to be joyful. There are more than a hundred versus with the word joy in them. I didn't know this until I had an index.

And so we don't bite the lemon just because there is a promise of lemonade. We take the time to slice, juice, zest and add sugar. We follow the recipe with patience and the reward is sweet. Julia Child said " you don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces-just good food from fresh ingredients." And that is how we can live our lives. The Bible is filled with recipes to see you through the complicated and the trying. To find a joyful life you just need to take the time, follow the instructions and the rewards will be there for you to taste.

Amen