Ollalieberry Heaven

This one's for Molly, who asked me yesterday on our way to pick Ollalieberries if I had a good cobbler recipe. My answer? Why yes, Molly. I do.

Yesterday I ventured out to Watsonville with my dear friend Molly, her two cutie pie boys and my own little Addie. We were a sight, let me tell you. Two grown ups intent on picking full buckets of these sweet-tart berries while the kids were off in their own berry heaven world. Jake mastered the art of making jam out of berries and mud, and Tim battled a fear of bees and the urge to eat more than he picked, while Addie was happy to be outside and in the middle of it all.

The kids had such fun, we got an insanely big haul of Ollalieberries, and when we were leaving, Tim announced he was only going to have Ollalies for lunch. And then, not long after that, he begged to eat lunch at the King's Boogers (Burger King was the only kid-friendly place to stop for miles...) All in all, a perfect way to spend the first day of July.

So on to the recipe. Of course, I must admit it's not my own. I use the old Betty Crocker cookbook from 1950--and as far as I'm concerned, it may be the only recipe for cobbler I'll ever need. It's not healthy--not by a long shot. But it's perhaps one of the best desserts I've ever made. I tried this recipe over a year ago when my friends and I set out to cook our way through this old copy of the classic Betty Crocker cook book; sadly, we only got through a couple of weeks until the idea fizzled out. But the idea of this cobbler, hot from the oven with a scoop of good vanilla ice cream beside it, will never grow old to me.

Betty's Berry Cobbler

Ingredients
For the shortcake:
     2 cups sifted flour
     2 T sugar
     3 tsp baking powder
     1 tsp salt
     6 T shortening
     1 cup milk

For the fruit:
     2 cups sugar
     2 T cornstarch
     2 cups boiling water
     6 cups berries (blackberries, boysenberries or
     ollalieberries) mixed with 1 1/2 cups sugar
     1 T butter
     1 tsp cinnamon

Method (for the shortcake):
Stir together first 4 ingredients. Then add the shortening and cut in fine with a pastry blender. Stir in the milk to make a soft dough. Set aside.

For the fruit:
Mix together the sugar and cornstarch in a saucepan; gradually stir in the boiling water. Bring the mixture to a boil and keep it there for one minute, stirring constantly. Then add the berry/sugar combination.

Pour the fruit into a 9 x 13 baking dish. Drop spoonfuls of the shortcake onto the fruit nd then dot with butter. Sprinkle cinnamon on top (if desired). Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes.

It's best served warm with ice cream, but that's a given, right?

I (Still) Do

Image by AGB Photographics

Two years ago today, I traded my name for a new one, a name representative of a family I am proud to call my own. Oh, I'm still a Guzman deep down; I always will be, in part. But being a Maier has enriched my life in ways I wasn't able to foresee when we said these words to each other two years ago. When we wrote them, we were full of the romantic optimism that accompanies young love. Now, even though the "newlywed" bliss has faded into a new sort of romance, these vows mean even more to me than they did the day we exchanged them. 

For two years, we've lived our promises every day. And I found that it's true what they say: it does take work. We've learned that we must be purposeful, deliberate, mindful, sincere, otherwise we'd run the risk of settling into complacency, forgetting to be thankful for the blessing we have in each other. It's not to say we'd forget to love each other, but we could forget just how rare and how beautiful our story is: how taking a risk and opening ourselves up to loving each other made our lives richer and more meaningful.

Today, I'm saying these words to you again, Joey, because "I (still) do." In my heart, in my actions, in my choices, and in my dreams for our future. And I'm including your words to me as well because they mirror mine so perfectly, and today is the best day of the year to remember the way the two declarations fit together so well. By God's grace, may we uphold them as the years continue to slip by. Happy anniversary, my love!

Image by AGB Photographics

I, Josef, gladly choose you Rachel, to be my wife, to join with you in the journey God has set before us. I promise to guard and protect you and the love we share, always giving thanks to God for who you are. My love for you will remain steadfast through triumph and tribulation. I will remain true to you in both times of prosperity, and times of meagerness and want. I will celebrate health and vitality with you, and when your body is broken and your health has failed, I will be there to comfort and care for you. Forsaking all others. I will remain faithful to you always. I promise to look after you with a relentless love and a fervent joy until by death we are parted. Unto you, by God’s grace, I promise to faithfully uphold this declaration.
 

Image by AGB Photographics

I, Rachel, freely choose you, Josef, to be my husband, to join with you on the journey that God has set before us. I promise to nurture and sustain you, and the love we share, providing a safe place where that love may flourish. I promise to remain devoted to you through our successes and sorrows, to delight with you when there is plenty, and to persevere with you when there is not. I will celebrate health and vitality with you, and when your body is broken and your health has failed, I will be there to comfort and care for you. Forsaking all others. I will remain faithful to you always. I will respect and obey you, selflessly loving you until by death we are parted. Unto you by God’s grace, I promise to faithfully uphold this declaration.

I'm back and (perhaps) better than ever.

Well, I’m back.

And to my frustration, none of the things I thought I’d be saying today are coming out at the moment. I have been sitting here tinkering with the keys on this keyboard for the past several minutes, and I have ended up deleting much of what I’ve written because this morning, nothing seems to really communicate the things I want to say.

So, instead of over-analyzing this setback and beating myself up over it, I’m letting it go and letting my hands loose. Sometimes when I let them do the work, they just go, clicking away so fast that I lose track of them, and before I know it, there are things on the page I hadn’t planned to put there.

In the end, those are the moments I relish, the moments when something comes out of me that I did not know was there, and when confronted with a blinking cursor the next time around, I remind myself that it is not a writer’s curse. A blinking cursor doesn’t mean the words have run out; it is a signal that something is in progress. It is a signal that when the next thought is formed, it will be ready to act. A blinking cursor is not a curse. It is a patient friend.

I have realized over the past few weeks (in large part to those of you who were so kind to encourage me) that the words I write are important because they are mine. Shocking, isn’t it? One would think I’m a little nutty if I am only now figuring that out. But I can’t help it—it was revealing to me. These words represent thoughts all my own, thoughts that are unique and meaningful because they represent something real—they represent me, my thoughts, my life, my interests, my choices, my perspective.

But in a world obsessed with self, I sort of panicked that if I continued to write about my own little world that I would seem self-involved to the outside observer. In a celebrity-obsessed world where ordinary folks are vying for a moment in the spotlight, I find myself questioning how much of what I see of them is real. Even on blogs, I am left wondering how much of it is for show and how much of it is real. I don’t want to leave anyone wondering if what I post here is real or not. I don’t want to create a façade, or make my life seem more perfect than it actually is. I don’t want to seem like I think I am more important than I actually am, and yet, I found myself long for significance. How do you marry those two thoughts? Not wanting to seem self-important and wanting to be significant at the same time?

In the end, I realized this: what I say matters, not because I am something important on my own, but because Jesus made me something special, and he has called me to do exactly the thing I fear most: bring Him glory by being who He created me to be.

Here is my pledge: I won’t pretend here. What you read, what you see—it will all be a real taste of who I am as I learn to live out the gifts He’s given me.

So here I am, an open book. Feel free to read.

The Demon of Comparison

Do you ever have those moments in which everything you do seems so...unoriginal? I do.

I've battled with this for as long as I can remember, the feeling that whatever it is I'm good at, whatever it is I love doing, whatever it is that I am , shrinks down to nothing when I open myself up to the demon of comparison.

Do you ever do that?

It's the thing that kept me from trying out for the soccer team in high school.

It's the thing that kept me from taking a creative writing class in college.

It's the thing that made me overly self-conscious for most of my life.

It's the thing that kept me from admitting that I'm good at something. Anything.

It's the thing that kept me prisoner from my true self.

It's the thing that stole the freedom to be myself quite awhile ago, the thing from which I escaped, and the thing which I'm discovering has found a new way to hold me captive. 

I've been absent from this little blog for awhile now. Sort of intentionally. Sort of coincidentally. Wrapping things up at work has taken a lot of my mental energy over the past few weeks, so I haven't had the will or the energy to put much thought into writing. I've missed it. There are many things pent up inside of me, and I'm (sort of) excited to get back to it.

But before I do in earnest, I'm doing some soul searching. I'm trying to figure out what it is I write about. I feel scattered and disorganized and full of excitement and passion, but no focus. I've been reading a lot of really wonderful blogs over the past few months, some that are inspiring, and some that just plain make me feel bad about myself. (A problem of my own, I admit.) The blogs I've been reading don't try to make me feel bad. They're just out there doing their thing, right? But when I read them, all I hear inside is, "And what is it you think you're doing? Why would anyone want to read what you have to say? What is it you have to say, anyway?" The little demon of comparison. At least I know it for what it is.

And yet, I'm still left reeling, trying to figure out what I'm doing. Or what I want to do. Why can't I just do my thing? What do I have to say? What do I have to offer? And why do I compare myself with the other bloggers out there (who seem to do it so easily), when deep down, I know that who I am and what I do matters?

I know there aren't a lot of you out there, but for those of you who happen to see this, can you answer a question for me? Why do you read what I write? What keeps you coming back? Why do you choose to spend any of your precious time sorting through these (somewhat scattered) posts?

I'm not asking because I want accolades or affirmation. I'm asking because I need perspective. And you, the people who read what I write, you are people I trust.

I'll be back soon. In what capacity? I'm not quite sure yet. But I promise that I'll be back. Until then, big hugs.

Trading Comfort for Freedom

When I was in school, I never liked to ask questions in class. I was a terribly shy little girl, and I hated talking in front of people. I kept my questions to myself because I knew that if I raised my hand, other people would look at me, listen to me, and (gulp) hear my voice. Plus, I knew from experience that someone else would usually ask the question that was swirling around my mind; if I just waited a little bit, my question would usually be asked and answered. At that time, I didn’t really mind too much if any of my questions went unanswered because I thought I would eventually figure it out anyway.

When I got a little older, I didn’t mind volunteering answers in class, although I still wasn’t too keen on asking questions. When I knew the answer, I was confident, but I continued to keep my questions to myself because the last thing I wanted was for everyone to know that I didn’t already know the answer. After all, I was the girl who knew the answer. I was the sort of student who teachers called on because they knew that I knew the answer. Yes, I was that girl.

But by not asking questions, I missed an opportunity to learn, to discover, to renew my thinking. Back then, that stuff didn’t matter very much because it was overshadowed by fear—of drawing unwanted negative attention to myself. Of not liking the answers I received. Of other people knowing that I actually didn’t know everything already. Of admitting that I didn’t have it all together.

Now as an adult, and a teacher at that, I realize the value of asking hard questions, and I’m ready to face my fears. Not in the classroom, but in life. I’m starting to ask a lot of questions—tough ones, perhaps, ones that will make me uncomfortable sometimes, I’m sure. I’m willing to take the risk though, because the more I learn, the more I want to learn. The more I discover the truth, the farther my life seems from reflecting it. The truth is that I’ve gotten used to being comfortable, and I’m getting uncomfortable with how comfortable I’ve gotten—how comfortable we’ve gotten. But, the truth is this:

Comfort is not the goal. Freedom is.

Susie Larson said that. She spoke at our church's women's retreat recently, and what she had to say was so simple, in many ways, but incredibly timely and profound. 

When Joey and I first got married, we were full of resolve to living a well-rounded, healthy life in which we were committed to nourishing our bodies, staying active, keeping our minds sharp, and engaging our creativity. Almost two years later, our lives don’t really reflect that passion much anymore, at least, not as much as either of us would like. The fire in our hearts seemed to be stifled by circumstance. The embers of the fire are still glowing, and another thing Susie said stoked the fire. She said, "Our circumstances do not define us. We were made to be freedom fighters." So simple. So true. As a result, I have been asking myself questions lately, questions that I am posting for you all to see because I believe that finding the answers to them are that important. I’ve been sitting on these things, not sharing for quite awhile because I know that putting the questions out there means that I’ll have to start living out the answers as I find them, and again, that means getting uncomfortable. But sometimes comfort is overrated, isn't it?

So here it goes:

What would happen if I turned the TV off? Would I find that I actually do have the time to do the things I say I want to do? Would I write more? Would I read the book that’s been sitting on my nightstand for the past six months? Would I finally use the sewing machine that’s been collecting dust, the one I’ve been so eager to use but just never have?

What would happen if I set the kitchen table and sat down to eat dinner with my family, instead of taking our usual seat in front of the TV with our food on our laps? Would we have something to say to each other, or would we sit in uncomfortable silence?

What would happen if I took a walk before dinner? After dinner? Would I really miss out on much?

What would happen if I took the time every day to cook healthy meals from scratch? Would I run out of time? Money? Energy?

What would happen if I took all the extra money I spend on convenience and added it to my tithe? Gave it to a local charity? Put it in savings? Added to my little girl’s college fund?

What if I read the Bible? You know, consistently? And what if I did what it says?

What if I believed that I really am God’s temple? Would I treat it kindly? Would I stop giving myself a hard time and start giving myself some respect?

What if I wore a dress in the middle of the week just because I felt like it?

What would happen if I took what I learn and actually did something about it?

What if I taught my kids good habits from the start, so that I don’t have to break their bad habits later?

What if I spent more time talking to my friends face to face rather than through texts, emails, or Facebook?

What if I didn’t purchase things without knowing the story behind them? If I sought out the story behind them, would I uncover ugly truths? Would I spend my money the same way as I always have?


What if I stopped mindlessly putting my money toward the things I say I am against, and start mindfully putting it where our heart is?


What would happen if I spent a little extra time thinking about what I do and why I do it, instead of going through the motions I have become so comfortable with?

What would happen? Really? Are the answers worth the risk?

I’m inclined to believe they are. And little by little, I'm going to fight for freedom in these areas because I'm choosing that in the end, Susie is right. Freedom is the goal.

Project 31 Day 26: My Legacy

"What do you hope your grandchildren will say about you someday when you are gone?"

I've been pondering this for well over a week, trying to come up with something short and sweet that captures everything I hope generations after me will say about me and the life I lived. But I couldn't do it. Finally, I decided that a disjointed list of seemingly unrelated things is okay.  One beautiful, sweeping statement about what kind of legacy I hope to leave just won't cut it because I hope my grandchildren know me well enough to say lots of things about me--some funny, some quirky, some sweet and moving, like...

She smelled good. Not like an old lady at all.

You know how some families dread going to Grandma's house? Not me. I loved visiting her.

No one will ever make a better chocolate chip cookie. But if I'm lucky, I'll make them just as good as she did. 

I loved watching her dance in the kitchen with Grandpa. She couldn't dance worth anything, but Grandpa didn't care, and neither did she. I hope my husband and I love each other like that when we are as old as they are.

Her laugh was infectious. I cry when I laugh just like she did.

She loved life; she squeezed everything out of it that she could, and I know Jesus is going to greet her with open arms and say, "Well done."

With her, I felt safe and loved.

She taught me how to sing "I'm a Little Teapot," and she always had the best tea parties.

She couldn't carry a tune, but I loved listening to her sing.

She swore she didn't have favorites among us grandkids, but secretly I believe she liked me best. At least, that's the way she made me feel whenever I was with her.

I hope she knows how much I love her.

She believed in me, and she taught me to believe in myself. 

She made things beautiful.

I loved spending time with her.

I loved it when she read stories to me. She always did all the voices.

As much as she loved me, as much as she loved my mom, and as much as she loved Grandpa--she loved Jesus more. And she loved people the way He loves them.

I'll miss her.

PB & J Muffins

PB & J muffins--yep, like the classic sandwich, but these just might be better. (Plus, they're made with lots of good-for-you organic ingredients) The first time I made them, I used strawberry banana jam (which was a perfect combination, if you ask me), but this time around I used plum jam because it's what we had in the cupboard. You could certainly use whatever you happen to have on hand, or whatever your particular favorite jam happens to be. The recipe makes about 12 regular-sized muffins, but I think they'd be great as mini muffins too, especially if you're making them for little tummies. They're best just minutes out of the oven, washed down with--what else? A tall glass of cold milk.

Ingredients:
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoons salt
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 cup milk (I used skim)
2 large eggs
2/3 cups sucanat or rapadura (natural cane sugar)
1/2 cup natural peanut butter
2/3 cups pureed banana
1/2 cup jam (approximately)

Method:
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Line muffin tins with paper baking cups. In a large bowl, mix together dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt). 

Add milk, eggs, sugar, peanut butter and bananas to the bowl. Using an electric mixer, combine ingredients together (on low speed) until just moistened.

Fill prepared muffin cups evenly with half of the batter (each cup should be about halfway full). Put 1 1/2 teaspoons of jam in the center of each muffin. (As you can see, it doesn't matter if it's perfect...).

Use the remaining batter to top each muffin cup and sprinkle the tops with a little bit of sugar.

Bake for about 20 minutes (or until toothpick comes out clean). Let cool in the pan for a few minutes, and then transfer the muffins to a rack.

 

I love how crackley and gooey they are when they first come out of the oven. And the smell? So good. Not sure much beats the smell of freshly made muffins in the morning.