Bread and Wine

Recently, one of my very favorite authors, Shauna Niequist, generously offered some bloggers advanced reader copies of her upcoming book Bread & Wine. Say what?! Um, my own tiny readership barely qualifies me as a blogger (hi Mom!), but I think so much of Shauna and her work that I'd do anything to grow her readership.

"The heart of hospitality is about creating space for someone to feel seen and heard and loved. It's about declaring your table a safe zone, a place of warmth and nourishment."

Friends, I know you all have long book lists. I know you have six books on your nightstand and you're several years behind and still haven't read The Kite Runner. (Just me?) Or maybe you don't have a book list and you're not a reader. It doesn't matter: I'm going to say the same thing to all of you:

READ. THIS. BOOK.

If I shared all my thoughts about Bread & Wine, this would stop being a blog and get a little too Dear Diary, so I'll keep it short-ish. Ish, because this book is so, so, SO good.

I began reading the same way I tried to read Shauna's other books: nonchalantly, in default mode, the way you'd read a schoolbook. Silly me! A few chapters in, I was totally the awkward girl sniffle-crying and giggling out loud in Starbucks. Bread & Wine sucked me in the same way Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet did, my eyes reading eagerly, heart fully engaged.

Shauna's stories are, in a word, poignant. They sing in that strange harmony of happiness and sadness, where truth swells in your heart until you can feel it stretching. Food, life, love, loss, success, failure, fear, celebration-- she covers it all with a beautiful vulnerability that ushers in comfort and freedom and me too. She speaks directly, honestly, earnestly; but her writing has a lovely lush quality that makes you want to stop and re-read the last sentence just to imagine it again.

I think I love Bread & Wine so much because like Shauna, "I wake up in the morning and I think about dinner. I think about the food and the people and the things we might discover about life and about each other. I think about the sizzle of oil in a pan and the smell of rosemary released with a knife cut." The eating/crafting/growing/vending/making/serving of food is my ultimate hobby. I'm a food person, and my hands are happy and able in the kitchen. If that's you, and your kitchen is your home, this book is for you. But the brilliance of Bread and Wine is that it's also for people whose hands aren't so able in the kitchen, for the most timid of cooks. If your kitchen is a fearful or anxious place, this book is for you too. Shauna's recipes are simple, gentle, unassuming, and filled with delicious ingredients. They are for everyone.

I tried few right away: Bacon-Wrapped Dates, Michigan Harvest Salad (Mitten love!), Goat Cheese Scrambled Eggs, and finally Breakfast Quinoa, after which I tweeted:

Just made my first recipe from #breadandwine by @sniequist: Breakfast quinoa. So good I almost had an emotional breakdown on my couch. #YUM

— Emily Kelsey (@emjkelsey) March 4, 2013

Embarassingly, I attempted the recipe for Flourless Chocolate Brownies, but my friend and I were so taken with the batter that...um...there wasn't really any to bake. We ate it like this instead:

Mmm. It was well worth it. Maybe next time I'll actually finish making them. :)

 Bread & Wine also digs deep into the various functions of food: how it nourishes, strengthens, and delights, how it fills us up, how it frustrates and shames. Shauna speaks so beautifully about her own complex relationship with food, which lent strength to my own experience as someone who has both loved and hated food. My very favorite chapter is one called "Swimsuit, Ready or Not", which is exactly what it sounds like. Shauna writes:

"At the beginning of every summer, I have to do a little internal business, organizing my thoughts and my feelings and my phobias, getting myself ready to have everyone I know see me in a piece of clothing that could fit into a sandwich bag. And every summer I tell myself that next year, next year, next year, will be the year I show up at the beach looking like an Olympic beach volleyball player. And then the year is busy and full, and I forget along the way that the top item on my to-do list was "transform myself into a beach goddess." And then I show up at the beach, bruised from my own self-loathing, looking just about the same as I always have."

Yeahhhh. And she follows that up with a recipe for potato salad. POTATO SALAD.

Not, like, a lemon juice fast, or a kale smoothie, or a plan to lose ten pounds by June.

POTATO. SALAD.
 

Guys, this is why I love Shauna. Because I love the beach, and I love potato salad, and reconciling those two things is really hard. (And because her recipe is simple and yummy- potatoes and crunchy summer veggies and fresh basil and tiny tomatoes and kalamata olives in a tangy vinaigrette. Yum.) And because next year, next year, next year has been my tired chant since age twelve. And because I'm saying goodbye to that chant, swimsuit-ready or not. (Not.)

Oh, also, because in the same passage, Shauna uses the word "underbutt." Teehee.

But mostly, I love Shauna because I've read that passage fifteen times already, and each time my soul exhales a little more. And that's why I love Bread & Wine-- because our souls need less frantic, less clench, and so much more exhale. Because our kitchens need less fear and more celebration. Because the way God weaves our lives together when we come together at the table is nothing short of majestic; and because like Shauna says, life is best at the table.

I'd buy a copy for every single one of you if I could, but in the meantime, you can pre-order Bread and Wine on Amazon! DO THAT! And get Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet while you're at it, because they changed my life in the best way, and I think you'll like them too. And visit Shauna's great blog. Links and Shauna's bio are below.

..........

Shauna Niequist is the author of Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet, and Bread & Wine. Shauna grew up in Barrington, Illinois, and then studied English and French Literature at Westmont College in Santa Barbara. She is married to Aaron, who is a pianist and songwriter. Aaron is a worship leader at Willow Creek and is recording a project called A New Liturgy. Aaron & Shauna live outside Chicago with their sons, Henry and Mac. Shauna writes about the beautiful and broken moments of everyday life--friendship, family, faith, food, marriage, love, babies, books, celebration, heartache, and all the other things that shape us, delight us, and reveal to us the heart of God.

http://www.shaunaniequist.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Bread-Wine-Finding-Community-Around/dp/0310328179/

on books and purple hair and wild

I have long been in the habit of reading certain books, my very favorites, over and over-- until storylines and characters and entire paragraphs are burned into my mind.

For a long time, one of these very favorites was a little-known young adult novel, Of Sound Mind, by Jean Ferris. I was eleven or twelve when I first read it. I distinctly remember picking it up, a hardcover with a thick plastic protector, as I combed the library's "new releases" shelf for books I hadn't read yet. This was when I read fiercely, ravenously, maxing out my library card two or three times a week. I always took a canvas bag with me, and it was always overflowing when I left, and I always began a book on the way home, even though it made me dizzy.

Of Sound Mind is about a boy, Theo, who can hear, and his parents and brother, who cannot. It's something of a coming-of-age story, and he befriends & falls in love with a girl, Ivy, who was also born to deaf parents. The book is about living in the tension that exists between contraries, and the story is both sad and sweet, heart-wrenching and hopeful. I re-read it that first time before returning it; and must've checked it out two or three more times in the years following. Something about it captivated me: its honesty, I think, and its hopefulness, too.

But my twelve-year-old mind also latched onto a very specific detail: the girl, Ivy, was described as having dark hair...with a single lock dyed a deep purple. I loved that. I grew up seeing colorful hair disdained, and this, a single lock dyed bright, seemed perfect: a small, quiet display of rebellion. Just a little bit of wild swirled into all the conservative, cautious, collected.

For some reason I've never forgotten Ivy's purple hair. I've toyed with the idea on and off for over ten years, never quite sold on it. Sometimes I feel like a purple hair person. Sometimes not. But this year-- twenty-two, twenty-three-- this year I have known and liked myself better than I ever have before, and that's been a sweet thing for me. That's a great and long story, and I'll share it sometime. Like the book, it's been all about living in the contraries, realizing that I don't have to be one or the other. That I am a little bit conservative, and also a little bit wild; that I love my natural, plain, simple hair, and I also love the idea of a little purple. And all of that is perfectly fine.

So Tuesday morning, when I thought, "Maybe I'll dye my hair purple today!" that's exactly what I did. I went and picked out purple dye, and bleach, and a little bowl & brush, and a friend came to help, and I dyed those hurrs.

...just a little bit :) I'm graduating in May, and hoping to begin job interviews around that time as well, and so I wanted to make sure I could hide it if necessary. I chose to dye the very back center section of my hair, roots to ends, so you can barely see it when it's down, but when it's up, it looks like this:

I used this great tutorial from CANDYPOW on how to safely bleach your hair using coconut oil-- the bleach was in for about 40 minutes, and my hair turned the color of light brown sugar. Then I applied the RAW dye, wrapped it with regular old aluminum foil, and left it in for about 3 hours. Voila!

I. LOVE. IT.

!!!!!!!!!!!

The color is great-- although just a bit more blueish than I wanted, kind of a violet. If I did it again, I'd buy the same color (RAW Deep Purple) and maybe mix in a few drops of red, to get more of a plum shade. But I love it, and I'm looking forward to it eventually fading into a light lavender.

I love it, and both my eleven & twenty-three-year-old selves are so glad for freedom, and transformation, and a little bit of wild.

a gift, and the friend who gave it

A couple of weeks ago, I went on for a bit about our apartment's poor ventilation and the yucky smells we deal with as a result. That was it. The post was literally: We live in this apartment, and sometimes it stinks, and there's not much I can do about it, rant rant rant, ha ha ha.

Then, last Friday, I answered the door and the mailman handed me a large brown box. I was puzzled- I didn't think we had ordered anything recently. I opened it up to find this:

An air filter?!

The confusion vanished; I knew exactly who had sent the box. I texted this friend a picture and said "YOU ARE CRAZY AND I LOVE YOU."

"I love you too, although I don't remember putting my name on that," she replied.

"You didn't have to," I said.

And she didn't. This friend is an incredible giver and receiver of gifts. She knows people in a deeply thoughtful way, watching and observing and studying their quirks so she can love them better. This friend delights in sweetening other people's days with grace and joy and little surprises. The gifts she gives come in all forms: notes, food, time, encouragement, little presents. And she has an uncanny knack for timing-- if you need something, she knows it, and she probably knew it before you did.

As our friendship grew, I came to see what a beautiful thing gift-giving could be, and I learned how to do it in return. I still remember one of the very first gifts I gave her: a Slurpee from 7-11, all the flavors except blue, that I walked upwards of 2 miles across MSU's campus to bring to her when she was having a bad day. I did that a few times that year, because that girl can drink Slurpees for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

We live 2000 miles apart now, but that doesn't deter her. A few months ago, we were on the phone and I joked that all my stuff was falling apart, and my "to-buy" list was so unending that I couldn't ever convince myself to buy socks. A week later, of course, I got a box in the mail stuffed full of brand new socks; underwear and tights too, which she had guessed (rightly) that I also needed.

So she's struck again, and our air is filtered and odorless now. No more taco bathroom!

I'm grateful to this friend, not just for socks and an air filter, but for the way she's taught me to love and know and give, and how to brighten days, and how all of that helps me comprehend the Father's heart a little better.

And, sweet friend: Good try for anonymity, but gift-giving betrays gift-giving, if that makes sense. You're just too good at it. Maybe give me something awful next time? :)

simple berry salad & vinaigrette

If we are friends in real life, then you know I'm a shameless foodie. My fondness for cooking, eating, and talking/reading/learning about food probably warrants embarrassment, but I'm in far too deep for that. Foodlove has settled into a deeply nerdy part of my heart that I didn't see coming but just cannot hide.

It's kinda like when that girl in my ninth grade English class wrote a book report about the Lord of the Rings trilogy and ended up so obsessed that she spent hours crafting homemade prop replicas including the Phial of Galadriel and leaf-wrapped lembas bread and elven rope, which she then proudly presented to her half-impressed, half-horrified (ok mostly horrified) adolescent peers.

Wait, what? Of course that wasn't me. Well...it's not important.

Anyway-- tonight the foodlove began with some gorgeous blackberries. They've been staring me down since Sunday in all their fat purple glory, and when I peered into my fridge looking for dinner, they practically jumped into my hands. Wondering what to do with them, I scanned the rest of my groceries, and my brain spat out some quick culinary mathematics:

(blackberries + feta + spinach) x (lemon + honey + balsamic) = HECK^YES

Deeelish. I scarfed that goodness down in about two minutes. It tasted like dessert-- but super healthy, only about 200 calories for the whole bowl! Here's the breakdown for one serving:

salad:

2 cups spinach
2/3 cups blackberries
2 tbsp feta

vinaigrette:

1 tbsp honey
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
lemon juice to taste

Mix up the vinaigrette and toss it over the salad. Say whaat? Easiest dinner ever!

What I love about salads is how easy they are to tweak-- you can increase/decrease/add/subtract anything you want. I tend to like more acidity, and these blackberries were especially sweet, so I used extra lemon juice in the vinaigrette. If your berries are more tart, up the honey instead. Walnuts or pecans would be a fantastic addition, and I think sliced apples might taste great too. The nom possibilities are endless.

So, simple blackberry & feta salad, thank you for helping me announce to the blogosphere that I will occasionally detail cooking adventures and post recipes, because I am a Class A foodie/nerd. Also generally just a nerd, but we won't go into that any more than we already have. Yikes.

words for wednesday

This is one of the surest things I know. It's what hearkens me back to God when I wander-- that within us is a yearning for the infinite. We want everything; we look for it everywhere. What we find is never enough. Or rather, it is enough for a little while; but then one day we wake up and it's not enough anymore. And again we feel the endless yearning.

Psalm 16:

Keep me safe, my God,
for in you I take refuge.

I say to the LORD, "You are my Lord;
apart from you I have no good thing."
I say of the holy people who are in the land,
"They are the noble ones in whom is all my delight."
Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more.
I will not pour out libations of blood to such gods
or take up their names on my lips.

LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup;
you make my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.
I will praise the LORD, who counsels me;
even at night my heart instructs me.
I keep my eyes always on the LORD.
With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will rest secure,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
nor will you let your faithful one see decay.
You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

Phew! So much goodness in there.

I love how the psalmist says, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

What if I began the day by saying those words out loud? "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

What would my days look like if I needed/expected/wanted nothing but my God?

 

(Don't mind me looking bummy in my husband's Justin Bieber hoodie.)

Anyway, there it is on my bathroom mirror now. I want to go out into the world every morning with this in mind. "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing." I'm sure I'll return each evening knowing it a little better, whether I remembered it or not. I am forgetful and easily distracted, but God is good at reminding us of Himself.

So then let's end with this gem: "You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand."

What a sweet truth. In Christ, God has made known to us the path of life. We may know joy in the presence of our Savior, Creator, and King. He gives us infinite and eternal and everything when He gives us Himself.

Wait. Soooo...

He who is everything has given us Himself.

You guys, we have EVERYTHING. Forever.

meteor grace for Russia (and us)

You and I and everyone have probably heard something about the meteor that exploded over Russia last Friday. Flash of light, little crashes, uneven shockwave, shattered glass, 1000+ injured, 0 dead.

Yesterday morning I heard another snippet about it on NPR. Morning Edition host Renee Montagne was talking with NYT reporter Andrew Kramer, who was in Chelyabinsk, Russia-- the town most affected by the meteor.

Towards the end of the segment, she asks: "What's the mood of the people there? Are they afraid that something else is going to come crashing down from the sky?"

Andrew responds:

"Well, people were very, very concerned on Friday. I was talking to many people who said that their pulse rate went up, that they were nervous. They had no idea what this was. But by Saturday, a lot of people were giddy. They were amazed that this danger had passed them by. Russians really have a deep expectation of tragedy because of their history. People here often think that things will end badly. This is an exceptional instance in Russia where a huge fireball fell out of space and missed everybody in the city. It could have easily obliterated the entire town, or struck a nuclear facility...it was a near miss for this area."

Ah. Did you get that?

"Russians really have a deep expectation of tragedy, because of their history...People here often think that things will end badly."

And yet? The fireball fell out of space and MISSED THEM.

"People were giddy. They were amazed that this danger had passed them by."

What a potent picture of grace.

Our history is tragedy. We expect the fireball to strike.

It passes us by. 

Last week's meteor should have hit full-force, but science-y shockwave stuff happened and most of it shattered in the air.

And the bulk of the meteor? They can't find it. Nearby, there's a frozen lake with an inexplicable hole in the middle. Some scientists were guessing part of the meteor crashed through it -- but then divers found nothing.

None of this is to diminish the very real aftermath of the meteor's explosion: the community sustained damages of more than $30 million, and 1000+ people were injured.

But no deaths. But no fireball.

It passes us by.




(You can read the transcript of the Morning Edition segment with Andrew Kramer here.)

Love.

Grateful for a day to celebrate love-- like all the days before and all the days after. Grateful for dear friends and family. Grateful for a husband who loves me better than I ever could have dreamed someone would. Grateful, always, for a God who loves his people sweetly, intensely, permanently. And I'm grateful for you! Happy Valentine's Day, dear friends!