Reflecting in the Silence

Recently I read two news articles. One was about being busy and the other was about a few moments of silence used to reflect. The busy article spoke on how we equate busy with important. People say they are busy and that makes them feel that their lives are filled and valued. I decided not to call myself busy years ago. I am not important and so I omitted describing myself as busy even at Christmas when our wood-working laser business fulfills hundreds of orders for last minute shoppers.

The other news piece I read had to do with the need for silence. Governor Ron DeSantis asked that in his state of Florida school children be given a few moments of silence at the start of the school day. He feels that kids need some time to reflect in quiet. There are no guidelines for what those moments are to be used for, no mandates of prayer or meditation. (If there had been a time of silence at the beginning of the school day when I was a child, I would have probably used the time to pray for math class to be canceled. Forever.)

Like the Governor I have felt my need for quiet. Away from laptops, cell phones, the TV, and even conversations. Just the solitude for the sake of seeing what it will unveil for me.

These days the cemetery is where I go to experience that much-needed break from the world. I load up the Jeep with pens and notebooks. Sometimes I stop at the gas station along the way and pick up a cup of coffee.

The cemetery, snuggled between Durham and Orange Counties, isn't far from my house. Once I was instantly greeted by a gaggle of Canadian Geese. They walked aimlessly in circles, some cackled by the grave markers, some drifted away from the group. I followed the wayward noisey ones, and took a photo. When I turned my back to head to my Jeep for my notebook and pen, I heard a loud cry. Those discombobulated geese had taken off into the air in a formed V-line. One second they had appeared helpless and confused and then in the next, they lifted wings and soared. They had a purpose. I watched them sail into the autumn sky---making their geese sounds as they flew---until they were out of sight.

After they left, the cemetery was still again. I sat by my son Daniel's grave and stretched my legs. In the silence I thought of how over the years I'd been wandering, uneasy, perhaps making sounds like cackling after Daniel died. But through moments of silence and a desire propelled by his memory, I came to find what I wanted, and what I needed, and that was purpose.

In the early days of monumental grief, I reverted to what I had done as a child----I wrote. I penned poems and articles and how-to grow through grief and loss pieces. I came up with my own psalms of woe. On scraps of paper I wrote book ideas. Some of my work was published. Most of it was too emotional and flawed and didn't need to see the light of day. In the moments of reflection (some silent, many with tears), my spirit called out to God. My wrestling propelled me toward healing.

And none of it could have been done without participating in those bouts of silent contemplation. What is most important to me, especially as I get older, is not filling my days with activities and events, but in making the time for the simplicity of quiet. I need my treks to the cemetery. From these silent experiences, my spirit gains strength and I can hear life calling me to joy.

Cooking With Author Linda Rondeau

Today I welcome author Linda Rondeau to the Patchwork Quilt Blog. Hello, Linda! She has a recipe for us and a book to read. Let's start with the recipe.

MAC SOUP

Linda says: Since childhood, this has been my son’s favorite meal. Though he is now 48, he still asks me to make this for him whenever he visits us or we visit him. I’ve given his wife the recipe, but he still likes me to make it for him. Maybe the aromas send him back to those cold winter days when Mac Soup was a must. No matter how old I get, I’m happy to do these little things for my now mature children. There may come a day, when I won’t remember how or am too feeble to make MAC SOUP. So during these twilight years, I will never refuse for as long as I’m able.

INGREDIENTS

1 lb. ground beef

1 small box elbow macaroni

6-8 cubes beef bouillon (according to taste … may use reduced sodium if needed)

1 large can tomato juice or V8 juice

Suggested seasonings: onion salt or minced onions, seasoned salt, black pepper, red pepper, tabasco sauce (go easy), should have a little “kick” when you take a trial taste

1. Brown ground beef, drain, and set aside.

2. Dissolve bouillon cubes in 1 cup boiling water (you can use instant bouillon if you prefer).

3. Cook elbow macaroni according to directions on the box. Drain. Set aside.

4. Put tomato juice or V8 juice into a large pot. Add ground beef, bouillon, and macaroni.

5. Heat to slow boil.

6. Season to taste, simmer for about five to ten minutes to allow seasoning to blend.

ABOUT WHO PUT THE VINEGAR IN THE SALT?

"Linda has hit a home run once again! Her book, Who Put the Vinegar in the Salt? is filled with wisdom, encouragement, and the power found in God's Word. This book is oh so much more than shaking the salt shaker. It is about being wrapped up, tied up, and tangled up in Jesus. It truly makes the reader evaluate where they are and where they wantto be. Linda shoots straight from the hip to touch our heart!" ~ TammyWhitehurst.com

The world offers much beneficial self-help advice. Shouldn’t the Christian seek to be the best possible version of themselves?

Aren’t we supposed to be good people?

Why not look to the world to solve life’s problems?

Because God has called us to be salt.

While there is much good to be found, like vinegar, the world’s best advice falls short of God’s recipe to live a victorious Christian life.

In a down-home, friendly manner, the author provides analogies, inspirational stories, anecdotes, a wealth of Scripture, and optional study guides for both individuals and groups, inviting the believer to discover God’s desires for his salt.

Buy Linda's newest book here.

ABOUT LINDA WOOD RONDEAU

By the author of I Prayed for Patience, God Gave Me Children.

A veteran social worker, Linda Wood Rondeau’s varied church experience and professional career affords a unique perspective into the Christian life. When not writing or speaking, she enjoys the occasional round of golf, visiting museums, and taking walks with her best friend in life, her husband of over forty years. The couple resides in Hagerstown, Maryland where both are active in their local church. Readers may learn more about the author, read her blog, or sign up for her newsletter by visiting www.lindarondeau.com.

You can connect with Linda on these Social Media Links:

Facebook

Goodreads

Instagram

LinkedIn

Bookbub

Making Water Delicious!

So . . . we are told to drink water. Now I never had a problem with that. I liked water and preferred it at meals over soda or iced tea. Even when my cousin's wife called it a boring drink, I, as a college sophomore, was not bothered by her words. Drinking water with food made sense to me. I filled my glass in the college cafeteria.

Fast forward to me now. I still like water and order it with food whenever I eat out. But somewhere along the line, I started to drink less of it at home. Was I starting to find it boring?

At the grocery stores I purchased no-calorie sparkling water and loved that it came in a variety of flavors. There are many brands that have this type of drink, and if you are okay with the carbonated-feel to the beverages, lemon and lime Bubly or cranberry La Croix are refreshing and fun, although over-priced (my opinion).

The other night I read two pieces about the value of drinking water. In a book about turning 60 it said to drink according to your body weight. Take you weight and divide it in half. Then drink an ounce for every pound (so half your weight). If you weigh 120 pounds, drink 60 ounces of water per day. Whew! To me that seems like a lot of water. I'm happy if a drink 24 ounces a day.

The U.S. National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine has decided that an adequate daily fluid intake is: About 15.5 cups (3.7 liters) of fluids a day for men. About 11.5 cups (2.7 liters) of fluids a day for women. No mention of your weight there.

June's issue of Better Homes and Gardens has a small piece about drinking water. It includes how to add herbs and fruit to your water glass. Now that piqued my interest because, over the recent years, I have been doing this. I started with slices of lemon and limes. Now I drink more water if the water has a little bit of flavor to it.

Pizzaz added to my glass makes for great sips. Sliced lemons and limes add susbtance as well as flavor. I like ginger hot tea, so I thought I should add some ginger root. I currently have a pitcher I keep in the fridge with not only sliced lemons, but peeled ginger root. I really like the subtle flavor the ginger adds. I have mint in my garden and rosemary. I sometimes add those to my water pitcher. Sliced cucumbers also create a nice flavor. So many possibilities!

So happy water-drinking! Here's to staying hydrated!

The Memories We Cherish

After my son Daniel died at age four, I asked family and friends to send their memories for a memory album I created. Here's one from my Dad sent from Japan where he and Mom were missionaries for 38 years.

It doesn't take long to write a memory of a loved one. Write one to cherish and don't hesitate to ask others to write memories of their own.

Spring From the Eyes and Nose of a Puppy

I turned 60 this January and aside from the few minutes it takes to get out of bed to feel fully functional each morning, I consider myself healthy. However, with the shutdown/lockdown that we continue to face, I find myself feeling a bit less healthy. I want to rip off my mask; I want to jump on the direct flight from Raleigh-Durham to Vegas like Carl and I used to (without masks); I want to go back to church and stand with the congregation and sing----even if my voice is off-key. I want to have friends in my home and make dinners with pasta and lots of cheese.

I stop from my whining because someone is at my knee. It's my seven-month-old puppy, Bella, who has brought a squirrel toy to me and wants me to play. I take the toy and toss it across the hardwood. She chases after it, stops, grabs it with her mouth, and races back to me. We go outside into the sunshine where I toss a tennis ball and she follows its path along the driveway, picks it up, and returns to me. She drops the ball and jumps into a pile of raked leaves we keep for her to play in (yes, it's spring and yes, we still have fallen leaves from the 40+ trees on our property). She looks at me with her beautiful expressive face and then makes a bed inside the pile.

When the first iris bloomed---the first iris Bella had even seen----she introduced herself to it. She was curious and cautious. Her approach to the iris made me think about trying new things, about wonder, about curiosity. I felt that perhaps in a season of dismal (not only the continuing pandemic but the excessive government spending, our southern border crisis, etc. and etc.) it was time to take a break from the daily news and see the world through the eyes of a puppy.

I walk around the yard and take photos of the flowers, and then take a few of one of our neighbor's trees with the large pink blooms. I breathe in the fresh warm air and note the blue in the sky. Bella skips over to me and I watch her nose sniff scents that I cannot smell. "It’s been estimated that dogs can smell anywhere from 1,000 to 10,000 times better than people," writes Lynn Buzhardt, DVM. "Dogs also have a great homing instinct that depends on their ability to smell. Since dogs move their nostrils independently, they can determine the direction of an odor and use their sense of smell like a compass."

I sit on the back stoop with Bella, together--she with her compass-nose twitching in the air, and me with my camera----focused on the magnitude of creation supplied by our Creator. All of this new life for us to take in. Every year I have enjoyed the season through color, touch, smell, and that sense that causes me to say: With so much beauty, how can life not be good?

As Bella snifs my hand and rests against me, my prayer is: Don't let me be so bogged down by the way things are (things that I cannot control) that I miss the wonder and beauty of my 60th spring.

Broken Faith

The first Christmas without my child was one I wanted to avoid. Yet bereavement is not a journey we get to bypass; bereavement is a journey made to go through, and discover how to live in spite of sorrow.

December 1997

At the strip mall I entered a chain Christian bookstore I’d been to many times before. A Christmas tree with red bows and silver and gold ornaments greeted me. I was aware of the piped-in music because it was one of my favorite carols that played, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. Whoever was singing had a rich, soulful voice, which transported me back to last Christmas.

Last Christmas we had our own decorated tree, expecting to spend Christmas at home with my brother and his girlfriend who had come to visit. But days before the 25th Daniel ended up in the hospital due to some unknown cause. He’d spiked a fever, was delirious, but although numerous tests were done, nothing grew in the Petri dish. Next Christmas will be different, I had thought, as I sat by his bedside reading books to him. Next Christmas he’ll be done with his protocol and we’ll be able to celebrate at home like a normal family.

We were now living next Christmas.

As the music in the bookstore continued, I walked down the aisles. One aisle was stocked with motivational books, books with titles that were all about how to increase your faith and trust Jesus in all things. Book after book. Believe, grow, love, trust!

I made my way toward the door, ready to leave. I'd been crazy to think that I could shop during this season. With a hand on the door, I paused. To my right I saw a table that had a sign on it: Discount.

Discount tables and I have always gotten along. I’ve never met a discount I didn’t like. On the table among plaques, and tree ornaments, a stocking hanger with the manger scene piqued my interest. There in the middle of the decoration was baby Jesus in the cradle with Mary and a lamb to the left of him. Joseph crouched by Mary and the three wisemen with their gifts were together. A donkey relaxed by the foot of the cradle. I picked the item up, turning it over in my hand. I noted the weight of it. It was a heavy piece.

As with anything that’s placed on sale, I want to know why. Peering closely, I saw the tiny star at the top of the hanger had a faint diagonal line underneath that didn't look like it belonged. Two of the points of the star were chipped. The donkey was missing an ear. The item had to have been dropped or hit; the star must have broken away from the rest of those below it. Someone had used glue to seal it back to the roof of the stable. I suppose the donkey's right ear was never found. I ran my fingers over all the edges and figures, over the defects. I had never had a stocking hanger before, but that was not why this decoration continued to stay in my hands. This object connected to me.

It belonged to me.

I purchased the discounted broken item. It was right within my frugal budget; it had been marked down from twenty-five dollars to just seven-ninety-nine. Now it really was mine.

On the way home, I drove past homes with festive lights strung from eaves. Plastic blow-up snowmen and big, happy Santas waved from neighbors’ lawns. Wreaths graced front doors. Inside the windows I saw decorated pine and spruce trees, their twinkling lights bright and warm.

When I got home, I hung my new purchase on the mantle in the family room. I told my husband that the item was the beginning of a collection of Christmas decorations, decorations for the broken.

Next year, maybe it would be easier to breathe during the holiday season. Next year maybe the air would not be thickened with brokenness. But maybe not. There were no promises for an easy life; but there was the promise of Emmanuel always with us.



O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see thee lie

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee tonight.

An Irish Soda Bread Day

Irish Soda Bread is one of the first recipes I recall making as a child. I made a loaf the other day and fell in love with the bread once again. I found some recipes online and using a few of them came up with this one.

Quick and Easy Irish Soda Bread Recipe

Ingredients

• 1 3/4 cups buttermilk

• 1 large egg

• 4 and 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

• 3 TS sugar

• 1 ts baking soda

• 1 ts salt

• 5 TS unsalted butter, cold and cubed

• 1 to 2 cups raisins (you can eye-ball this; I like a lot of raisins, you might want less)

• 1 ts caraway seeds

Directions

Preheat oven to 400°F. Grease a 9-10 inch cake pan or pie plate/dish. Or you can place a piece of parchment paper on top of a baking stone. (I used a baking stone I have from Pampered Chef.)

Whisk the buttermilk and egg together. In another bowl, whisk the flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt together. Cut in the butter using a pastry cutter, a fork, or your fingers. Work the dough until into coarse crumbs. Stir in the raisins. Pour in the buttermilk/egg mixture.

Fold the dough together until dough it is too stiff to stir. With floured hands on a lightly floured surface, work the dough into an (approximately) 8 or 9 inch round loaf. Knead the dough lightly. Make sure all the flour is moistened.

Place the dough onto/into the prepared pan/stone/pan. With a sharp knife, make an X into the top. (You can melt 4 TS of butter and brush it on the top at this time if you would like.) Sprinkle with caraway seeds.

Bake for 45 minutes until the bread is golden brown. Test the center with a chopstick or toothpick to make sure it has been baked through.

Remove from the oven and allow the loaf to cool for 10 to 15 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack.

Cut a slice, spread real butter on it, and enjoy!