Enjoying the Garden
We have been enjoying tomatoes from our garden:
-growing;
-changing colors;
-tasting plain or in recipes.
- Gazpacho (a couple versions)
- Tabouleh
- Tomato-Basil-Swiss-Cheddar Quiche (only more like a casserole, as I omitted the crust)
- Bacon-lettuce-tomato sandwiches
- Tomato with a little pomegranate-balsamic vinegar
We have also used the basil for pesto, good with pasta, and also on pizza. Mmmm.
The parsley and green pepper (only two so far) have been good in the tabouleh as well.
We are thankful!
Tomato Triage
A couple Sundays ago, I had an experience in the garden that started with my feet.
It is one of those stories where one thing leads to another.
My feet/legs tend to swell, especially if standing, so I am supposed to wear elastic stockings.
Higher ones are better than lower ones, but I usually only wear the higher ones with skirts.
So Sunday when I came home from church, I just changed into a comfortable jeans jumper.
Long, with slits on the side.
I hiked it up to step over the little garden fence (built to discourage bunnies, which seems to be working so far).
I picked my little handful of basil, and started to step back over the fence. But I must not have picked everything up high enough; something caught and I fell backwards. A pretty soft fall actually onto my garden floor. But my arms flung out, and took down several tomato plants, including snapping off their stakes at the base in the process.
They went down like dominoes. It looked like a tornado hit. Pretty sad. I was fine, except for a small bruise I did not even notice until several days later. I thought of theater masks, comedy and tragedy, side by side, and knew with enough distance this might be a really funny sight.
I called for John, and he kept a calm face as he rescued the garden, putting in new stakes and re-tying the branches. We repaired for hours what only took a moment to put down. Amazingly, most everything still seems to be surviving.
Life is fragile. Life is tough. Life is good.
"Something There is That Doesn't Love a Wall"
What does it take to get down a wall?
Not take down a wall.
Get down.
Last Sunday, our church had a welcome-to-the-new-season (Of course, not just "Welcome Back". We have been here all summer! ) Block Party after worship. As part of the Outdoor Ministry, Jon Cline and son Greg, who are experienced at rappelling, were demonstrating their adventures by making some descents down the four-story church building. Sometimes I watched; sometimes I turned away. Too scary.
But eventually, I learned more about it, and began to see Jon's expertise more in context. Not only did Jon seem very skilled, but his son trusted him. That said a lot to me. His son trusted him.
Through the afternoon, they started teaching a few others to rappel as well. Eventually, I saw possibilities in it. John/my husband climbed down, raising some fun-money for the church.
John rappelling down the church wall
Laura climbing over the wall.I tried to follow directions the best I could. But since I had previously avoided watching others descending, I did not have much vision. He said the hardest part was just getting over the edge and leaning back. So I am pleased to say that I accomplished one version of "the hardest part". However, once over the edge of the wall, I got stuck there. I did not seem to have the core strength to push away from the wall with my tangled legs.
I grew fatigued as I hung there, not getting my legs into position to push. Finally, I suggested that maybe I just could not manage it. And then Jon calmly related, he could not pull me up from there, so I would have to go down. Ha! Not a scenario we had rehearsed! Of course, I thought maybe someone else could come help. And almost immediately, someone did: Craig Sleeman, down on the street knew that he was needed (no one cried out, "A LITTLE HELP UP HERE!"). So he and Jon quietly pulled me up together. My thanks!
StuckI cannot remember how old I was the last time I was burned this badly!
Not the end of the story.
I had thought about taking a pilates class advertised by a physical therapy group that had helped John/husband's back. I have been frustrated by my lack of discipline for those core muscles and trying to protect and prevent further hernias. So my weakness motivated me to call. The instructor/physical therapist wanted to evaluate me first, and perhaps to work individually with me before any such class. So I called my doctor for a 'scrip. However, he said no (actually, the nurse quoted, "Absolutely not!"), to just wear a girdle and do gentle exercises.
I was really hoping to make some progress before I see him again in December.
I need to call him again, or maybe go in, and maybe rephrase my question.
"He Made Us to Praise Him"
In the spring before I moved to Royal Oak, I read a small book that had been loaned to me about living with cancer. One idea that caught my attention was the healing aspects of writing and of music.
I thought maybe it would be a good idea to join the choir when I moved to my new church.
I sang a long time ago, and used to love it.
Maybe it is time for a new song, I thought.
However, this did not seem like a good motivation to join a church choir: for my own healing.
It sounded self-centered.
So I thought about it and did not proceed.
Then, when fall came and the choir started singing again, they sounded wonderful and the loft seemed so full. They did not seem to need any new people.
So I just listened.
But sometimes at home, I would find myself humming, and I still thought about singing.
I thought of how good the breathing would be for my stomach muscles
(especially since I am having such a hard time being disciplined about regularly exercising them).
And the choir people seemed really nice.
Maybe I could make friends there.
And maybe if I die here, they would sing at my funeral.
Plus, the director does not seem the yelling kind.
I wanted to sing.
But maybe my motives are not pure enough.
And what did I have to offer?
Answer:
I breathe. I have breath.
Not astounding breath.
But, aside from trying not to do anything too embarrassing, I will offer my breathing, as in Psalm 150:
Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty firmament!
Praise him his mighty deeds;
praise him according to his surpassing greatness!
Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings an pipe!
Praise him with clanging cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!
Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!
I breathe and so I need to praise.
And I need to sing.
Complaining is so easy.
There are difficult situations all around, wherever I look.
I ask to share prayers, and the list grows longer.
But I need the discipline of praise.
Beyond all the daily needs.
New Choir friend (and possible relative!) Mary at Fall Choir PicnicMaybe there are a lot of reasons to sing.
But one is that praising God is both good for God and good for me.
It is the order of things.
It is how we are made.
So I have attended two choir practices and have felt warmly welcomed and we are singing praises!
(And that is enough excitement for this Sunday.)
He Made Us to Praise Him
By Bryan Jeffrey Leech/Tom Fettke
He made us to know Him,
to love Him, to serve Him.
We do not deserve Him and all of his grace.
He made us to praise Him,
to need Him, to seek Him,
and then to express Him in wonderful ways.
