Mountain Rose Herbs

I was thrilled last week when my Mountain Rose Herb order arrived.  Opening the box is always delightful, with the smell of fresh herbs and spices and teas bursting into the air, the colors rich and vivid.  I pretended for a brief moment I was at a Turkish bazaar taking in the sights and smells ;-)  

(I also ordered black peppercorns and a yummy selection of teas including my fave, Firefly Chai.  Mmm...  Please Fall, come quickly!  You're the perfect compliment to my beloved tea.)

If you aren't familiar with the company they're based out of Eugene, OR and offer the best selection, quality and prices I've come across.  Concerning all things herbs and spices, they have just about everything imaginable.  The vast majority or their products are fair trade and certified organic, and they also offer teas, essential oils, body products, etc.  Seriously, their selection is insane.  

I particularly love their spice blends.  You can order a few ounces at a time by the bottle, but once you know what you like bulk always gives you more for your money.  Just can't beat it.  A 1 pound bag of organic curry powder for example, cost me $11.50.  It's delish, will last me forever, and no way I could have even come close to beating that price in store, not for a full pound.  

So do check them out!  www.mountainroseherbs.com  I'm certain you'll love them.  

Tonight for dinner?  I'm thinking coconut curry chicken with brown rice and tons of veggies... Mmm, yes please!

I have a few other money saving sources I'll be sharing with you soon, too.  Any favorite websites or tips you'd like to share in the meantime??  You know I love a bargain!

A Season of Music

I landed a new treasure.  A rich, sophisticated, lovely treasure, laden with history and meaning.  

It immediately tops my list of my favorite finds to date, for a whole host of reasons I'll get to in just a minute... but before I do let me explain how this particular treasure hunt came about.

Last fall I made the life-altering decision to resign from the ministry I worked for, quit my part-time job, and enter into a 'Season of Artistry' as I so fondly refer to it.  The decision came on the heels of several months of wrestling with God, tear filled conversations with my husband, confessions of fear, and finally, the realization that none of my constant unrest was going away until I jumped headlong off the edge of reason and security. In other words, until I stepped out in faith.  

It meant a lot of sacrifice and surrender and dying to myself.  It meant slaying my ego on a daily basis.  And in the immediate it meant giving up a paycheck, a title, a specific sense of purpose, a great deal of influence, and a handful of relationships I'd come to cherish.  

It was terrifying.

In the months to follow it also meant the surrender of a whole host of other things I never could have fathomed, and in all honesty, had I realized the breadth of what God was requiring of me, the scales may never have tipped that day towards courage.  But by grace, with hope, they did.  And I did.  And things have not looked the same since.  My life, has not looked the same since.  

Season of Artistry.  I'm in it, fully in it these days.  And it's beautiful.  It's lonely, very lonely in fact.  It's cost me more than I even care to really consider.  It's gut-wrenchingly difficult some days.  But it's beautiful.  And it's right where I'm supposed to be, of this I'm certain.  

Last year, as summer changed to fall and my days from answering phone calls and emails to long walks and lots of introspection, I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing.  All I knew for sure was that I needed to create.  I needed to write... poems, chapters, book proposals.  I designed and launched this blog.  I started rearranging rooms and painting furniture pieces.  I cooked, a lot.  I traveled a ton.  I snapped endless photos.  I planted a wee garden.  

No matter what, I made it a point to create something every day.  

I'm still doing it.  Every day, creating something.  I'm figuring out what's next.  I'm forcing myself to do the difficult things, the things I don't want to do, the scary things.  And my oh my how life has changed as a result...  My marriage.  My home.  My relationships.  My finances.  My faith in God.  Everything.  All for the better.

I couldn't have taken that flying leap of faith without my husband.  And quite frankly, had I not tiptoed my way to edge shaking and terrified... he eventually would have shoved me off the edge.  You think I'm kidding. I'm not.  He believes in me more than anyone and trusts God implicitly when it comes to what He's called me to.  He would have shoved me. Thankfully I mustered up the courage to do it myself, which is a very good thing it turns out because it creates all kinds of confidence.  But let the record show that Joshua Smith would have thrown his wife off the cliff before jumping gleefully behind her had she not done it herself.

But back to my lovely new treasure...

Somewhere in the midst of this journey God rekindled a desire in my heart for music, specifically piano music. I took piano as a kid and loved it, but I wasn't mature enough to really appreciate or commit fully, so I quit after a year or two.  A few months ago I began toying with the idea of taking lessons again, reasoning doing so would be a beautiful addition to my 'season of artistry'.  I told Josh, who was all for it, but still it remained only a thought for the most part.  

Then came my miracle.  And everything changed.

Everything in our life suddenly shifted into view, as if all along we'd been unknowingly, ever-so-slightly out of alignment, as if a subtle, comfortable haze had lifted, our world now seen in HD clarity.

On his was to work one day, Josh texted me to say the God had clearly spoken to his heart.  We were entering a new season, one filled with worship and music.  "I want you to find us both a place to take lessons," he told me.  Tears of joy literally filled my eyes.

A trip to the music store left me feeling a little overwhelmed and slightly disappointed.  I didn't want to learn on a cheap keyboard.  That was not what I'd had in my heart.  I wanted a piano.  A real, authentic, gorgeous sounding piano.  Craigslist left me empty handed, too.  As a last resort I mentioned it to my mom.  I should've known asking my parents to track down anything is almost infallible.  They taught me everything I know regarding treasure-hunting, after all!  It literally only took a couple days.  She called back to inform me she'd worked a deal with my Dad to get Josh a guitar (technically it's MY guitar anyway, but that's another story ;-) and she'd also spoken with my great aunt and landed me an antique piano!  I was thrilled... almost couldn't believe it.  

A few days later, they both sat proudly displayed in our dining room.  My Aunt Lou (whose middle name is Joy, whom my mom was named after, Shanna Joy, and thus me) is moving fairly soon and was finally ready to part with the very piano she'd learned on some 40 years ago.  My great Grandaddy George had given it to her after it was abandoned by it's owner at an apartment complex in lieu of rent money.  It was built in 1955 and weighs something like 400 pounds.  And it's gorgeous.  

I'm in LOVE with it.  With it's beauty, the family history, the meaning, the way it found it's way to me... It almost brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.  

As we were loading up to leave my sweet Aunt Lou-Lou looked sincerely at me and said, "Part of my heart is driving away with that piano."  I assured her I'd take the best possible care of it, no question.  And that I'd love it just as she did, for years and years to come.  Her husband Richard also mentioned that they'd fallen in love sitting at that piano playing music together; she the piano, he the guitar.  I promised to continue that tradition, as well.

Treasure of treasures, she is.  I can't play too much yet, just what I remember from learning as a child, but I still sit for long moments and stroke her lovely keys anyway.  And every single time Josh walks thru the dining room he taps a key or two... just because.  I giggle now, almost expecting it.  

It's just so beautiful, all of it.  I feel almost charged to take care of her, to play her, to make beautiful music for the rest of my life, both literally and metaphorically.  So much meaning, this treasure.  I feel absolutely inspired.

What kind of season do you find yourself in these days??

A True Southern Supper

Since my last post was about favorite dishes, I couldn't resist sharing this terribly simple meal with you.

Okra.  Summer squash.  Baseball bat sized zucchini from my Dad's garden.  

Loads of coconut oil.  Corn meal.  Salt and pepper.

A little organic ranch for dipping.  A couple friends to share it with.

Whatcha got??  

Golden-y dinner perfection.  (or 'supper' as my Dad would vehemently argue)

Dig in!

(Yes, this is an entire cookie sheet piled with fried deliciousness.  No, we didn't use utensils.  And yes, we were very pleased with ourselves.) ;-)

What's your favorite simple summer supper??

Favorite Dishes

Thanks to long slow days and a general refusal to face the triple digit temps outside our front door, we are eating well this summer.  We literally sit in bed and night and thumb thru cookbooks, ohhing and ahhing at photos and ingredient lists.  Then we make our own list to meticulously tick thru at the the store, picking out the best possible organic fruits and veggies, spices and oils, grass-fed meats and free range eggs (if I don't have any from my mom-which are arguably the best on the planet.  No kidding.)  And then we feast!

Here are a few of my favorite meals and dishes from recent days:

Zucchini Carbonara.  Oh my.  So rich and creamy.  

Good quality parmesan reggiano.  Crispy pancetta.  Rich egg yolks.  Fresh zucchinni.  Gluten-free brown rice pasta.  

Divine.  I never wanted it to end. *sigh*

Late mornings look something more like this:

Golden, buttery, gluten-free pancakes.  Crispy hash, pan-friend in coconut oil.  Steaming hot tea.

Or maybe this:

Perfectly ripe organic avocado sprinkled with sea salt and cracked black pepper.  Millet bread piled high with deep yellow eggs, raw cheese, and sweet italian chicken sausages.  Oh man.

Or sometimes this:

A sweet concoction of freshly whipped organic cream, dark chocolate chips, juicy red strawberries... all atop more pancakes.  (Pancakes are a favorite on Sunday mornings before church.)  Ice cold milk to wash it down of course, and the best cappuccino this side of the Mediterranean.  I'm not kidding, my husband can seriously rock the perfect cappuccino.

We have lovely, sacred mornings together ;-)

And speaking of sweet, we also learned to make this recently, inspired by an organic strawberry sale at Whole Foods:

Perfect, quintessential strawberry jam.  SO super duper easy.  Who knew?!

But how to eat it?  Ah!  Of course...

Free-range egg whites whipped into submission and baked to perfection.  Crumble it on top of sweet and creamy vanilla bean rice pudding swirled with strawberry jam.  Um, YUM.  And seriously, that meringue is so delish we wanted to eat it like candy, all by itself.  Even before you bake it, hello marshmallow cream!  That's almost exactly what it tastes like.  SO.  Yummy.

We also fell in love with a few new odds and ends, like this:

The perfect cole slaw, especially with roasted sunflower or pumpkin seeds sprinkled on top.  It's a meal all by itself.  I could eat it by the truckload.  In fact I picked up all the makings at Whole Foods just last night to make it again, though this time I'm doubling the recipe.  (I'm concerned I might be addicted.  I have nightmares that Whole Foods runs out of apples and cabbages and I'm forced to live without it.  This could potentially snowball into a serious problem.)

We also made a HUGE batch of salsa, freezing several quarts to get us by for a bit.  We seem to eat it with everything.  And Josh has been smoking the most tender, juicy whole chickens we enjoy for days in fried rice, sandwiches, salads, etc.  I've been utilizing my crock pot like crazy too, making chicken stock (from the yummy free-range bones) to freeze for soups and stews come fall, as well as huge pots of beans and lentils to chow on throughout the week.  I adore my crock pot in the summer.  It helps avoid using the oven and thus heating up the house.  

I was so proud of all our freezing and big batches and putting away for later months, and then we went to my parents house this weekend and I peeked inside my mom's pantry:

I mean, really??  This is not to mention the buckets and buckets of produce from the garden stacked by the back door OR her already packed full deep freeze.  Geez.  

I've still a lot to learn regarding all things wisdom and frugality when it comes to food.  Good thing my Moma's the queen and willing to teach me!  Let's be honest, she's even more willing to teach than I am to learn.  I do everything slow, ya know. 

Why is any of this important though?  All this food and feasting?  Quite honestly, it's the symbolic essence of the season Josh and I are in.  Cooking together.  Examining ingredients.  Nourishing our bodies.  Lingering over the hard work of our hands.  Feasting.  It's so important, the act of nourishing.  And for us, it's becoming more and more sacred.  

The secret is, for anything we intentionally do in the natural, there's a direct parallel in the supernatural.  But more on that later!

For now, just in case you want to try a few of these delectable recipes, just click on the links below!

Jamie Oliver's Zucchini Carbonara

Jamie Oliver's Rice Pudding with Strawberry Jam and meringue directions here

Jamie Oliver's Favorite Coleslaw

Clearly we have an adoration for all things Jamie Oliver ;-)

Have you cooked any wonderful dishes lately?  Care to share? 

Healing Waters: Our trip to the Brazos

After all the recent transformation in our life, beautiful though exhausting, we so welcomed a long weekend.  We desperately needed a little escape from the noise and distraction of the city, just a few hours to get away and breathe.  

Several years ago we discovered this quiet little strip of the Brazos River around an hours drive from Dallas, stretching from Lake Whitney about 8 1/2 miles thru farmland and forest, nothing to see or hear but nature in all its splendid glory.  (and perhaps an occasional air boat or kayaker, maybe a fisherman or two)  It takes several hours depending on the current and for whatever reason has become quite a healing escape for us.  Whenever we need to think or pray, or even just get away from everything to play and be together, it's proven the perfect spot.  

We were determined to get there this weekend despite the heat and low water levels, so we packed extra sunscreen and an ice chest full of ice cold kombucha, apples, and buttery chicken sandwiches to strap to the back of the kayak.  Arriving it appeared we were the only people headed out, which delighted us to no end, of course.

You can tell just by looking at the photos how quiet it is...

Tranquil.  The hum of locusts and splashing catfish the only sounds for miles and miles.

Clear, shallow water.  Swallows nesting.  Rocky outcrops.  Iridescent dragonflies.  

The swallow nests are everywhere.  They chirp and dart in and out of their little mud nests constantly, a symphonic, God derived community.

We always stop for lunch a couple hours in.  The shallow waters under the shade of this rocky outcrop made the perfect resting place.  

I could sit and examine the underwater rocks and vegetation for hours and hours.  I'm serious.  I grew up fossil and artifact hunting with my Dad.  He'd take me down to the river a mile or so from our house and we'd silently wander up and down the gravel dunes in the riverbed until daylight faded to night, forcing us home.  Indian arrowheads, shark teeth, pottery remnants, sometimes even human bones from the ancient Indian burial grounds eroding into the river.  It was one of my absolute favorite things, spending time with him doing something he so loved, but also the thrill of the hunt, the possibility of uncovering untold treasures.  At just 5 or 6 years old, it's where my love of treasure-hunting very first began.

And of course I couldn't resist wading thru the water to climb onto the rocky ledges!  Country girls have to climb, you know.  When I was tiny my Moma called me 'monkey'.  I'm sure you can guess why ;-)

Several miles still to go, we finally climbed back into the kayak and headed downstream.

With the heat of the day creeping up, our skin and muscles beginning to burn, we decided it best to cool off...

Into the water Josh goes, all refreshed and smiley.  Into the water I go, for about 2.5 seconds until he lifts himself onto the kayak and freezes, "There's something down there."  "What?!?"  Panic washes over me as I begin to thrash and scream and scale the kayak like a tree, clinging to it passionately for dear life!  I'm hoisted up, totally awkward, eyes big as saucers.  He starts to laugh, louder and louder barely able to speak,"It's just a log or something!  Good Lord!  What did you think I meant?!"  I stare at him entirely serious, "Josh.  The find alligators in these rivers all the time."  He laughs harder, "Oh please!  You're ridiculous!"  

This of course leads to a half hours worth of explanation and documented proof that stupid people do in fact buy baby alligators all the time, until the stupid people realize that of course it's stupid to have an alligator living with you, so said stupid people then do the absurd and release their now teenage alligators into nearby lakes and rivers where they in fact grow into monster alligators who eat innocent peoples legs off when their kayaking.  I see it on the news.  All the time.

He rolled his eyes a lot.  And continued to swim.  I, however, did not re-enter the water.

All in all it took us about 6 hours start to finish, including the many stops along the way to eat and play and snap endless photos.  Of course there was lots of laughter and processing all of what we've been thru the last few months, too.  And one incident where I burst into tears and he stopped the kayak, climbed in front of me, stared me down with truth, and prayed.  Right there, in the middle of the river, he didn't give darkness a moment to creep in.  He took authority and sent it packing, then climbed back in and continued to speak the truth out loud, over and over and over just so I could hear it.

And when our stop came into view and we paddled up to shore, I inhaled deeply, thinking how much better I felt, looking back down the river and acknowledging how healing it was.  Water.  Healing water.  There's just something about it...

"I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean;  I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols." Ezekiel 36: 25

And better still...

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." John 4:13

Miracle

Shaken awake.  3 am.  Nightmare.  Horrible nightmare.  A warning.  No, please no.  I lie awake.  I pray against it, hope against it.  What could it mean?  A warning... no doubt, it's a warning.  Unsettled, so many questions, but also a strange, inexplicable sense of peace.

He saw me.

In the fetal position.  In my bathroom floor.  Sobbing, wracked, devastated.  Tiles wet from my tears. Whispering aloud over and over, "There's no way to fix it... no way to fix it..."

He saw me.

Walking a cobblestone street.  With her, my truest confidant.  I couldn't speak.  I tried.  Again and again I tried, but with every breath my throat constricted and tears filled my eyes.  I couldn't get a word out.  I kept apologizing.  Saying if I could just process I know I'd feel better.  But I couldn't speak.  The pain, deep and overwhelming.  I couldn't speak.  

He saw me.

Angry.  So angry.  I look to the heavens.  I shake my fist, trembling, my heart bitter and cold.  You've left me, I accuse. You promised You'd never, but you have.  You aren't here.  I don't know where You are, but You certainly aren't with me.  How could You?  How dare You?  Bitter tears run down my cheeks, drip from my chin...

He saw me.

Sitting in the dark corner of a foreign airport.  2 am.  Entirely alone.  Entirely.  Two cops, smirking, Italian speaking.  Standing over me in the dark, interrogating, berating, accusing.  Terrified.  I couldn't understand what they were saying.  They demanded I not move.  They began locking all the doors.  All the doors.  They locked me in.  With them.  Alone.  Sheer horror.

He saw me.

Sitting in her living room.  Humiliated.  Devastated.  Broken.  She spoke sharply, "Do you want to fight? Do you? Will you fight for this?"  Through tears and anger, barely able to breathe, hopelessly sincere, "Yes."

He saw me.

Dark curtains drawn, crawling into bed.  Over and over.  Just sleep.  Don't wake up.  Please.  Just sleep.  My husband next to me, praying.  Weeping.  Hoping.

He saw me.

"Joy comes in the morning," she said, "Joy comes.  In the morning."  I didn't believe her.  I hang up the phone.  If only it were that simple...

He saw me.

Over the course of many months, many warnings, He was preparing my heart.  He didn't give me warning that I might avoid the pain.  He gave me warning that I might look back and see Him, everywhere, all along the way preparing my heart, telling me this was coming.  Not to fear, not to run, but trust.  It will.  Be okay.  I see you.  I'm with you.  The enemy will strike.  But I'm with you.  I'm very near.  

And He was.  

He is.

Just as He'd shown me, just as He'd warned me for weeks and weeks, tragedy came.  Instantly I knew. The dreams, the words of warning and encouragement from prophetic voices in my life, the whispers along the way... in an instant they swirled about me, almost dizzying me with realization.  I knew, although admittedly, the knowing didn't lessen the blow.  It left me broken.  

I was confident I'd never recover.  Sure this would be the death of me, of my soul.  

Day 1: shock, devastation, terror, sleeplessness, anger, frustration, mourning.  

Day 2: fear, resentment, hatred, emptiness, hopelessness, humiliation, horror.

But then, but then... but then Day 3.  Oh, Day 3...

Morning.  I awoke.  My eyes fluttered open.  Patches of sunlight danced on the hardwood floor across my bedroom.  I breathed deeply.  I waited.  Slowly I felt for the sadness, the brokenness... but I couldn't get my fingers around it.  I felt harder, reached farther... nothing.  I sat up.  I looked around the room, staring at the dancing sunlight here and there, filtering thru the trees.  Quietly but surely something else began to rise from the depths of me, the deepest part of me.  I felt it acutely, rising higher, more intensely, almost to overflow... Is it... could it possibly... it can't be but... it is!  Joy!  It's joy! As if pulsing thru my very veins, it filled me.  Joy! It made no sense.  I paused, waited, wracked my brain, dug around in my heart for the overwhelming sadness that had become my constant companion... nothing.  No where.  Not even its scent remained!  How is this possible?!  I fall back on my pillow, close my eyes breathing deeply, letting it wash over me in wave after miraculous wave.

Lord, how is this possible?  How could this be real?  For the first time in days I hear Him, clearly, knowingly.  

"I let you weep, but I won't let it continue.  I saw your tears.  I counted them.  I wept with you.  This is your miracle.  Receive it in full.  My promises are real, joy comes in the morning.  No more weeping.  I have fully restored your heart.  Oh how I delight in you..."

Suddenly I know too, innately, unquestionably, He's never left my side.  Silent, yes.  But absent, never. I see it.  Crystal clear.

"...I didn't want this, but I will use it.  It was necessary.  Brokenness is always necessary to receive abundant Life.  You think you've known My fullness, My abundance, but oh you have no notion.  Now, here, and everyday forward you will know and experience true fullness of life.  Do you see it now?  Do you understand why I couldn't intervene?  And yet how I absolutely intervened?  Do you see my purpose?  My grace?  My limitless love for you?  Do you see that what the enemy intended for destruction I am using to reconstruct with an even surer foundation?  Fear no more.  Weep no more.  For I am.  I am."

My heart broke.  Sheer gratitude.  A miracle.  It was a miracle.  A real life, instantaneous, unexplainable miracle.  There were no adequate words to express my thanks, or my sorrow in realizing the false and violent charge laid against Him, my refusal to trust the eternally Trustworthy.  Surely, truly, He makes all things new. Surely, truly, He is forever for me.

Even now it doesn't make sense, the literal overnight restoration of my shattered heart made new.  I don't and can't comprehend it, still.  But reading thru the gospels I see account after account of the miraculous. When Jesus touched a life, they were never the same.  Their healing was immediate.  They didn't read a dozen books or go through 6 months of counseling or a 12-step program. They were changed, healed, delivered on the spot, wholly and completely.  

This day and forever, I will count myself among them.  This day and forever, I will not be the same.  It has irrevocably changed me in every way imaginable.  He is the Restorer, the Redeemer.  When we wrestle with the Holy God of the universe, we don't walk away without a limp.  I get it.  I understand.  

When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it." Genesis 28: 16

As to what this all means moving forward, well, quite frankly it means that everything is changing. Once you've seen the glory of God you can't go back.  I've seen His glory.  I'll never be the same.  No conversation, no relationship, no task, no prayer, not a single meal or walk or errand.  

Glory to God.  God alone.  Everything.  Is changing.