Potato Salad School

We have friends and family coming over tomorrow, so I've just finished making a giant batch of potato salad. It's my mother-in-law's recipe, and it's the only one I ever make anymore. Of course, it hasn’t always been my favorite. It was love at first sight when my husband and I met. I fell in love with his family as well. Their taste in food, however, was another story. The goulash was good. The nachos were great, but I just couldn't understand why this family insisted on putting green olives in everything. I’ve often heard that they are an acquired taste. At that point, I still didn't care for them much. Imagine my surprise, then, when they even showed up in the potato salad! I was beginning to worry I might starve at family functions.

Fast forward many years. My husband and I had been married for almost a decade. We had three beautiful children, and I had learned to love green olives - especially in Cathy's potato salad. She was called upon to make it for all the picnics, potlucks, and gatherings. The last few get-togethers had been difficult, however. My mother-in-law had cancer, and it had begun to manifest itself in interesting ways, including some we did not expect. There was, of course, the fatigue and nausea. But, there were other things, too – more campout weekends together; the re-telling of childhood stories; the increasingly-frequent exchange of wan, knowing smiles.  

She arrived at my house one afternoon with three huge bags of supplies - potatoes, bowls, special kitchen equipment, and (of course) green olives. Apparently, Potato Salad School was in session, and I was ready to be a diligent pupil. Because it wasn't a recipe she had ever written down, but rather a labor of love each and every batch, we mixed, and chopped, and tasted together. I took copious notes. By the end of the afternoon we had a big bowl of what was unquestionably her special potato salad, I had a recipe in hand, and she wore a tired but triumphant expression.

It was then that I really stopped to take a good look at her. Her hair had been short, wavy, and black before the chemo. The wig she had chosen that day was a chin-length, blonde bob. (Even in the face of such loss, she chose to find the bright side, experimenting with hairstyles she never would have been able to achieve otherwise.) She was thin, and didn't have the stamina she used to. In that moment, I suddenly realized Potato Salad School was about far more than just passing along a recipe. It was one part rite of passage for a daughter-in-law, one part passing-of-the-torch for a mother-in-law. It was, in short, the assurance that her potato salad - and all that it entailed - would continue, even if she did not.

Cathy passed away about a year later. It had been a long, hard process, and we were blessed to be by her side during the weeks she was in the hospital and Hospice. The whole family gathered with my father-in-law back at their house the morning after she died, numb and unsure of what to do. I found myself drawn to the kitchen, and began dragging out her giant bowl, methodically peeling potatoes, and hunting around in the cupboard for the jars of green olives that I knew I would find there. After all - the family was together, and that meant someone had to make the potato salad. I’m not sure it tasted as good as hers, but it was a comfort to have it there anyway.

Since then, I’ve been the one expected to make it for all the picnics, potlucks, and gatherings, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Every second helping and satisfied “mmmmm” are reminders of my beloved mother-in-law, all the love she had for her family, and our special afternoon together where I learned so much more than just how to make potato salad. 

Image courtesy of Simon Howden/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

We Are Those People

(Image courtesy of Danilo Razzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

I know you've all read my rants about my slow, painful realization that I am an actual-factual, bona-fide adult. How it wasn't something I wanted. How it snuck up on me. How there are still days when I feel like I'm faking my way through it. And, yet, it's true. I'm a grown up. Seems strange to think about being something without realizing it, but I'm beginning to suspect that happens more often than we know. For example - I have so many people that I look up to. You know - people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, I am in awe of people who have unyielding and enduring faith  That's what impresses me. That's what encourages me. That's what I want to be. But, maybe that's what I already am - at least to someone. And (ready for it?) maybe you are too.

I got to thinking about this a few weeks ago while on the phone with my best friend, Lee Ann. During our daily phone conversation we were discussing the typical things that mature ladies talk about -  communicable childhood diseases, mortgage rates, thirty-minute meal recipes, how to clean pet stains out of carpet, politics. You know - the usual. Then, our conversation turned to her new Bible study group. Now, Lee Ann and I have discussed everything that has ever happened in our lives since the moment the first one of us learned our first word. Possibly even before then. So, the fact that our conversation was about the Bible was far, far from shocking. What was shocking, though, when I stopped to really, REALLY listen, was the wisdom of the words coming out of my friend's mouth.

Don't get me wrong - Lee Ann has always been a smart girl, and has a relationship with the Lord that has been tested and proven firm many times, in many ways. It's just, this is also the same person who once owned a pet raccoon, let out a cuss word in the middle of Vacation Bible School (right in front of the teacher!), and is from the same backwoods, redneck Oklahoma town that I am. (And those are just the things I can write about...) But, during the course of our conversation, she talked eloquently and humbly about the many times and ways she's witnessed in her community, reassured young believers, followed the leading of the Spirit (even when it was reallllly hard to do so), encouraged her husband and her children in their faith, etc, etc, etc. I couldn't help but think to myself - when had my best friend gotten so darn wise?

And then it hit me - she is one of those people. One of the people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, she is a person with unyielding and enduring faith. She impresses me. She encourages me. She is one of those people. And I was talking to her. Indeed - I was talking with her; engaged in the conversation as fully as she was. I was (could it be true?) holding up my end of this profound spiritual discussion with this profoundly wise woman almost as well as she was. Imagine the shock of finding out - all on the same day - that not only has your best friend become a wise, mature woman of the Lord, but you have too! I tell you, people, I was amazed.

Let me assure you - this was not a revelation that was easy to accept. Every time I would start to see in myself the same habits and attributes that I have long admired about others (spiritual maturity! lasting, happy marriage! love of the scripture! healthy prayer life!) I would start to see myself, and doubt would creep in. You know what I mean about seeing myself? I mean I would be reminded of those deep, dark, dirty things that I don't like about myself. That I wish weren't true. That I wish I hadn't done. That I wish were different. They kept echoing through my mind whenever I considered the idea that maybe - just maybe - God really could use me to do great things in the earth. To change people's lives. To make a difference. To further His kingdom. I wanted to believe, but somehow I though that surely someone like deep, dark, dirty ol' me couldn't ever really be one of those people. 

It could have ended there. I could have let myself believe the lies. Sink back into oblivion. Let my past derail my future. But, I didn't. Do you want to know why? It's all about choices. I have decided that God meant what He said when he declared that he would use the foolish and weak to put the wise and mighty to shame. I have decided that I can't believe in the full, redemptive work of the cross for others unless I believe it for myself as well. I have decided that if God could use a drunk like Noah, a womanizer like Samson, an adulterer like David, a prostitute like Mary Magdalene, and a denier like Peter, then surely He can use me too. Right?

But, most of all, I have decided that the world needs more people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, who have unyielding and enduring faith. And, though I will never, ever, in a bajillion years achieve those things on my own, through His spirit I can. Yep. I choose to believe that all of that good stuff can be mine - not because I am so great, but because my God is.

So, if two flawed (but fabulous, if I do say so myself) grown-up girls from Oklahoma can be those people, I'm pretty sure that means you can too. What are you waiting for? There's a whole world out there in need of people just like us.

Chasing Butterflies with Sarah

Listen up folks - I've got an important announcement to make. I've been saying it to my children for years, and have even lectured students in my classes about it. It's time I sit you all down and have the talk with you as well. Get comfy, 'cuz there's some preachin' comin' your way.

If your life isn't poignant, you aren't paying attention.

That's it. Do you need me to repeat it? If.your.life.isn't.poignant.you.aren't.paying.attention. It's as simple as that. Go ahead - let it sink in for a minute.

I think it's important to start off with a good, solid understanding of what poignancy really is, and what it isn't. Most of the time this word evokes feelings of deep sadness or mourning for people. And, it can be that. But, it's so much more, too. Merriam-Webster dictionary describes the word poignant as piercing, deeply affecting, cutting, designed to make a lasting impression. There can be pain in the poignant, to be sure, but there can also be unfathomable joy, peace, revelation, desire, empathy, epiphany... the list goes on and on. The best moments of poignancy, if you ask me, are the ones that contain both ends of the spectrum - the comfortable and the uncomfortable - at the same time. Those highly acute moments - which stretch our emotional muscles to their fullest, until they are positively taut and buzzing - are the places where we truly experience what it feels like to live; where the most complex things in life are boiled down into one self-contained, momentary emotional high note.

Let me give you an example. The other day I took my girls to the zoo. We ambled through the ape house, traipsed by the tigers, and loitered in front the baby lions. We shared happiness, jokes, questions, gestures, and memories. These things were good, but they were not poignant. That didn't come until we sat ourselves down in the theater, giggled at each other in our goofy 3-D glasses, and watched as the a movie scrolled across the giant IMAX screen in front of us. Typically, I do not find that screen moments = poignant moments, which made it all the more painfully and startlingly wonderful when I looked over and saw my youngest child chasing the butterflies that appeared to leap off of the screen toward her.

She is allllllllllllllmost six years old. That means something. Anyone who has ever had kids, and watched them grow beyond that age, or anyone who honestly remembers what it was like to be a child of five years old, knows that five is significant. It is special in a way that no other age is. (Yes, yes... I know that can be said equally of every other age as well. But, that doesn't make it any less true.) Since she is our last, this is the last time I will be a mother to a five year old. In the fleeting days of this year of her life, in the shadowy darkness of that theater, I witnessed the special gift of five-years-old in the most poignant of ways possible. All of the innocence and incorruptible curiosity that is five was positively leaping from her dancing eyes and outstretched hands. Elation! Abandon! Freedom! Excitement! It was all there, on display, for what I knew would probably be one of the very last times ever for her as my child, and me as her mother. As I watched her, I couldn't help but feel an immensely proud pain in my heart. It was as though that bubble of joy that she exuded was being drawn up with the rushing winds of time. I could not experience her five-ness without the immediate and stinging realization of her imminent six-ness following behind to swallow it up. The moment was as delicate as the butterflies she was chasing, and every bit as fleeting, as well.

That was poignancy. It was dropped into my lap like a bittersweet gift. Thankfully, I've learned enough to savor such moments. When Sarah's joy had subsided, and she took her seat again, I looked around and noticed a handful of other beautiful, young children reaching toward the dancing images. A few parents took note, wearing knowing smiles like my own. Many shushed their excited kiddos, coaxing them to sit down once again and be quiet. Most, however - most! -  missed the experience entirely. That is why I am lecturing you. I don't want you to miss out.

It seems to me that so many people today, tired of their lives of quiet desperation, seek the calm, the smooth, the easy, the expected. Contentment is enough. Complacency. Sameness. Equanimity. I understand the urge to have these things. We should know them well, and live much of our lives in their comfortable embrace. However, a heartbeat requires peaks and valleys. Without them, we are flatlined. We are dead. It is the same for our emotional hearts. Relying on the safety of the known narrows our capacity to feel the highs and lows; to learn from what they have to teach us, to be filled with the knowledge and reality of their existence - even when painful.

I guess that's it. Lecture over. I truly hope you either really enjoyed it, or really didn't. Whichever it is, I win, since either reaction causes a bit of a blip to the heart rate on the ol' emotional EKG. Like any good teacher, I can't leave without giving you some homework. Below are several opportunities for you to work your poignancy muscle. I hope they help you hit some peaks and valleys, in order to get warmed up for the rest of your day, the rest of your week, and the rest of your life. Trust me on this - poignancy is out there - all around you - all the time. I truly believe that there is beauty, love, pain, grace, mercy, challenge, joy, etc, etc, etc. in every circumstance and every life. In short, the poignant is all around you. At least, the capacity for it is. Whether or not you allow yourself to find and experience it is often more about whether you are willing to look, than where, or even how hard.

Oh, and one more thing - there will be a test on this. It's called life, and I sincerely hope you do well on it. 

Not Your Typical Sports Report

1.) Read synopsis. 2.) Look Through Photos. 3.) Think and Be Moved

Big Baby, Little Baby

The Ending to an Old Fashioned Love Story

A Day at the Park 
And Yet, He Loves Us Still

Happy New Second!

Well, it's 2013. Despite what those rascally Mayans might have predicted, the world didn't end (at least, not here in Western Iowa), and the inexorable parade of time keeps bass-drumming its way down the avenue of life. New Year's Eve has never really been a highlight holiday for me. Around here, we tend to celebrate in as low-key of style as possible - generally in jammies. (Sure, we get strange looks at the black-tie parties we attend, but at least our dry cleaning bill is lower!) All joking aside, the reason you'll find the Farrier family at home on December 31st has as much to do with our philosophy in life as it does with our desire to be comfortable.

My understanding is that at a typical, big New Year's Eve party, the celebrants eat tiny food off of toothpicks, drink way too many mixed alcoholic drinks, then finish the evening off with a countdown, confetti, noisemakers, and a single kiss at midnight. What's up with that!? First off, if the food is any good, why would you want tiny portions? And, if it's not good, why would you want to eat it? How fancy can a party be if they're too cheap to get out the silverware, and force you to use toothpicks instead? That concept right there is enough to keep me at home.  Secondly, how much fun can a party be if the hosts have to ply me with enough liquor that I won't remember the party? How much fun can a party be if all the other guests have been plied with enough liquor that they won't remember the party, either?  See? Doesn't make much sense when you stop to think about it, does it? The only good thing about being at a party with that much free-flowing booze is that you won't be able to recall having acted like a total idiot, and neither will anyone else who was there. Don't be fooled into thinking that means none of you acted like total idiots, though - especially in the days of camera phones.

Finally, there's the fanfare and hoopty-doo of the countdown itself. I don't get this. At all. Are we really that desperate to be done with one year, that we're literally counting down the seconds until its demise? Seems a little macabre and mean spirited if you ask me. Sure, there are some times when I'd like to see the clock tick a tiny bit faster - during boring meetings, while driving on long trips, and when someone else is in the bathroom and I really need to go. Most often, however, I find myself wishing I could slow the clock and savor the precious moments of life a little bit longer, not the other way around. It seems like only yesterday that my children were born, yet I now find myself surrounded by graceful, intelligent, lovely young ladies. The reality of desperately wishing for time to fly by - even if it is only the last few seconds of a year - is that you're also wishing yourself out of the best stuff that life has to offer: time. Time to hug your kids. Time to tell your friends and family how much they mean to you. Time to put your hands to a task that will make the world a better place. Time - it's already a finite, vanishing resource in each life. Why would you wish it away faster than it's already disappearing?

Perhaps, however, I've got it all wrong. Maybe it's not the ending of the old year that gets people so audibly excited, but the beginning of the new one. Can that be true? Are all the streamers and noisemakers really about the fact that the last digit of the date will now be one bigger than it was before? To be honest, that's always brought more hassle than excitement to me. My checks almost always wear a strange, smudged, hybrid number until well in January, when I finally get the hang of writing the new one correctly. I sometimes wonder if the people at my bank worry that perhaps I've had a small stroke, or something.

What is it about the rolling over of the clock on New Year's Eve that causes us to be made aware of the freshness of possibilities for our lives? I understand the importance of a brand new calendar, a brand new year, and brand new chance for things to be brand new. But, while the symbolism, vocabulary, and hype might make it seem that January 1st is the only (or best) time of year to embrace such sentiments, I'd like to offer an alternative philosophy. It's a good one, I think, and the very same philosophy that I mentioned at the end of the first paragraph, and which keeps me on the couch instead of out and about on New Year's Eve.

Every day is a new day, filled with new opportunity. That's it. It's not just the January 1sts of life that give us the chance to renewed. It's every day. More than that, it's every hour, every minute, every second. Literally. How long does it take to make the decision to do the right thing? How long does it take to say the words, "I love you"? How long does it take to share a smile? To open a door? To savor the sunset? To give someone hope? This, people, is the good stuff in life. This is the substance of what we're here for. And, the best news of all, is that we have the chance to be brand new (and help others be brand new) each and every second of each and every day. Even if you're at home, and in your jammies.That's the beauty of this philosophy.

So, I want to wish you all a very happy New Year. But, more importantly, I also want to wish you a very happy New Month, New Day, New Hour, New Moment, and New Second. Because, honestly, these are the things worth celebrating.