rose of Sharon

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Second Sunday in Advent...and baking.....

We shared communion this morning. We were again reminded of Christ's death until he comes again. There is something that happens to us when we share in that meal. We sit and think of the great sacrifice that took place in order for us to be able to break the bread and drink the wine. We reflect on what that looks like in today's world of "self"...self-serving, making sure I come first, and not another, looking to my own interests instead of the interests of others. Jesus came to show us how we aught not be first, but last; how it is better to serve than to be served. It's just all backward from the way the world tends to show itself. I like Jesus' way better.

The second purple Advent candle was lit too, this morning, the candle of peace. We sang songs of peace and prayed for peace throughout the world.....the peace that comes from Christ....the peace that passes all understanding.

So was the morning.

The afternoon arrived and out came the decorations from the many boxes. Cpl. Nutcracker stood at attention on the dining room table and watched over the proceedings as garland appeared and wreaths and every manner of Christmas remembrance....some were home-made by our children, some given to us by friends, others purchased in some particular little shop - all with a story.

Then I baked up the croissants. The dough had been left in the fridge overnight. They didn't rise as much as they should have but, ya, once again there just happened to be two fatalities.....one for husband and one for me. Yum

Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for today, it was full and enjoyable not to mention tiring.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

A day off.....

The day off began (mostly) with breakfast at Humpty's. It was a sunny/cloudy/sunny/cloudy kind of morning and our raven friends were out having breadfast too, on 2nd Avenue.

This was followed by a - "shall we try going in to Superstore???!!!"trip. We went. It wasn't bad at all. I think everyone else was thinking that they wouldn't think about going to Superstore at noon on a Saturday in December either, but we dared to venture. We amazingly gathered up our few things without crowds and clouds of people, and hit the check-out in record time!

Next....the baking.

Husband cut out a recipe from the local newspaper: "Glazed Apple-Ricotta Tarts". Sounded really good...........not to mention 'healthy'....

WE had to try them out. Quite the procedure. It involved many apples, Ricotta cheese, apple brandy (which we substituted with apple cider), apple jelly (naturally), lemon zest and of course, my made-from-scratch pastry (is there any other???:-)

I THOUGHT husband had all ingrediends as this was HIS recipe. Nope. Another trip. This time to Safeway. I made pastry while he made his second trip.

Peeled and peeled and peeled and peeled. Apples done. Crust done. Make filling.

I put the Ricotta cheese in with the apples and cider and lemon and I started them cooking on the stove..........

The cheese was curdling.........then I read further into the recipe. ONLY PUT THE CHEESE IN AFTER THE APPLES ARE COOKED AND COOLED. Shoot. I knew I should have read the whole dang thing. Oh well.

My philosophy was, after we both chided ourselves for NOT reading the entire recipe, that since it had all healthy ingredients....apples, cheese, lemon, apple jelly.......that even if the stupid things didn't turn out the way they were supposed to, we'd eat 'em anyway.

The cooked apple mixture was delicately placed into each tart shell, uncooked apple slivers placed on top of that and then a teaspoon of melted apple jelly poured over each-and-every-single-ding-dang tart.

I could see disaster happening. The jelly was overflowing down the outsides of the tart shells.

Sugar + heat = burn

All cooked and out the oven. Around and around each tart with a knife to get the burned shells out of the pans. We had one fatility. They don't taste too bad actually.....and very healthy, we reminded ourselves.

Between cooking/cooling/pouring/scraping the healthy apple tarts, we also found time to make some raspberry tarts (daughter loves those) and some teeny-tiny-iddy-biddy tart shells for the lemon curd we shall make......one day.

FFFWWWUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPP!!!

That was a pound of lard settling nicely on each of my hips.......

Friday, December 5, 2008

A French Christmas carol....

I hope we get to sing this carol this Advent season:

'Twas in the moon of winter-time, when all the birds had fled,

That mighty Lord of all the world sent angel choirs instead.

Before their light the stars grew dim, and wand'ring hunters heard the hymn:

Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.

Within a lodge of broken bark the tender babe was found,

a ragged robe of rabit skin enwraped his beauty round,

But as the hunter braves drew nigh, the angel song rang loud and high.

Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.

The earliest moon of winter-time is not so round and fair

as was the ring of glory on the helpless infant there.

The chiefs from far before him knelt with gifts of fox and beaver pelt.

Jesus your king is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.

O children of the forest free, the angel song is true,

the holy child of earth and heav'n is born today for you.

Come kneel before the radiant boy who brings you beauty, peace and joy.

Jesus your king is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.

Jean de Brebeuf ~ 1593-1649

a French carol

And a quote from one of our Covenant fathers, Karl A. Olsson from Things Common and Preferred 1959. (Covenant Hymnal, #152)

"Christ has put on time like a vesture. History is his. The myth and the legend, the cradle song and the love song, the fairy tale and the proverbs, the tired wisdom of tired old brains and the fresh dream which lies like a blade of sunlight across the land all, all are his."

Amen......have a good night..........

Thursday, December 4, 2008

The tree that blushed....

Once upon a time, way back on the tree plantation, many years ago, stood little Bertrum Balsam. All his friends called him Bertie but others called him 'Trum'pet Ears. His mother said not to worry with the name calling because she knew he would grow up to be one of the most elite trees ever to grow on the plantation. She just knew it.

Years went by. He grew and grew and grew and grew. Taller and taller with each passing year. He didn't get 'Trumpet Ears' anymore. He had become a well respected Balsam by then and they now called him simply 'Bert'. He liked it. It suited him. It was a strong name, a name that he was proud of. Bert Balsam. It even sounded good to him.

As the years went by, plantation owners each season would come and stop by Bert's lower branches, get up on a ladder and come and give him a trim. He had a few branches that were a bit out of place but after the cut, he felt like a new tree. He liked being trimmed too. It gave him a new outlook on life and he would remember his mother telling him that "one year Bertie, you will be cut down and taken out of the plantation. You will be wrapped up and shipped to another part of the country where you will be treated like a king. People will come and look at you and say "we want THAT tree....that Balsam Fir. It looks like it will be perfect for the middle of our building!"

And sure enough, this was the year they came and cut Bert down. He knew his purpose for growing straight and strong was now going to be fulfilled. He was excited. He couldn't wait to leave for his special place and be everything to these people, like his mother wanted him to be.

He was cut down. He was wrapped up. He was carefully placed on a huge truck. He heard them say he was off to a place called Prince Albert.....and he finally arrived. Just as his mother had said, people came and pointed to Bert with expressions of wonder..."we want THAT tree. "

Away went Bert to his new home....the last home he would ever have. It was okay though. He knew this was his reason for growing so beautifully all these years. He would give everything he had to these people and enjoy his new surroundings, even for his few short weeks that remained in his life.

Men came and picked him up, and in came Bert. They treated him royally. People stood everywhere watching him enter the building. Up they pushed him and into his "stand". The men got him standing perfectly straight. At 17 feet it was hard for these little fellows to hold him upright but as the stand was fastened to Bert's strong trunk it became more and more evident that it was all going to be good. They let him go to stand alone.......and there he stood, still bound, but standing tall. Next came the water to feed him. He drank and drank and drank still more water. Bert could feel his branches beginning to relax from the cold trip he had experienced and over the next several hours he fell asleep.

Morning dawned. He needed to stretch. Someone came by and cut all the ropes that had bound him securely all night. Ohhhhhhhh that felt soooooo gooooooood. His branches fell into place. He was perfect. He was the loveliest of trees and all those who entered the building stood and gazed at him with delight and awe. He was feeling good about himself and was waiting for the final part of his journey - being decorated.

People came. They had boxes. Before Bert new what had happened, he stood with glittering lights all over him. They were small little lights it seemed and somehow didn't do Bert justice. He was 17 feet tall after all. But on the lights went.....string after string....around and around until his branches were covered with dancing colors.

He thought that this was it. He kind of liked his lights. He could see himself reflected in the windows. But what happened next horrified Bert, beyond anything else that could ever have happened. Out from the boxes came gold ribbon and one enormous gold bow that looked like an overstuffed wig from the '70's. They weren't going to fling that on him were they!

Before Bert had a chance to run, or hide or drop his needles, the ladder brushed close to him and on went the long rows of gold ribbon. He felt like some kind of hideous Christmas present. He gazed up and into the window above, seeing his cousin all decked out in lovely beads and colored balls and tinsel. Where were his? Did he grow all these years just for this?? Bert began to cry. His mother said he shouldn't do that when he had his lights on as it may cause a short and electrocute him, but at this point, Bert just didn't care. He'd had enough......or had he? No. No. Nooooooo...not the blond wig. THEY'RE PUTTING THAT UGLY GOLD BOW ON MY HEAD!!! I must be dreaming. This can't be happening. Mother said it would be so different than this.

Plop. The deed was done. The bow perched on his head like a huge muffin, all fluffed out and very gold. He heard that angels were put on top of trees like him, or at least lovely stars but he had to get a big fat bow. How degrading. How low. How horribly wretched.

Bert was so sad and hurt and embarrassed, he simply blushed. He didn't think Balsam Firs blushed, but he did. There he stood. He had nowhere to go. He wanted his last place to be so special and now, he was looked at by passersby with disdain and snickers and pointed fingers.

Maybe people would see underneath, see the real Bert....the Bert that had grown for many years and had withstood disease and cold and drought and wind. Maybe they would look at his lovely green branches and not notice the wretched things they had placed on him. All he could do was hope.

He began to not think of his decorations, but of himself, the Bert of the plantation, the Bert Balsam who was destined for greatness. His branches spread a bit further. His confidence began to return. He could remember his mother saying it really didn't matter what others do to you or say about you, it's what's inside of you that really counts. Bert remembered it all.

And as he spread his branches even further he heard a "click"...."click"......"click".....a lady was taking his picture.

"Someone must think I'm beautiful", thought Bert, as he stood tall and proud. And then he knew it to be true, as he heard her say to herself......"That tree is one of the loveliest trees I've ever seen!"

And I really meant it, Bert.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Away in a manger...

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,

the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.

The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay,

the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,

but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.

I love you Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,

And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

Be near me Lord Jesus, I ask you to stay

close by me forever, and love me I pray.

Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,

and fit us for heaven to live with you there.

I love that hymn. I remember singing it at Christmas when I was very small. I remember my children also singing it when they were very small and in a Christmas pageant.

Some children were cows with black and white "Holstein" costumes, others were shepherds knocking over baby Jesus in the manger with their cardboard staffs, and still others were supposed to be "wise men", dressed in their mothers fancy scarves and fake jewels.

Mary and Joseph would look at the rubber baby Jesus attentively (now and then) and give out a few side-ways glances and snickers at the thought of them being actual parents! The angels peered down from their heavenly perch on the platform, as chunks of fake feathers flutterd downward to the holy, yet rugged home-made manger.

All the Sunday School teachers would be standing by, close to the action, yet partially out of sight in anticipation of some wild catostrophic set design flaw. They are on red alert and when a long pause of silence takes place, they take action and whisper lines loudly to wee ones who have totally been taken up with their "new found fame", waving to grandma and daddy with big "HI's" and being oblivious to their "holy surroundings".

The cow and the wise man knew their lines at practice yesterday, but with the lights shining brightly into their tiny faces, the words whispered behind them have a vague familiarity but not enough to get them remembering exactly what is needed of them.

Memories............

Ah yes. I think Jesus must smile......laugh even........at our attempts to recreate His birth story.

"No crying he makes".......I laugh at the thought. That stall must have been pretty noisy, actually. Moooooooo, moooo, baaaaaaa ......... Whaaaaaa .......whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa......between animals and a new born, I can imagine the whole scene must have been far from peaceful -somewhat like the Christmas pageant, I'm thinkin'.:-)