friendship

Perhaps it is of no surprise to you, but this I've found to be true: we mostly come to friendship on our own terms.

But what about those, "Hey! You too?!" moments, where you suddenly discover the spark of your friendship. Your iPod (or CD player for us old schoolers) has 75% of the same music; you dream of living in all the same places; and you are addicted to the Office and that new show, Parenthood.

I do love these friendships! How, then, could this springing up of friendship be "on our own terms" if we didn't even plan it?

We're drawn to people with the same interests, the same lifestyles. And if not the same, then people who we think are cool, those that we get "friend crushes" on (and I loudly speak for myself here!) I find myself constantly saying, "She is very cool. I must know her."

But with whom should we be seeking friendship? Those like us? Those on the margins of society? Those who might need us for our transportation, checkbook, and listening ear? Those who keep us away from a dinner with other friends because they need to get the grocery store?

My heart weeps at the friendships I keep on my terms, and my eyes have seen a much truer picture of friendship...

"...and the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself."

canning: past and present

Today is certainly a canning kind of day. I strolled through the Farmers' Market around 8:45 on this fine Saturday morning. With a load full of spelt, tomatoes, and apples, I took some time to sip my coffee and listen to the mandolin and guitar-pickin' before me, with two cutest 60'-somethin' fellas I've ever seen. The breezy air finally felt like the Autumn it should be, and after receiving some canning advice from the Dodsons, a family of farmers, off I go to a full day of kitchen-work.

And no measly kitchen-work this is. Right now, at 1:28pm, I'm only halfway through the applesauce process. We love our homemade applesauce, though last time we froze it; this time we're canning. I think it will be much tastier UNfrozen.

Now, all that's missing is Michelle, the one who started this all for me. Here's to you, friend, and all the lessons you taught me about slowing down, eating vegetables, and dropping in to see your friends unannounced.

Live together? Why?

It seems a good time in the life of our household to talk about why we insist on having others live in our home. As we enter another season of being a Family, with our brother Jason, we're eager and excited. With every housemate comes a new dynamic, new gifts, and new challenges. Tonight was spent with what is pretty usual with a new housemate - lots of get-to-know-you conversation, heavy topics, family history, etc. - the things that you just couldn't get to in a normal night of hanging out, but with hours of being in the same space, you now have all the time in the world for!

We frequently get many questions or many responses such as, "I could just never do that," and "How long are they staying again?" and, plainly, "Why?"

Why? Because we love it. Because life is much richer with 1 or 2 more than just the two of us (though the Pates are pretty fun). Our marriage thrives (though we have the usual disagreements and frustrations). Our living room is filled with laughter and conversation. Prayers are prayed. Dinners are cooked. Bills are shared. Burdens are carried. Gardens are grown.

The things we once carried alone, we can carry with others. When a relationship is broken, a family member dies - there is another to help us carry the load, to cry the tears. When faith is shaken, when doubts are heavy - there is another there to stand in the gap, to "believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth," alongside us.

Our marriage, our faith, our very lives, are strengthened as we live and work together with the brothers and sisters who live under this roof for 3 months, 6 months, 1 year, indefinitely.

And that, friends, is why the door is always open.

Below is an expression of why Audrey Assad, a new music artist who I am growing to love, loves attending Mass, why she finds Catholicism beautiful. This has been encouraging to me, her knowledge that worship is not so much experience, but moreover, it is simply and wholly... worship.

I did and do take solace in the Church, as a sparrow makes a nest in an old, solid oak; the Church’s very age and wisdom speak quietly for themselves, silently drawing in wanderers like me. Jesus loves wanderers and prodigals; and the Church must welcome them with open arms–in my case, she did, and warmly at that. I find it beautiful about Catholicism that worship, in her way, is not so much an experience as it is an act of the will; yes, the senses are engaged by the sweet, thick smell of incense at the altar, the soft flickering of candles, the otherworldly melodies of chant; but ultimately, as a Catholic, I go to Mass to worship–to give Jesus the honor and glory He is worthy of; I go to Mass because I love Him. [taken from http://saltandlighttv.org/blog/?p=14845]

May we be reminded, when the temptation to choose brighter skies and greener fields ("polished" worship music and ultra-moving sermons), that we shall worship because we love Him.

the Magic Hour at the river

He once spoke of the Magic Hour, that dusky burst of color, all magic and such. You can see it on hillsides, on trains, on rooftops, but have you ever seen it from the perch of a rock, resting on the shores of the Mississippi?

She's a mighty river, it's true, but none is more perfect for watching and waiting and breathing in the wet air of the Deep South. None is more perfect, on this night anyway, for the Magic Hour. Though sweet serenity might sing through the hillsides, a swiftly pacing barge drifts right past you, the backdrop on this particular night. It's of no matter - who can spoil the Magic Hour? Even clouds and rainstorms only spread a veil over this happening, yet still it is there.

You've not known a good evening until you known an evening on the banks of the Mississippi, breezes and voices from the north, all gathered together for this Hour... and once it's passed, the lingering begins. For who can turn away so quickly? "Ah, it is gone so soon!"

But tomorrow it will return. The Magic Hour at the river.

Here at the magic hour

time and eternity

mingle a moment in chorus

Here at the magic hour

bright is the mystery

plain is the beauty before us

Could this beauty be for us?

["The Magic Hour" from

Counting Stars, Andrew Peterson]

He first loved us.

Everyone wants to change her, but does anyone love her?

She passes by their front porch day after day, towards the convenience store, or headed home with no utilities and a stench that keeps unwanted guests away. She sleeps on a mattress, on the floor, that, thankfully, hasn't been used as a bathroom by the dog yet. She lives here with her boyfriend.

And they want her to live somewhere else; she needs a change.

After all, the baby is coming. Don't they have to think about the baby? The innocence. Yes, they've got to get her in another house.

And so they do.

But before long, she's back to her old house, says it just wasn't what she wanted. But the baby, there's still the baby. She's growing out of her clothes; yes, she needs new clothing, or better yet, they'll clean out their closets for the gently used items that have hardly been worn before.

Yes, let's get her cleaned up; she needs a change.

But she doesn't wear the clothes; they're not her taste. She's happpier with what she's already got, with what she already knows. Thanks, but no thanks.

She's gone; she just walked out. She had a fight with the father of her child and left the only person who cares for her unborn baby, someone who might even care more than she does. Where did she go, they ask. She's over on Millford Station, that's where she always goes.

He's so tired of this; with another man's dime, he goes to buy a drink to drown out his anguish of being left again (so many times that he stopped counting).

But they know she'll be back; she always comes back. And this time, they might not be waiting around to help. They just might be finished with this. They can only reach out so much. She has to choose to respond.

You want to change her, but have you loved her?

how to know your neighbors

I'm not great at knowing my neighbors, actually. I'm consumed with busyness, just like the rest of us, much to my disdain sometimes. But what I do know has been put to the test.

How do you know your neighbors? Cook some food.

Not just any food, though. Hamburgers and barbecue balogna (Ba-lone-ee). Hot fries and brownies. Those are the foods that we all, errr... that most of us like.

The humidity and the heat index of 115 may threaten to keep us away, but alas, the will to be neighbors overcomes the desire to stay inside where the air conditioner runs strenuously.

Of course, I don't know my neighbors after just one cookout, but I do see some familiar faces, meet some new ones, and learn some good facts: "Oh! You live in the little blue house on the south side of the street?" And so it begins.

Let us be neighbors!