Up on the mountain, down in the valley

It has been a year since I watched a man die, and a woman lose her husband. A brother lost his brother and a wife lost her brother-in-law. It was not in a hospital and we were not family. It was on the side of a mountain, on a hike. Some friends and I were tackling Camelback in Arizona as a kick-off to a weekend put aside for redeeming and celebrating. The heart attack, the helicopters, the chest compressions made for an emotional start.  We presented the crisis with little, simply strangers, available, helpless.

The woman was a Christian and shared between commanding sob-shouts of "Don't you leave me! God, please no!" that she had lost three family members in the past months. She was weathered from the goodbyes and from the hike itself. A friend and I tried to position ourselves in ways that helped to keep her from falling as her grief began in spurts of disbelief and anger. Amazingly, 4-6 medical professionals were on the scene within a few minutes, simply hikers themselves. Her husband was given non-stop compressions and CPR for about 40 minutes until uniformed medical professionals finally arrived. Some hikers politely continued up or down the mountain. Some perched at various locations up the side, off of ledges. Many were praying.

One nurse came over and having joined one of our prayers, said sincerely, "It's okay; God's right here." This did not trigger peace, as one might imagine. Having had a couple feeble, momentous months in a hospital setting which helped teach me a couple of things about theology and grief, I was not too surprised by the woman's violent and explicit reaction of disagreement. It was an especially low moment. Some present wanted to hush the wife, perhaps suspecting lightening to strike us all off the mountain; some present wanted to ask the nurse to leave. I believe the nurse also said something like "You don't mean that." Would it be okay if she did? Within the hour, the woman would be physically separated from her husband, never to walk beside him on this earth again. She would spend that night a widow and would think back on the horrific events of the mountain, spent with strangers, innumerable times.

That scene has stuck with me, for obvious reasons but also because of how poignantly it highlighted a gap in mainstream Christian theology, at least in practice. The nurse wanted to help but was relying on a rhetoric too thin, too trite, to be of use in this situation. And truly, this situation will face us all, though perhaps not as dramatically. So what of our faith, if it can't sit with the inevitable upset? Although well-meaning I'm sure, the nurse did not join in the woman's anguish over her dying husband. Instead she spoke with distance and the result was phrasing and behavior that I have never displayed before but have certainly felt. I confess that I have also been the nurse, scrambling for something to ease my own discomfort. The widow had to push back against the pat filler of silence that was offered and the pendulum swung. The nurse had inadvertently dismissed her place and the reality that had suddenly beset her.

It is in these moments of death and destruction, whether a nasty fight in a marriage, a personal failure, a broken heart over a parent's failures, an actual death, expected or unexpected, that there must be room for anguish and a Savior both. A Savior who cried and sat. Why did He come? What did he intentionally subject Himself to as an incarnational God? I was taken back to the mountain when I read a couple of weeks ago Kathleen Norris' observation that "...many Christian have lost the ability to see anything anguished as religious." At the expense of much art, some people's most defining stories, and humanity's deepest questions. Also at the expense of the faith's reputation. I wonder if the departure of many youth and young adults from faith is not due to the common error of making Christ and this worldview all too safe and canned. Perhaps in making Christian rhetoric simplified, easier to swallow, seeker-friendly, whatever the rationale, we have damned people and excluded them (because our experiences betray such a fragile theology) and in the meantime insulted God Himself.

I want to be better at getting to the heart of the matter in my interactions with people, in joining them. I want to validate where they are as a legitimate place from which they can engage with God. More importantly, He them. (We forget that He is the pursuer.) Salvation, the Kingdom, is after all for the darkest, heaviest corners first. I want to sit more, helping set an "open silence." The anguished places are not okay.  The grief cannot be fast-forwarded through. But there is a mystery of faith I have witnessed: as we sit still and awkward with pain, remembering and groaning, we can discover, slowly and barely, that our Savior is such that we can find Him there.

Storm Watch 2012

Did you know that whenever it rains in Los Angeles there are big news stories like "STORM WATCH 2012!" Mostly we roll our eyes but today I must admit that I have been quite chilly and was amazed at how wet I got on my short jaunts outside. Dante is restless and I'm not sure how he'll be at church tonight! We have done puzzles, played games, done more puzzles and games online, wrestled, set up trains, played more games... even had a "special drink" - warmed up milk with a little chocolate syrup - but wowzer, he's used to running and playing outside! 

Asher's been a bit out of sorts today too. The rain just makes him want to puke I guess, because he has been... a lot. Added to the fact that he filled his diaper and onesie to the point where a gardening shovel would not have been an inappropriate tool to aid my clean up effort and you've got a lot of laundry around here.

And... Dante just spilled the remained of his special drink... gotta go.

Ya Yam Head.

This is a yummy, healthy and cheap recipe adapted from one that a friend made for our family group. Now, I of course tainted it the last time I made it and added bacon, but that's not necessary. ;) It's like a roast mixed with a stew; nice on a cool day. :)

2 large chicken breasts (I just put the frozen ones straight in the crock pot but that does add more liquid which seeps some of the vitamins out of the veggies)

2-3 yams*, peeled and cut in large chunks or rounds (some say sweet potatoes-- the deep orangy ones, okay?)

3-4 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

1/2 - 1 red onion chopped

3 T. + maple syrup (orig. recipe called for the genuine stuff which was yummy but I've never had/used)

salt and pepper

(bacon if you're a glutton for, well, bacon...)

Put all the big stuff in your crock pot (I put the chicken in first). Give a generous dose of salt and pepper and drizzle the syrup over it all. Cook on low for 8 hours or until chicken is done. Great with some warm, buttered Italian bread from Fresh and Easy ($1 a loaf and miles better than other grocery stores' french bread). Mmmm.

Adapted from a recipe in the March issue of Parents

Chicken with a Peanut Satay Sauce - really like the sauce; could use in lots of ways! Please keep in mind my measurements are very approximate. :)

2-3 chicken breasts sliced in large strips

1 ½ c. veggie chunks (sounds yummy, huh?) – if carrots or something extra hard, microwave or steam for 5+ mins before

1 can coconut milk

1/3 c. creamy peanut butter

4 T lemon juice, divided

2 heaping T. brown sugar

2-3 T. red curry paste

3 T. soy sauce

2 T. canola oil

1-2 tsp. chili garlic sauce

1 tsp. minced garlic

 Mix oil, garlic, 1 T lemon juice, and 1 T. red curry paste. Coat chicken strips and veggies with it and let them hang out while you make the sauce and start your rice. In saucepan, whisk together all the rest of the ingredients, adjusting for your spiciness love level. Should thicken some. Bring to a simmer and turn off. Saute your chicken/veggie combo until chicken cooked through and through (could also skewer and grill at this point).  Drizzle some peanut sauce over chicken on plates and/or put in small bowls for dipping; it’s all the rage especially for those who tend to eat with their hands.

Awesome.