Check these out at your own risk (sorry, don't know how to do links yet)
http://www.chefsteps.com/activities/roasted-cocoa-gelato
http://www.chefsteps.com/activities/nacho-cheese
Friday, August 29, 2014
A Place To Belong
When we first moved to southwest
Virginia 18 years ago, nothing here was familiar to us except the hearts of our
friends; RC and Denise Sproul.
The grocery stores had
different names, cell phone reception depended on what road you were on and,
unless you told them different, every sandwich you ordered at any of the Mom & Pop grills around here came
with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise.
We arrived with our two
little girls, ages 2 & 3, our newborn son, a modest debt and no job. All we
had was a vision and a prayer.
I remembered an old Time Magazine article on city-dwellers
moving to the country. What they found was that in some of the small towns the
locals resented the influx of wannabe farmers and culture shifting ideologues.
Thankfully, that was not the case here in Bristol. The natives are just curious
about where you are from and a little suspicious of why you would want to move
here. The only problem associated with that is sometimes you get into long
conversations that are hard to politely get out of. “Hey, thanks for the
directions…and the coffee, no, really gotta run, thanks again, bye now!”
So, we found the land
good for farming and raising a few animals. Unlike our last residence in
Florida, there are actually four seasons here and all are usually very
moderate. The entire area of Virginia, Tennessee, and the Carolinas have more
hiking trails, rivers, trout streams, mountains, and wild raspberries than we
can ever get to.
When our children got
old enough we started home-schooling and discovered that there were families indigenous
to this area that had been doing that here for years. The local attitude toward
home-schooling runs from indifference to admiration.
We came here to begin a
new life, a life that could be shared by others; and more families and
individuals have come and are still coming.
Over the years, I have
visited the areas where I have lived before. The rural road of my early
childhood is now a congested neighborhood. I drove by the homes where my
friends use to dwell; all the mail boxes have different last names now. The sleepy
little beach community where I moved to when I was in my 20’s is all neon and
sprawl. And the town where I lived in Texas has lost all of its definition,
being swallowed up by larger cities.
When I am there and not
here my spirit is disturbed and troubled. I fight the tears that want to
flow…and sometimes lose. But the anguish isn’t caused by the loss of what was
once familiar; it is a remembrance of how things were.
What a difference the
Gospel would have made. What if my parents had known what living in a covenant
community was like? I think of my precious little cousins, girls whose beauty
at the earliest age was gloriously undeniable—now disfigured by the use and
abuse of a life outside of Christ. Friendships, the strongest of them were weak
without the bond formed by vows and the keeping of oaths.
No heroes lived on our
street. Life was dark even in the daytime.
And so very many of
those with whom I attended church with after my conversion at 17; they have
never known what a sacred community was like. The paradigm for covenant living
has been shape-shifted from the security and joy of being tribal and organic
into something industrial and disposable, and their lives reflect the loss.
I moved to Virginia to
start something marvelous, to share in something potent. And I was so not the
right person for the job. Being a refugee and a vagabond, a thief, a liar, and
a taker of life; who was I to hope and pray for something so special and so
undeserved?
I realize now that I came
from a long line of villains, bad guys and dumb guys, that end up converted, living
by word and sacrament. The grace of God does amazing things. You stumble and
fall backwards into aspects of true life that others credit you for
discovering!
This world is wicked and
fallen. Though in ruins, that is not to say that it lies in dormant. The world
is plagued and diseased and all of us have been infected. The only cure is
Christ. This world is under siege by a heartless demon bent on destroying all
who are made in the image of God. Most of his victims are deceived into
existing rather than living. The only shelter and protection from him is
Christ.
But what if your “cure”
is watered down? What if your “shelter” is papier-mâché? What if what you really have is different
than what you think that you have?
Have you noticed that
anytime a group of Christians “got real” that amazing things happened.
Campouts, ski retreats, road trips all facilitated this. Really; just time, the
Word, a few songs and a little honesty often combine to transport people into a
dimension of spiritual life that was always there but rarely entered into. Ask
someone and they will tell you the last “experience” that they had
So, what if times like
that could be perpetuated? What if that way of life could be the norm? Instead
of all the evangelism, quiet-times, discipleship, bible study, church services,
and camp fires just being so many compartmentalized attachments to a busy,
worldly life; the effects of the world allowing only glimpses and shadows of a
glorious reality of a kingdom and a King.
I needed a place to
belong. My family needed a place where the landscape may change but where the
eyes of the people say—‘you are mine and I am yours’. I looked for a church
where there were no peripheral people and where the desire of one and all was
to fervently live for Christ.
Am I selfish, idealistic
or just a lunatic? Yes, I am a crazy enough to believe that this is possible.
And I have found asylum.
And though I’m crazy, I
am not stupid. The village isn’t sinless. When we came, we all brought enough
sin with us to destroy the universe many times over. So, when others think that
we think of ourselves as perfect or having arrived well, that idea is
hilarious.
And lest we deceive
ourselves, let it be known that we confess the truth that we are not the best
of Christians. There will always be those who shame us, and for that we are
grateful. Anything and anyone that humbles us is a boon, for it helps us strive
to be better for our Lord.
And in this, what we
have found is that a little goes a long way. Speaking communally, regular
increments of family worship, singing the songs that we have, teaching our
children at home, maintaining the primary relational standard that we will love one another, dancing and
feasting, these and other facets of the sacred community; of kingdom life, gives
us joy and gladness.
We, by God’s grace, are
living the cure.
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