Cooking with Zoe: A Good Meal

"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love.

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you." 

~John 15:9, 12

I remember. 
I was a little girl, legs bare under my Sunday dress after ripping off tights that made my skin itch, running bare foot along rows of black leather cushions on fold out chairs linked by metal hooks on either side. Chasing or being chased by my friends, maybe Joy, maybe Jennifer, Allison or Melissa, we giggled and squealed up and down those ailes. From the rings on the back of chairs, underneath the seats, strewn hither and thither on the carpet, I would collect those little plastic cups, gather them up into heaping stacks. I would bring them home and stash them in the window seat in my room. Running my finger around that small little rim, round and round. I collected and collected a mountain of cups, always looking for an opportunity to put them to another use, not willing to believe they were just trash, certain they were treasures worth being repurposed. 
Abide in my love. 

I remember.
A dark gym, music blaring over a stereo, people milling about, catching up, laughing, hands patting on backs. Band members breaking down equipment, congregants folding up chairs, children running around underfoot. Between trips from the rows of chairs dwindling down to the stacked chairs building up, I would dodge to the table with the left over bread and wine. Such good, fresh, bread. Over and over, I snatch just one more bite.
Abide in my love.

I remember.
I was one nervous WASP amongst many brown, Sri Lankan catholics. I knew full well that to take participate, one needed to be catholic, which I never have been. So in attempts to juggle multiple layers of cultural sensitivity, I sat still and quiet, trying not to look too awkward, as my host family rose and proceeded forward. But my host mother turned around to me with a reprimanding smile, "We are all one. Come. Break bread with us."
Abide in my love. 

I remember.
Just barely. So much a daze from the whirl of a day all in white. Eyes locked on my groom, a crowd of people seated behind us, as our pastor says, "take, drink, eat." We begin, our first taste of food and drink as one, in the food and drink that binds.
Abide in my love.

I remember.
Eyes free to roam around that theater, as heads were bowed in contemplation. There is the one who bore his soul to us this week, there is the one who asked us to a meal, there is the one we knew before he was born, the one whose hand I grasped, the one I do not know, the one who makes me laugh, the one who makes me think, the one that is hard to love, the one whose music makes me smile. "His body. Broken for you." One by one they approach, our eyes lock, I am filled with love for them, I praise God for them.
Abide in my love. 

I remember.
He took. He thanked. He broke. He gave. He said, "This is My body, which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me." (Matthew 26:26-28; Mark 14:22-24)
Abide in my love. 

I remember.
That night He would be betrayed. "This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me." A new passing over. The sign and seal of the sacrificial lamb is that we share together in His death, that we love one another, that we are united in the covenant that is the promise of His and our coming new life.
Abide in my love. 

But I did not realize. I did not remember.

He did not drink with them. He poured out the drink, to be divided among them. He did not drink. "I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes" (Luke 22:17-20).

We remember, that we might bear the fruit of the vine, the fruit of love, the cup that he will drink when he comes again in glory. We abide in Him, He abides in us. We are growing for a feast, a sweetest drink. This communion, this life together, this love.

I remember. 
He is the vine, we are the branches. (John 15) Abide in Him, together.
Abide in His love.

--
Dear Lobsters, on this Good Friday, the remembrance of the first communion meal, would you share with me some of your significant experiences with communion?

Eat snow

Today, I had one goal: shop for groceries. 

Today's list of accomplishments: groceries shopped, snow eaten. 

I guess that makes it a good day, I would like to collect my bonus points now, thank you. 

I've been spending more time than I anticipated meditating on my incapacity to come up with a resolution for this year. I had lots of time to think about it this weekend when we went on this retreat, you know, the one where I was not joining a cult? They provided child care, which meant I had more waking hours away from Sofia than ever before in our lives. It was emotionally distressing at several points, I suffered worse from separation anxiety than she did I think, but it also provided enough space for me to be able to start forming coherent thoughts for the first time in - I don't want to calculate exactly how long. 

One of the retreat exercises included meditating on John 5:1-17 & Isaiah 5:1-7. In summary: Jesus is the vine, we are the branches, God is the gardener. God does the pruning that we might allow the life of Christ to flow through us and bear fruit. When we don't remain in Him, bad things happen. There is a whole lot of meat in these passages, a great deal of high minded, spiritual profound meat. But you know what God needed to teach me this specific weekend? The simple lesson that my life needs some pruning, and by my life, I mean my to-do list. 

I had two majors in college and went to grad school in an entirely different area. I've held jobs in about ten different fields, and have had career aspirations in about five times as many fields. I'm all over the place. On a prideful day, I like to think I just have so much to give the world, that's why I'm so "diversified." But on a day like I had this weekend, I was humbled and had to admit I'm just spreading myself too thin to be worthwhile in anything. I think I'm just grasping for worth, wallowing in insecurity about my identity. I keep thinking I have this figured out, and keep coming back around, face to face with God's truth, that I'm not secure in the right things. 

So I sat down in the still quiet time, sans squealing babe, that has become so unfamiliar. I brainstormed the list of "projects" I feel like I'm juggling these days. In less than ten minutes, I had 30 items on my list. thirty. ugh. No wonder I am always wracked with anxiety/anger/fear/despair when Sofia wakes up from a nap and I haven't had enough time to get "it all" done. I went back through the list, anxiously, but prayerfully, and started making the hard decisions about projects I need to let go of. I could only let go of about half. But when I got honest, there were only about six that were bearing fruit. Only about six that seemed truly of the Spirit. A few others might be worth returning to another day, but I am deciding to focus on these six and work to let go of the other things tugging at my heart/mind/creativity/sense of obligation. Talk about separation anxiety. 

But I'm supposed to honoring God in all I do, I have to remain in Him, I have to humbly submit myself to Him to be pruned. So, we'll see how I manage. Can't say I feel too secure or comfortable in this new zone just yet. But today I kept it to one goal for the day, and that goal got accomplished, and then some. A goal that supports one of my six key projects. So I will accept that today was a good day. Dear Lobsters, if you love Jesus, would you pray with me that I would survive some pruning so that God might bear fruit through me? Thanks much.