Faith

Volunteers for Jesus

I re-read the writing prompt for today’s NaBloPoMo post: “Do you enjoy doing volunteer work? Is there anywhere you volunteer right now?”

My gut reactions to these questions were, “I’m not sure” and “Is there anywhere I don’t volunteer right now?” When I’m stressed, I regress. I could tell by the instinctual rolling of my eyes and my gut reaction to these questions that it was 8:18 on Labor Day morning and I was already becoming stressed by innocent writing prompts.

Volunteerism was ingrained by every social element of my childhood. Volunteerism has been encouraged by the church to which I belong for the last thirty years. I have served on professional organization or non-profit boards for the past twelve years, and I was even elected the “Service Learning Faculty of the Year” at Oklahoma State University in 2009. The elements of my volunteerism have become so numerous that when I try to tease them apart with mental tweezers, it’s as if my volunteerism timeline jumps back together into one, sticky, hypermagnatized blob.

And that blob invades my life. And my husband’s life…and my children’s.

Mick mows the yard for neighbors and family when they’re on vacation. My children volunteered for clean-up work after the recent tornado hit Moore, Oklahoma. I continue to provide therapy to at least one client weekly at free or reduced costs, and have for the past ten years. I still volunteer to provide services to low-income or vulnerable population couples at marriage enrichment retreats. I still volunteer to play the piano in our church praise band when I’m able.

“Do you enjoy doing volunteer work?”

Yes. Usually. But the enjoyment generally comes after the work commences. I wrestle with my choices to be at a certain place of responsibility until the moment I begin the work. But then my mind quits struggling with the “whether or nots”, or that particular work-of-the-day and engages with the opportunity, the people, the hope that my efforts and the efforts of those around me make a difference.

“Is there anywhere you volunteer right now?”

Yes. There are places I volunteer right now. And there will always be places I volunteer until I die. And, that sentence I just wrote was not hyperbole, it’s really true.

How can I be so certain? I know this because my family has prepared me for volunteerism, and still does, since I was born and will until they die.

Case in point: Last week my husband was mowing my parents lawn because they are on an extended vacation. So, while he was working I went over to check on my grandmother who had evidently been cooking for a while. As I walked in the door I smelled fried okra, pork chops and gravy. I also spied tomatoes, fresh zuchinni bread, and tea.

“Wow,” I thought. “She’s 92 and she’s just whipped out a full dinner in not a whole lot of time. Cripes!” Continue reading Volunteers for Jesus →

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NaBloPoMo

Serving is Not My Love Language

“Five more minutes, everyone.  Will that be good enough to wrap up your work?”

General agreement murmured across the classroom by way of a visual cue from approximately twenty percent of my graduate students. Looking up from their group work, they made eye contact with me and affirmatively nodded.

I had been asked by a friend to teach “Family and Developmental Theories” because at the last minute the instructor had to resign.  And when she asked, it was the last-last minute.  Four days before the class began I was running from building to building across campus: checking out room keys from security, filling out a stack of paper for human resources, and furiously absorbing the previous instructor’s syllabus because there was no time to build my own.

So there we were, two weeks into the class and the stranger’s syllabus had scheduled a “Movie Night” wherein my students were to take all their previous knowledge and analyze the movie we watched in class…

All their previous knowledge?  Wait, what?  For some students this was their first graduate course.  Others had graduated in business or other bachelor’s degree areas having nothing to do with the social sciences.  Their brows were furrowed and they were searching through the introductory section of Chapter 1 trying to take any concept they had absorbed and apply it to an interaction they’d just witnessed.

When the final call came, chairs turned toward the class, the group re-settled, and a quiet came over the class.  Once again, I assured them that ‘I understood if they had no previous family or developmental theory education, and that we would take this slowly.’

“So, who would like to go first?”

After three or four seconds passed, an older student in the front of the class raised her hand, “I guess we will…”

“Great,” I replied.  “What would you like to share?”

“Well, we didn’t know any theory, but all four of our group members have learned about Gary Chapman’s Love Languages, so we analyzed the following scenes using them.  First, we noticed that the mother must have ‘Acts of Service’ as her primary Love Language based upon the scene where she was fixing the dishwasher, refereeing the children, talking with her husband on the phone, and cooking dinner…”

The group identified each of the main characters, hypothesized which of the Love Languages might be their primary focus, and backed it up with the “why” analysis that graduate lecturer’s love.

Love…did I just write that?  Yes, I did.  I LOVE that the students were trying to stretch their scholarly wings by spending time in thought as well as time in discussion with our class. Why?  Because Gifts of TIME is my love language…not Acts of Service.

All six groups presented in six different ways, but they all performed higher than the bar their facial expressions had set prior to the assignment time. Continue reading Serving is Not My Love Language →

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My Little Victory Garden

My Little Victory Garden: Secrets to Making Crabapple Jam, Jelly, or Jamly

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When my neighbor and I see each other in the back yard, we almost always say “hi, there!”  Sometimes we yell a question or check in with how each other is doing.  And about twice a week, we start a conversation by walking toward our adjoining fence.  By the time we reach the fence, we’re halfway through with our discussion, and carry on by assuming our fence-leaning postures.  Lisa usually lays her arms over the top, and I usually lean my whole body against the fence and stand on one foot.  So, there we stand, three feet apart leaning on the fence and talking…about the topic of the day.

Today’s topic was “the proper consistency of jelly products.”  Lisa contends that you get what you get, and you eat whatever your fruit decides to offer, “whether it’s jelly, jam, or…jammmlllyy.”  In other words, there is a spectrum of what you end up with depending upon the year, the fruit, how ripe or unripe it was, the water content, whether you juiced it in a high-filtered juicer or one that extracts as much pulp as possible, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

The point being ~ there’s no real perfection in a recipe unless you’re a manufacturer with specifications, and then that takes the joy out of life.

So, how do you deal with crabapples?  After all, some years they’re tiny, other years they are fairly good-sized, sometimes they’re a little overripe, and sometimes…well, I could go on but I feel I’ve made my point.

If you “Google” crabapple jelly recipes, you’ll find about thirty.  Most will tell you exact measurements.  Which brings me to secret number one: there are no exact measurements when making crabapple jelly.  This is why you need a recipe that explains how you work with the fruit instead of trying to force it into a place it just won’t go.  Therefore…

  1. Use this recipe.   Julie Van Rosendaal took the time to write out the how, why, where, etc. on the proper process of making crabapple jam.  There is no reason to keep reading recipes that say x amount of fruit, x amount of water, and x amount of sugar.  I agree with her explanations, her sugar ratio, and her explanation about when the jam/jelly/jamly is ready.  You’ll be glad you didn’t waste your time reading through 200 hundred mixed reviews of every recipe out there.  This one is the best and I stand by my recommendation…and I’m picky.
  2. Make sure the fruit is ripe before you pick it.  If you rush crabapples, you’ll recreate a mistake I’ve made twice…the fruit will have too much tannin when prepped and it will give your mouth an astringent treatment.  If you’ve eaten a green persimmon…same thing.  You’ll know the crabapples are ripe and ready to harvest when some of them are already falling off the tree.  If you can find one or two that are slightly wrinkled on the tree, this is also a good sign. If the fruit is by and large yellow and slightly wrinkly, you may have missed the window.  Taste the apples – they need to be tart, but not astringent in order to work best.  You’ll be glad you waited and so will everyone who eats your jam.20130810_202646
  3. The only juicer you can really use on crabapples is a fine-straining type.  If you want to save some hassle and use straight crabapple juice, I would caution you about this decision.  Only if you’ve strained the juice well will it work – seeds, stems and blossoms can also add astringency to juice.  My best recommendation is to give up your thoughts about using a juicer and just cook the apples like the recipe says.  However, if you INSIST on using a juicer, make sure and understand that there will be a lower pectin rate, you’ll need to strain the juice, and your color might be slightly less because you didn’t cook the whole apples long enough for the peels to stain the juice a nice deep pink color.
  4. Take time on the front end to prep your fruit well.  The best fruit is washed fruit, destemmed and deleafed fruit, and WORM-FREE fruit.  Please be careful and inspect your fruit.  If you miss things like I mentioned, they’ll show up in your beautiful jelly or between someone’s teeth.
  5. In order to make sure it sets up, it really IS okay to use some SureGel or other type of pectin.  Although the recipe says that crabapples make their own pectin (and they do), I still use about 1/2 box per every 4 cups.  Otherwise, you might end up cooking the jamly down for 30, 40 or even more minutes in order to get it to the right setting up stage.  Either way, it will be lovely, but if you’re worrying about it setting up – give yourself a break and use SureGel!
  6. Can you recook jelly that didn’t set up?  ABSOLUTELY.  I’ve done this four or five times. Just open all the jars, dump them back into your stock pot, rinse and dry your jars and lids, then recook.  Remember the test – – reduce it until it’s clear, pure, beautiful…and test it on a cold plate.  The timing should be: already cold plate, add one drop of hot jelly out of your pan, put in freezer for 60 seconds only, take out.  If it wrinkles when you push it with your fingernail, it’s ready!  If it doesn’t, keep cooking!!
  7. Don’t have a crabapple tree?  Use the barter system!  I have never, ever seen a crabapple tree completely stripped of all the beautiful ripe fruit during picking season.  And, I’ve never owned a crabapple tree…I just look for trees in public spaces, or in my neighbor’s yards.  If you knock on a door and introduce yourself, pitch this idea:  “I’d love to pick a few gallons of your crabapples.  May I have permission if I bring you back a jar of jelly?”  All they can say is “no.”  And generally, they say, “heck yeah!”  We’ve utilized trees on golf courses, on university campuses, on street medians and in people’s yards.  Keep your eyes open, and let people know you’re looking.  There may be trees right around your corner!

Okay – that’s it.  You can use ANY kind of strainer:  a jelly bag, a colander, a strainer like mine (see below), but just make sure you really break apart the apples when you’re cooking them and you wait until all your juice finishes dripping into your pan.

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Crabapple jelly/jam/jamly is a beautiful thing.  So, take time to honor the beauty and you’ll be richly rewarded with jars upon jars of delicious, precious, jew-ly jamly every time you make it.

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Oklahoma Horizon TV

On the Horizon: Give Them a Fighting Chance

Whether I am recovering from a surgery or just that annoying lower back twinge we get from time to time, I am grateful for pain medication. It amazes me how scientists have figured out ways of stopping, or at least minimizing pain. But with all of the different cases for which I have taken prescription medicine I have never found myself “needing” more. The best side effect for me is the fact that it takes the pain away.

Every day we see more and more people hooked on prescription medicine. This epidemic is quickly becoming more serious than marijuana and cocaine. It is a sad and dangerous issue but one that doesn’t only hurt addicts and their loved ones. While reading an article about prescription drug abuse, I came across some frightening information. According to doctors in Oklahoma City, women are more likely to become addicted to prescription painkillers. With that increase comes the higher rate of unborn babies also becoming addicted. Our world can be a scary and dangerous place. Add that to the fact that an unborn baby is addicted to painkillers through no fault of their own – it is disheartening.

Whether you are pro-life or pro-choice is not an issue. If a baby is coming into the world, they should not have to start out a step behind because of unfortunate choices of their parent.

Andy Barth

On the Horizon: Prescription Drug Abuse from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

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Art, Poetry

The Summer Wind

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prairie

A southern breeze was born

far before the central Oklahoma horizon.

Darting across the prairies, bumping over the lakes

it grew in strength and unpredictability.

By the time it reached my four-room home

the wildness forced a path through our porch screen door,

under my bedroom window sill covered in cracking pale blue paint,

and around the corners of white vinyl siding

imprinted with tiny ridges.

Whooo-OOO bellowed the gales.

 

My four year-old eyebrows lifted, while my legs chased

the noise through my home’s center

and out the back door.

Practically falling down the back steps,

my chase ended as I saw the noisy blusters

take shape by lifting and expanding sheets hung on the

steadfast clothesline wire.

As the fully masted linens released the

grass-scented air with pops! at their hems,

I chased that wind until my scrawny legs gave way to fatigue.

The wind was older, stronger and faster.

 

Collapsing into the prairie grass-covered pasture,

I closed my eyes and listened.

The wind hadn’t gone after all.

Its infinity caresses passed over the tufts of Love grasses,

rattling the small dried seed pods.

Its fingers played with the wisps of my summer-colored hair

on my forehead and cheeks.

The folds of my ears created a new

whistle for the breeze to play,

to slide across, finishing with a high G-sharp.

The noise vibrated the membrane in my ear.

“I am here,” the whistle told me.  “I’ll always be around.”

 

The wind became my friend that day

and when the occasional draft bursts across my face now,

I want to dance with it on the prairie,

accompanied by the percussive rattle of Love grass seed pods,

until I fall into the sweet pasture’s arms

because my legs have no more strength.

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.