Happy Go Stuckey

Tethering Grace & Togetherness

What I’m Loving Lately

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To Read: 

7 tips for Memorizing Scripture by Carrie Rogers

10 Ways to Keep Saying Yes 20 Years Later  by Caroline TeSelle for The Art of Simple

11 Ways We Embrace Traveling with Kids by Tsh Oxenreider (Tsh is one I have learned so much from through her podcast. I’ve also recently picked up her book, Notes From a Blue Bike, for the first time and I’m not sure why I waited so long. Tsh also has a brand new book coming out next month!)

To Taste: 

Strawberries!!! They are finally in from Florida and I couldn’t be happier. We always look forward to picking them locally, but it’s almost as good to get them from my home state.

This Paleo Granola is on my list to make again soon.

To Listen: 

The “Pride and Prejudice” station I created on Pandora. I added in a little Downton Abbey and it seems to play this lovely mix of quiet tunes each time. We listen to this great background station often while doing school.

The Rush to Publish – How to Pace Your Career. Ann Kroeker Writing Coach Podcast. (This episode is brief; packed with hope and a healthy dose of ‘slow down there ma’am– where are you headed to so fast?’ Ann is one of my favorite mentors who doesn’t know it!)

Red Sea Road – Ellie Holcomb. This album is pure modern-day Psalmist’s poetry. It was worth the wait and we listen to it every day.

 

That’s all for today. I do hope that you have a restful weekend. We have a few little house projects planned for this weekend and it will be nice just to all be together at home.

May your hope be real, your coffee be strong, and your people be close.

Love, Cynthia

What I Learned (Winter Edition.)

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“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
“Winter is dead.”

A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

We only had 5 full minutes of snow in the entire winter.
Truly.
It snowed one Saturday morning while we were gathered around the little white table eating scrambled eggs and tiny biscuits with jam. The girls nearly knocked our giant dog over as they ran for coats and rain boots and charged outside before it finished. We watched from the window and drank coffee as they flew around the yard catching minuscule flakes in gloved hands.

And just as it began, it was over. They came back in with red faces and fell into their chairs to finish breakfast. Lucy took one bite, sighed and said– “Well. That was unexpected!” And that is precisely how winter was this year. Completely unexpected.  Hats and scarves one day, sandals the next. Add to that the crazy coincidence that Lance and I both were able to visit South Africa during our winter and their summer and we are throughly, seasonally confused.

Spring is already dusting its yellow self all over the front porch, but before it arrives– Let’s share what we learned in winter.

I learned the word, Hygge– and what it is not. 

Hygge, a Danish term which doesn’t have a direct English translation, but comes close to ‘cozy’ — is an over-all feeling of enjoyment of people rather than things; time together soaking up simple pleasures in a welcoming atmosphere. It is a gratefulness for the simple, rather than seeking to amass wealth and stuff. But if you search the #Hygge hashtag on Instagram you may think that in order to be Hygge, you need to take your little self to Target and stock up on cozy blankets, candles and socks. But it truly does not seem to be one more way for us to indulge in home and garden hedonism, but to enjoy what we already have. This book is on my to-read list though, because I find concepts like this fascinating– The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living. And yes, this will probably be one more thing that will make me want to give it ALL to Goodwill and start over with an Ikea bud vase and a small stack of books.

I tried HelloFresh and found a few fringe hours. While Lance was out of the country and I was home with the girls, I had my first HelloFresh delivery. For those few days,  I found great value in having those meals planned for me. The box came with all of the ingredients, perfectly portioned and ready to go. The recipes were great and the time saving aspect was even better. We won’t do it all the time, but there are definite weeks where a meal service helps. Here’s $40- off your first delivery if you want to try it out.

South Africans are Polite. 

I try not to be the annoying american that nationals roll their eyes at, really I do. But I am such a word-girl and I love to hear colloquialisms in other parts of the world. South Africans have many words that I wish we would adopt, many seem to have a strong British influence. Here are just a few I learned while there:

Shame. This an endearing term. It can mean anything from “oh, that is a shame!” “oh, how cute!”

Pavement Special. This is the affectionate term for a dog of mixed breed; a much sweeter term than mutt, isn’t it?

Just Now. Doesn’t actually mean “just now.” It can, or maybe it means in an hour… or even next week. Not even South Africans always know when “just now” is.

Braai. A Barbecue. As in, a meal consisting mostly of meat, cooked over a fire.

Lift. An elevator, definitely British influence on this one.

What I’m Watching: 

Victoria. We’re not currently caught up, but it is a typical Masterpiece treasure. Jenna Coleman is lovely.

What I’m Reading: 

North! Or Be Eaten. by Andrew Peterson (This is the second book in the Wingfeather Saga.)

Talking as Fast as I Can: From Gilmore Girls to Gilmore Girls and Everything in Between by Lauren Graham (this memoir style book is a gem for any creative or lover of Lorelai and Rory. And bonus! On the audiobook, Lauren reads it herself– which makes it even better.

The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis (Chronicles of Narnia)

Just Finished: 

The Magician’s Nephew by C.S. Lewis (Chronicles of Narnia, Lucy and I have been working through the Narnia series together in school, so fun. )

What I’m Cooking in the Blue House Kitchen: 

This Italian Chopped Salad

Kale Caesar Salad similar to this.

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Your turn! I am always happy to hear what you have recently learned. Send me a note or tell me here in the comments or find me on Instagram.

I’m linking up with Emily Freeman for What We Learned. Hop over here and see what others have learned.

 

(Amazon Links do often appear. Thank you for your support.)

On Waiting Well (and a recipe for Multi-Grain Sunflower Bread.)

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As bleary-eyed new parents we went through a long waiting period. It was eighteen months of compulsively checking emails and grabbing the phone on the first tone of the first ring. We were waiting for a job, a direction, a next step. The wait was longer than either of us expected and we ran out of things to do “in the mean time.”

One particular Thursday, I crossed our welcome mat at 5:15 and covered the ten steps to the kitchen to see that Lance had taken up bread making.

In between trail hikes with Baby Lucy on his back and a huge stack of job applications, he had challenged himself to master the yeast and flour to produce something predictable. The air was thick with the scent of time well spent.

 

The simplicity of bread is one that we often miss. Flour, Water, Yeast and Time. Nothing more really, but nothing less. Unfancy ingredients blend together with a comfortable wait and give us fluffy, seedy slices of gluten. Regardless of the flour you select, the wait is what truly matters. If you don’t have the time, you won’t have very good bread.

That particular waiting period ended with a bang and a whirlwind move to the city we call our home, but it definitely wasn’t that last wait of its kind. We’ve waited many times since then with various results. I know we will always wait towards something.

I adore having something to look forward to, almost more than I enjoy the thing itself.
But when the thing is not certain to ever actually arrive, that’s when I struggle. I love waiting towards a block on my planner— but waiting in the unknown can be truly lonely.

And still— I confess that I wish I were better at this thing of waiting. If only I could preach to my soul a little earlier in the process before endless anxious striving becomes my daily to-do list.

Do you struggle with this? We may not wake up in the morning planning to exhaust ourselves from the inside out, but we do it anyway. We know what striving feels like. We recognize the way it leaves us bare and peace-less all in a matter of minutes– minutes in which we try to take control.

No matter the thing we’re waiting on, it’s all the same. It is leaning too much on what I want to know and not leaning enough on that which I already do. It’s forgetting the truth that we aren’t meant to strive our way through the wait. 

Because, friend? We are not meant to endlessly strive through the wait. No matter what we might do with our hands while waiting, it matters that our hearts are practicing rest.

When I forget to remember that these details are not up to me, time standing at my kitchen counter helps. I watch yeast bloom or onions caramelize and the task is good for my waiting process.

I’m not sure about good things coming to those who wait; but I know there is a good God who holds all our waits in His hands. He holds them all.

This bread is a tangible reminder to my heart of this very thing.
And, it makes two large loaves; just in case you have a friend that also needs to be reminded of the good in the waiting. 

 

Print
Friar Stuck's Multigrain Sunflower Bread
Author: 
Prep time: 
Cook time: 
Total time: 
Serves: 2 loaves
 
Ingredients
  • 2½ cups water (105°-115°F) (567 grams)
  • 
5 ½ cups King Arthur Bread Flour (788 grams)
  • 
5 tablespoons vegetable oil (70 grams)
  • 5 tablespoons honey or brown sugar (42 grams)
  • ⅔ cup hulled sunflower seeds (90 grams)
  • 1 cup rolled oats (uncooked oatmeal) (114 grams)
  • 5 tablespoons sesame seeds (40 grams)
  • 
5 tablespoons flax seeds (50 grams)
  • 3 teaspoons salt (20 grams)
  • 
6¼ teaspoons active dry yeast (20 grams)
Method
  1. Combine the yeast and the water together for approximately 5 minutes. I often toss in a pinch of sugar; I find it helps the yeast to bloom better.
  2. After about 5 minutes, add the oil, salt, and sugar. Using the dough hook on your stand mixer, mix the ingredients together on a low speed for about a minute.
  3. After about a minute you will begin to add the flour. You will do this in three installments. Add the first installment of flour and give it a minute to begin to incorporate into the liquid mixture. Once it has incorporated well, add the second. Repeat this with the third and final mixture. Increase the speed of the mixer to about medium. At this point the dough should begin to form and pull away from the sides of the bowl.
  4. Add the oats, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, and flax seeds to the mixture. If you have made any additions to the recipe, such as oat bran, wheat germ, etc., add these now.
  5. Allow the dough to knead for a few more minutes, no more than about five.
  6. Remove the dough from the bowl onto a floured surface. Knead it and shape it into a ball. Deposit the ball in a lightly oiled bowl for approximately 2 hours or until the ball has doubled in size.
  7. After 2 hours, remove the dough from the bowl and punch it down. If you are only making one loaf, shape it to the size of your loaf pan and cover. If you are making a double recipe, divide the ball into equal pieces. Shape each to the size of your loaf pan and cover.
  8. Allow the bread to rise for about 45 to 60 minutes, until it’s crowned about 1 inch above the edge of the pan. During this time, preheat your oven to 350°F.
  9. Bake in a 350°F oven for 35-40 minutes or until the internal temperature registers 190°F. You can test for doneness by thumping the bottom of the loaf; if it sounds hollow, it is done.
  10. Remove the loaves from the pans and place them on a cooling rack.

(*You might recall the story of our wait mentioned here, if you’ve read Simmer. This bread is PERFECT with any one of those soups!) 

 

Finding Perspective in a South African Garden.

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We met them just miles from a turquoise sea, but everything was the same shade of muted brown here. A million tiny houses surrounded by grass-less yards and high stone walls; the only ocean we see is one of sand. Still, a smile makes its way to her eyes as she leads us behind the house and points one finger at her garden.

It’s takes up the few feet of outdoor space they call their own and we gasp to see it there. It’s beautiful and surprising, because to us– nothing else seems to grow here except trepidation.

Still, here in the middle of it all, there is headstrong green sprigging up from black dirt. Who knows where that rich soil even came from? Maybe they scrimped and saved for it. Maybe it was given as a gift. But it’s here and it’s dark, holding fast to tender roots. They’ve created an irrigation system out of emptied two-liters. Fanta and Coke- Light bottles water the green and block the fiery wind.

Lettuce, green peppers, tomatoes, and something else I don’t recognize. They’re all springing up amidst the dare that they won’t flourish.

It’s just that way here.

Culture has pushed them out beyond the boundaries. Just far enough from the ocean and its compassionate breeze. One of them tells me, “I was born here. I will die here. I’ll never leave because this is all there is.”

I might struggle to find the beauty in a dry and dusty land; a place where no one can go out after dark, where the gates are all iron and the evil often still seeps in. I strain to truly see and my eyes ache from the hardness of that life– so different from my own. So unlike my world of crisp sheets and safety and a really good immune system. Everything that comes easily for me is harder won for them.

Nevertheless the beauty is here. Once I know what I’m looking for, I see it more clearly. It is in their community. In the way they care for one another and mother together. It is their kinship that cloaks those truly related and those thrown together in a fight to thrive.

It is in their stubbornness to plant and water and see growth springing up amidst recalcitrant concrete. It is in a life that is hard but lovely in the same guttural sigh.

It is the secret delight of noticing God dot the landscape of their community with His people– strengthening them to share.

It is the reflection of hope in the eyes of one who knows the Bringer of the rains. And they celebrate the drizzle as though it were a deluge. It’s barely enough for rain boots, yet they can’t stop talking about the sprinkles of His favor falling on their cheeks.

It is here that I find my perspective as I see theirs. Gratefulness doesn’t even begin to plumb the depths of what I’m feeling as I look into countless pairs of brown eyes. I listen to their stories of hurt and heartache and loss and aloneness, and it’s all an incredible weight to hold in my soft american hands.

But we must try anyway.

We must listen twice as much as we struggle to bring anything helpful. Because all we have is hope to give. We are not the rescuers, we are the fellow rescued. And that makes a big difference, friends.

We cannot always answer why their lives are so much harder than our own. But we can tell them just how in the very image of God they have been made. We can touch them with our bare hands and share the mysteries of His love. We can extend the gospel with eyes that reflect of knowing that same luminous hope within our needy souls.

We can go and help and bless and give– and we should. We absolutely should. But at the end of the day, at the end of the trip, when we sit in an airport terminal with sore feet and weary hearts, we need the comfort that comes from knowing  that God was already there, long before we came. He was there before we felt that pull, and He will be there once we’ve gone.

Until we go again.

Italian Chopped Salad (and my trusted salad tips.)

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I love a big ole’ bowl of fresh greens but… I’m a bit of a salad snob when visiting restaurants. I rarely order a salad out unless I know it’s going to be good. Because, while some eateries really nail the salads, others offer you a bowl of massive chunks of white iceberg with pink tomatoes and gloopy dressing and charge you $12.00.
I just can’t.
Not when I know how easy it is to make really good salads. But because I didn’t always know– here are a few tips I’ve learned along the way to bring salads back into the spotlight.

  1. Branch out with your greens. Romaine is perfect for heartier entree salads, or ones with creamier dressings. Also, Butter Lettuce is really good. Spring Mix is delicious when it’s fresh, but Arugula (Roquette) is my top choice for lighter side salads, or as a bed for chicken salad or fresh fish. It’s slightly peppery and holds up well.
  2. Chop it. Try to keep a somewhat uniform size for all your ingredients. Exact isn’t necessary, but chopping the ingredients makes it easier to eat.
  3. Toss it. A couple of years ago, I began tossing salad with the dressing in a larger bowl and it makes a big difference. You use less dressing and you don’t throw salad everywhere trying to mix in your good stuff on your plate.
  4. Make the dressing. Ok, stay with me. I’m not going full on crazy here– homemade salad dressing takes less than 5 minutes and has a fraction of the sugar of just about every bottle on my pantry shelf. There are a few* I rely on in a pinch, but 99% of the time, I grab a mason jar and a few ingredients and go to town.

This Italian Chopped Salad was inspired by several different salads I’ve had along the way. It’s the perfect accompaniment to pizza because it is filling and helps me to stick to one piece! I hope you love it. (P.S. I often leave off the garbanzo beans if I’m serving it as a side salad.)

Print
Italian Chopped Salad
Author: 
Recipe type: Easy
Prep time: 
Total time: 
 
Ingredients
  • Dressing: ¼ cup apple cider vinegar
  • 2 minced garlic cloves
  • ¼- 1/2 tsp kosher salt
  • Black pepper to taste
  • 1 TBSP Dijon mustard
  • 1 tsp each of dried oregano, basil, and parsley
  • ¾ cup of Olive Oil
  • Salad: 2-3 Romaine hearts, chopped
  • Two green onions, chopped
  • ¼ cup thinly sliced red onion
  • Grape tomatoes, chopped
  • Red pepper, diced
  • Part skim mozzarella cheese, cubed
  • ¼ lb. Pepperoni or Salami. (I usually just get a bit from the deli counter)
  • 1 cup of gently cooked and cooled garbanzo beans
  • 3 Tbsp. Grated Parmesan cheese
Method
  1. Dressing: Mix all ingredients except olive oil in a jar with a lid and shake.
  2. Add olive oil and shake vigorously.
  3. Season with additional Salt & Pepper if needed.
  4. Salad: Mix all ingredients in a large bowl and then toss with ½ the dressing. The remaining dressing will keep refrigerated for several days.

 

 

For Those of Us Trying Not to Make It Worse.

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I’ve told you before that I’m a slow processor. But I wonder now– are you that way as well?
Do you take weeks and months to sift through big events, huge feelings, meaningful changes?

Because I’ve always felt it was okay to sift slowly– to watch the world happen around me, to stop and hear what’s going on inside me. I need to listen long before I speak up– but lately I’m not at all sure that I’m doing anything but listening.

Perhaps I don’t always share my thoughts with you– because the things are too big and I’m not sure of  what I think just yet or how I can even begin to help.
I’m often worried I might be another voice that doesn’t really help.

Maybe I’m holding back too often. Maybe I’m sinking so deeply as I wrestle that I never bring those things back into the light with you. Maybe we could do a lot with those hard things if we would bring them out together. I’m more often worried that my interpretation of the world around me, might sting deeply as you grapple with the (quite different) world around you.

Because if we’re being honest, You and I– my goal is always grace.

My point is always hope, hope, hope– like a quiet metronome in the subtext of each paragraph–
Hope. Hope. Hope.
It whispers to me as I tread the rough waters of yet another day of watching people pillage one another’s peace. My head spins as I see lines being drawn, and then drawn, and drawn again– circles getting smaller and smaller.

I need the hope in this space, and I need it as I go out from here. I need the seemingly elusive balance of real love and actual truth. And, I need the biggest dose of humility drenched over top like hot fudge on ice cream.

But I know it isn’t this simple. I know this is where the water gets choppy. If we have any hope of living our hope in front of the world– we have to be able to talk about the hard things once in awhile. The things that threaten to steal away what we know as truth.

So I need you to know, that my silence isn’t always golden. Sometimes it’s fear of making things worse. But I think we need to keep trying.

After all, it is hard to share hope without the whole story, isn’t it?
And the whole story is where it gets really good.

 

I’d love to hear from you today– just send me an email or connect with me on instagram.

For When You Don’t Know What to Do.

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Occasionally I forget to remember that the world is not mine to balance.

I watch the collective ache all around me and I ache too, because my reach is short and the needs are long and oh, how I want to change it all.
Anxiousness paves a quick path to restlessness and it is more than tempting to become paralyzed by the enormity of it all.
And I cannot fix it all.

When I finally stop twisting inside long enough to do something outside of my thoughts, I start to come back to where I belong. When I start with something simple — like soup or bread, I remember that I am not in control.

That reminder is where I begin again.

In my sun-splashed kitchen, I chop onions and carrots and everything comes back into alignment. Knife to wooden cutting board— bare feet to bare floor, slowly I forget to strive. I scoop a double handful of vegetables and toss them into my dutch oven and I remember my place and it is worth more than one deep breath.

My place is here, in this blue house with these people and these countertops that warp in the heat. My place is using my hands to do what they can— and holding joy in my small circle of influence. My place is using that silver laptop and the words I have to offer hope in whatever cracks I can. My place is here. My place is not willful blindness to the hurt of the world; my place is to start where I stand and go forward from there.

And the soup helps because making soup is the opposite of striving. Any decent soup recipe is a handful of ingredients and time. Soup-making is contrary to hustle. Too much hustle often makes bad soup and a weary heart. I have little use for either.

 

But the slow simmer, that is where it gets good. Maybe the goodness has less to do with what’s on the stove and more to do with what we choose for our hearts. Simmering within and without and knowing that in the wait, comes the wonder. The wonder that we miss in the whirlwind. The wonder that comes from knowing that God is God and we are simply — not.

Even though every now and then we may write the words that change the hearts, or say the thing that impacts lives, or do the biggest, hardest, most public act of doing— still most days, we are the ones who make the soup. And that is more than okay.

We make the soup for hungry people and we feed our souls as we feed their stomachs.
We stand willing to go make huge differences out there, knowing that it may be that we will make decades of seemingly small differences in here. We do the things we are given and we do them well. We keep our eyes on our own motives and we do not worry about theirs.

We stay in our own lane, and we love the lane we are in.

We rest fully in our created-ness and we humble ourselves to stop.
We wait for the simmer. 

 

(I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from Simmer: Six Seasonal Soups & the Stories that Inspired Them. I made this for you, please enjoy your free copy!)

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