Christmas in the Shire

And by the Shire, I do mean England...London to be precise.  Though, I can imagine some of Tolkien's hobbits would have loved the Christmas we've been whipping up in the kitchen these last days.

Justin, inspired by a need to feed the masses at a carol service, signed his name on the line for two dozen mince pies.  I did the shopping, made many helpful suggestions, and rolled up my sleeves to help on the assembly line...but Justin took charge of finding recipes, mixing the mince by hand, and then mixing the crust.  The proof of the pudding is in the pictures!

 

The pies turned out splendidly, though dwarfed the other mince pies they found themselves next to...We blame it on our North American dietary habits...Justin also mixed up some brown sugar brandy butter, after hearing one of our favourite cooking show hosts (Mary Berry) rave about her love of brandy butter.  Nice combo, but you'll start to see a pattern with Brits and their brandy...

 Today, in preparation for tomorrow's Christmas dinner with friends, we were assigned two more dishes that we were completely unfamiliar with:  bread sauce and brandy sauce.  The jury is still out, but we're hoping that what we've made is what is expected to be brought... :)

Bread sauce on the left; Brandy sauce on the right

Justin getting back into green coffee bean roasting!

 Merry Christmas to all!

Highlights

Highlight from last night's Youth and Mentor night with people from church -- watching A Christmas Story (for my 100th time) with a group who had never watched it.  Even with a bit of a delay getting the film started, and slightly choppy internet stream, I was so pleased with the consistent peals of laughter throughout Ralphie's story.  As we say in our neck of the woods, "A good time was had by all."



A few other highlights from the last month or so...

Justin and I went north to Windermere in the Lake District for a conference on the United Reformed Church (for whom we work.)  We tacked on a few extra days to see the sights and do a bit of hiking in the "mountains."  It was beautiful.

Shortly thereafter, Justin turned 30.  This ended up entailing such risky behaviours as trying the old Menthos-in-Coke trick, which Justin got whole-heartedly into...as evidenced by the drill being out to make holes in the Menthos for stringing together...Use your imagination for the rest.  (Or look on YouTube for videos of how it turns out.)

Life then morphed into a whirlwind with a lovely visit from my parents.  Our time ranged from taste-testing several scones to practising our audio-tour techniques in places like Westminster Abbey, Windsor Castle, and Bath.

As these things go, all good things must come to an end.  We're getting back into the swing of work, but present now in this unique season of Advent.  It is strange how our connection to the season is a bit stunted this year, even with working for a religious institution that champions Advent.  Perhaps it is the different location, away from normal traditions with family, and choosing not to "invest" in Christmas-y decor since we're only here for two Christmases.  There will be no lemon tree with a string of lights and a couple ornaments in our room, no long hours at the bakery, rolling out thousands of Christmas tree-shaped sugar cookies, no sledding down the hill in the field behind the house.  There will be mince pies and mulled wine, attempting to stay up for the midnight Christmas Eve service, and enjoying the company of fine friends on Christmas Day.  I've gotten to share one of my traditions -- watching A Christmas Story -- and will surely share more in the coming days.  When good things come to an end, other good things can get started.

Show me what you've got, Christmas 2013.

When the Hope of Spring Comes Early

The last few days, Justin and I went to a "Welcome to the URC" course up north in Windermere, which is in the Lake District in Cumbria.  We spent time with others new to the denomination (the United Reformed Church), and learned all about its history, theology, and structure.

In one of the final worship times we had as a group, we were invited to each choose a postcard from a random selection spread on the floor in front of us.  I picked up one that had a charcoal drawing by Roy Wright called "You Can Never Hold Back Spring IV."  We were given time to reflect on the postcards, listening for how God was speaking to us through the images.

You Can Never Hold Back Spring IV

If you click on the image so it enlarges, you see that the gnarled, old tree is starting to show signs that it is ready to burst into the first blooms of Spring.

The tree has obviously been pruned a few times, but more likely from needing to take off snapped branches, and less for looks.  Twisted branches and random bulges give the tree character, and you inherently know that this tree will last a few more years, even if storms pass through.

It came to mind that though this image represents a season that we have yet to start planning for (since we're just now stepping into Winter), it does says something about the season of Advent that we're about to enter into.  We might often ascribe spring-like feelings to the longing for Easter, but this year, and at this time, the longing is for something new to blossom.  We long in Advent for the long-expected hope that we will be silenced in the arrival of a child whose character will be spoken of for many seasons in the future.  That is what this image says to me, though we are in the dark days of the Northern Hemisphere's winter, growing shorter and darker, both in a physical sense and in what can feel like a spiritual sense.  The world is messy, with twisted branches and random bulges, but is the birth of hope just around the corner?

I also post Justin's choice below, and though I won't speak much to what Justin reflected on, there is also a note of hopeful anticipation in a bird's first flight...Leaping off into a new experience, getting ready to see things from a different perspective.

First Flight by Nicolette Savage

What's in a name?

There's a lot in a person's name.  Some time ago, I skimmed through a book that dealt with the phenomenon of how our names often end up reflecting our personality, interests, or perhaps even outlook on life.  Perhaps some might think this has more to do with thinking along the lines of astrology and our 'signs'...But, I do think our names are deeply meaningful to our conscious and subconscious.  We are known to the world initially through our names.  Usually, before you know much about a person, you do know their name (or what they prefer to be called.)

As a person whose name is occasionally shortened, I've noticed that I react (inwardly, usually) when I'm called Val versus Valerie.  While my siblings occasionally call me Val, I have never introduced myself as Val, partly because I don't think I've ever identified with those three letters as my name...as "who I am."  I don't notice it with my siblings (perhaps because of a deep level of trust and long history that they Know Me), but I am often surprised when people, meeting me for the first time, refer to me as Val (even if I introduce myself as Valerie.)  I know that many times, it is because they may know someone else who shortens their name to Val, but I find that to be an unfair assumption.

On the surface, I realise this seems like a trivial topic.  But our names are these public things that we carry around with us wherever we go, and, as far as I know, everyone has names and so the conversation affects all of us!

I'm also aware that how we pronounce names is just as imperative as how many letters of a name we say. From the rarer names to the everyday names, there are so many different pronunciations, and yet to assume one way or another until you get it from the source, is again, unfair.  And should I mention spelling?  As much as "Val" gets my goat, so does "Valarie."  Gross.  That is not me.  (Though I'm sure it fits someone else very nicely.)

The moral of this mini-sermon:  It says a lot about how well you know someone when you address them with their preferred name, and pronounced correctly.  It says that you have let them define for you who they are or who they want to be, rather than needing your projection of them to define them. :)

Regardless of who we are, and what others call us, I am reminded of God's promise to the Israelites in Isaiah 49, "...look, I've written your names on the palms of my hands..."  We are known by God.  That is something to treasure.

When in France...

Too quickly the vacations fade in our memory!  Pictures taken, journal entries written, but, alas, 'reality' returns with ferocity.

In an attempt to stymie that return, we will recap for you a few moments of inspiration.

One of the public footpaths we took walks on

For the first week, we stayed just a mile from Lathus-St. Rémy, in the French region of Poitou-Charentes.  It was a beautiful area of countryside, chock full of serenity.  Nights were particularly striking in the still, pitch-blackness of it all.  It was actually a bit unnerving the first couple nights, which I think is a sign of how much we've grown to "deal" with life in a city.

We took long walks, slept and ate like kings and queens, and marvelled at the buildings which have stood for a thousand years.

Le Dorat, France

Yes, even royalty loves Nutella.

We headed into Paris then, to catch up with our friends Brad and Brenna who are also working with MMN.  While I had been to Paris during university, this was Justin's first voyage in the city of light.  Being the frugal (tight?) service workers we are, we hit up the free bits and left the expensive things behind.  It's funny -- in London, you have to pay to get into our big cathedrals (Westminster, St. Paul's) and all the museums are free.  In Paris, churches are free and the museums you pay for.  I'm sure there's some social commentary to be had on that.  Justin got REALLY into the parks -- Parc de Sceaux, Jardin des Tuileries, Jardin du Luxembourg, an arboretum, and the grounds of Versailles.  I got into the crepes.

That's wisteria behind us.  Huge.

Enjoying time with Dave&Rebekah Stutzman and Brad&Brenna Steury Graber

OCD is probably welcomed heartily at Versailles...with impressive results!

Justin stands amazed.

A little silence does not mean inaction!

We've been quiet lately -- a sign a bit of our current state of busyness.  Two things I (Valerie) have been spending a lot of time on lately are our Community Meal's Sweet 16 celebration and heading up another yarn bomb to somewhat coincide with the Sweet 16.

For those who are not immediately familiar with what our church refers to as the "Community Meal," this is a brief description of how it works:  The last Thursday of every month, we invite anyone and everyone to come share a meal in the church hall.  From a church perspective, it's an opportunity to show hospitality -- to neighbours, strangers, foreigners, and friends.  It's also a chance to strengthen social capital between various groups who might not otherwise connect on a personal level.  From a resident's perspective, it gives the chance to have a safe space to eat a very cheap meal (a suggested £2/$3 donation.)

It is by no means perfect:  for some, there is a longing for a broader diversity; for others, there is the desire to see the marginalised who do come to be welcomed more fully into the meal. 

Also a display of our hodgepodge Hackney nature is our little yarn bomb outside the church.  Pieces gathered from about 10 people in our church, with another 10 who helped put it all together, either by showing up at Knit-Ins (and providing moral support) or stitching together all of the pieces.  We have one more piece to put up (red!) and then our yarn bomb will be complete.  And I am ready for it to be so. :)

Getting in line at Community Meal

Encouraging the youth to get involved with yarn bombing at a Community Meal

One of our church youth serving a church Elder

In the holding cell

James joined us at one of our Knit-Ins

Sewing it all together at church

Installing!

 

Coffee and Textiles.

We - Justin especially - enjoyed a morning outing with Dieudonné, visiting from Burundi with his work for Street Action.  The trip took us to the Espresso Room, where we all humbly suffered through some truly fantastic drinks as part of Dieudonné's research for a café that the organisation is working towards.  Justin could certainly wax eloquent about the fruity hints and caramel notes, but I'm just here to post a few pictures.






Meanwhile, back at the ranch (i.e. Community House), I'm focusing on the upcoming yarn bomb that will be in connection with the neighbourhood's annual festival later this month.  Tomorrow is the first of three knit-ins at a pub down the street, and I'm expecting a mad success...though it sounds like there may be more drinkers than knitters.  But hey, community spirit isn't built by exclusion.  :)

I am ready to have my drawer empty.  A tip of the hat to Romans 8:22 -- the drawer is groaning in the labour pains of an upcoming yarn bomb...as are, occasionally, my shoulders.

Going for a rainbow theme...Can you tell?

Time together vs. time apart

Justin's out for the weekend at a festival.  We had to buy a second tube of toothpaste to accommodate this unheard of separation.  That's right -- this is the longest separation we've had since we arrived in London more than 6 months ago. 

We've gone from one extreme in our marriage to another, it seems.  Two weeks after we got married, I flew off for 6 weeks to lead a couple international service groups.  About a year and a half later, I moved to Pittsburgh to try my compatibility with grad school, while Justin stayed in Lancaster.  Last year, Justin went off on the Appalachian Trail for almost a month while I stayed home and worked.  We've a history of enjoying our independence from one another.

So, really, to go these 6 long months without even a thread of hope of getting space AND surviving nonetheless?  Miraculous.  In fact, we were recently reflecting on exactly how much time we've been spending together over the last months since moving here, and the fact that also share our living space with several others.  We're pleasantly surprised that we've managed, and even, for the most part, enjoyed spending a lot more time together.  Let's hope it lasts! :)

Photo courtesy of James Krabill

Picture post!

Speaking of...

A few pictures from our day out and about, specifically at the Geffrye Museum.  Loved being outside, in a garden, on a beautiful day.  Click on individual pictures for larger versions!

A "knotte" garden -- interwoven lines of plants.

The "potte" they speak of refers to veggies and herbs.  Though we're sure other types of "potte" may be grown for profit.

Quintessential Crazy English Garden.

Patriotic Flower Beds -- not only in the U.S.!

The caption for this piece of art by Charles West Cope reads:  "This young mother is depicted as the Victorian ideal -- surrounded by her well-behaved children, she is usefully employed in the economical task of knitting socks."  Can we recreate this, but with references to well-behaved dogs and yarn bombing?

Blessed pollinators in action!

Our Evolutionary Plans

Sharing a few thoughts that came to me as I watched ants truck around the Quiet Garden on Saturday, responding to their biological drive to survive....

Justin and I do not feel a biological need to reproduce our own offspring.  In fact, that was one of the very first things we bonded over shortly before beginning our romantic relationship.  We are very comfortable with our desire not to have children, and don't feel threatened by (nor try to impose our convictions upon) others who choose different paths.

We do, perhaps, still feel a drive to be present in the story of creation and evolution -- of "making the world a better place."  Our ideas for how to do that typically rest in a horticultural scene, with an emphasis on encouraging new life and growth in the way of plants, including fruit, vegetables, flowers, trees, etc.  We want one of our marks on this Earth to be one of improving the soil, providing a respite for others, and providing and/or growing a diverse array of food that addresses and promotes equality for people, animals, and the Earth.

Some of you know that we've long had on our hearts the practice of considering, "what is ours to do?" And we often come up with ideas of cooperative business centring on food and hospitality.  These ideas and dreams are our "babies," so to speak, and what we spend time doing and talking about.  We want to give our lives -- not necessarily raising a biological family -- but to birthing systems of equality, nurturing physical, emotional and spiritual health for all God's creatures, and investing our time in bringing those to the table who might otherwise go without.

As goes the common saying, we want to leave this beautiful creation in better shape than we found it. We know many others are also on this path, in various and unique ways, and that gives great strength for the journey.

Six Month Review

I'm reminded of an old joke my father would say at lunchtime on Saturdays, when all the leftovers from the week were pulled out of the fridge in hopes they would disappear.  He used to call this the "Mennonite Weekly Review," which is only funny to Mennonites, specifically those who are familiar with the publication, Mennonite Weekly Review.

As we approach our six-month anniversary of our time here, we're taking on the task of writing up a few reviews of our work here thus far, and it's a similar feeling to that of looking at the table on Saturdays and noon and considering, "What was good the first time around, what do I want to calorically invest in again, and will I be able to avoid this or that (normally green beans for me, as a child.)"  (Note:  I love that life can be compared to food.)

It's the same for most of us, I suppose.  We know what sorts of things we gladly give our time and energy to, what we're willing to do (though perhaps ambivalent towards), and what we'd really rather not do.  We are not so different, in being voluntary service workers, though perhaps there's a servant complex from time to time.

In other news, summer has finally hit England, and the schools are out for their summer holidays until the end of August.  It feels to us a little like a chance to catch our breath before the craziness of September ensues.  Justin is enjoying biking around a good bit more, and I am frantically knitting in preparation for a yarn bombing in September.

Some apologies for not writing incredibly frequently -- my blogging has matured, perhaps, since my early days when I first started just out of university.  Or, maybe, I hold my thoughts a little closer than I used to...Or, maybe Justin gets to hear them all and negates my need to process by writing. :)  (Count your blessings?)

"Practical" Worship, as an "alternative" view to "Alternative" Worship.

Taking faith to the street, we set out walking a few Sundays ago with Wood Green Mennonite Church.  Once a month, the church takes a break from mostly sedentary worship to consider an active, community-based approach to theology.

We met at a tube stop, nine of us in total.  We said a prayer and headed off down the busy “high street” (main street with shopping, banks, etc.) of Wood Green.  We stopped several times over the next two hours and two and something miles, to read scripture, hear reflections, and to pray, all entwined with the reality of our street presence.

The service finished, and the group set off to a pub for nibbles and a drink.  We chatted some more, sharing stories.

We went home, tired.  Church had worn us out. 

Worship, and its many methods.

The What-ifs

On Friday morning, I found myself articulating to myself that I could use a desert experience.  Jesus got 40 days off work at the beginning of his new job (read: life's mission) to be alone (and fast and deal with the devil, though I desire less of those parts of the desert.)  There is something about the mind and body saying together, "we need a break!" but then there's the rest of reality saying, "yes, but I'm right here."

Friday turned out to be a day unlike one I've ever had before.  I had gone to help a friend of a friend move from the apartment she could no longer afford into a house down the street where her brother lived.  The task, being done with a couple others, seemed simple enough.  We started moving a few things when the brother, whom I had just met, collapsed in what we thought was a seizure.  The two of us who were at the house at the time (the others, down the street), held him as best we could while it passed.  The others arrived, including his sister, and we put him to bed.  His sister deliberated calling the doctor (he was saying no), but was indecisive.  The rest of us kept moving things.

Less than an hour later, he had what appeared to be another seizure and stopped breathing.  An ambulance was called, but after an hour of CPR and other treatments, was unable to resuscitate him.  It turned out to be two back-to-back heart attacks, we learned later.

An unexpected death.  The vicar at the church where the brother and sister attend made it to the house at the same time as the ambulance.  Her reaction?  "I've lived in Hackney long enough that nothing surprises me."  The sister, shocked though she was, reacted similarly, saying several times, "I'm really not surprised."  He was an alcoholic, heavy smoker, and there was a family history of early deaths from heart problems.

It strikes me that this situation was full of "what ifs?"  And, for the sister, it will continue to be.  She can no longer move into the house where her brother was living, but she cannot afford to stay in her apartment.  Death doesn't discriminate, stopping at the door of those who desperately seek or need justice.  Nor does the other end of the cycle -- birth -- care a lick about everyone being born with equal footing and opportunity and love (and, and, and...).

I also saw my first births this year.  Another situation that is full of "what ifs."  New lives coming in the world, unaware of what's happening or how their situation may compare to others.  Mothers' bodies doing the seemingly impossible and miraculous all in one go, with so many chances for danger.

Painting by Stanley Spencer

How do we live in the midst of all this uncertainty?  There is so much unknown.  Frankly, I'm surprised more of us don't have serious anxiety issues.  Or, that more of us aren't walking around after witnessing these harrowing experiences with a mild form of PTSD.  New life and death are always expected (though may happen suddenly), sometimes joyful or celebrated, sometimes utterly heart-wrenching.

I don't know much about how this all works...We go on, dodging the drama as we are able, tripping over it occasionally, embracing it as we must when it is inevitable.

I left the situation on Friday, unsure if I will get that desert experience.  Or, if my experience might be more like an urban marsh experience....(i.e. Hackney).  How do we get away from the what ifs, the whys...?  They follow unceasingly.

Constructive Living

On Saturday, we played host at the monthly open Quiet Garden behind the Manse.  Part of the morning is spent in quiet reflection in the garden (as the London weather permits…) before coming back as a group and discussing questions that were posed before the meditation time began.

As Justin and I looked through some resources to get ideas as to where to take the morning, we thought about what was happening in the world at the time.  The G8 talks were getting ready to ramp up, and demonstrations had been taking place to raise awareness of food security and food sovereignty issues.  In one of our newly enjoyed books, The Healer’s Tree, by Annie Heppenstall (of Iona renown), we happened upon a story from Ireland called “Kevin and the Otter.”  The story tells about Kevin, a monk who lives with gentle care in his wooded environment.  His seeming oneness with the animal kingdom inspires others to join his order.

In the story, there is an otter who lives in a pond near the monastery.  Kevin gains such a deep level of trust with the otter that she brings fish to the door to share with Kevin.  After some time, one of the other monks, exploiting the trust of the otter, catches it with ease, kills it, and sells its pelt.

Most of our reactions to this story would be a sense of horror that trust could so easily be betrayed.  But the story goes on to point out that we are all guilty of such dishonesty as our lives in this day in age do result in the exploitation of natural resources.  It is impossible to extricate ourselves from consuming.

One of our housemates who was keeping up with the food sovereignty talk on social media, told us about an exchange she saw:  a person had taken a picture of a part of the protest and posted it as a sign of their support for the cause;  another person responded saying something to the effect of, “and did you take this with your iPhone?” (indicating their own use of finite mineral resources, likely taken somewhat illegally by private, multi-national corporations.)

So, for the meditation, we posed the questions, “How far do you want to go in living harmlessly?  And how far do you feel it is possible for you to live harmlessly?” and “In terms of creating increasingly sustainable and non-harmful lifestyles, how might we educate ourselves in finding new alternatives?”

Living in community with others who share differing values, the easiest thing to do is recognize the least common denominator.  What do we all agree on?  Where is the least tension?  But, is that really the best or healthiest?

How we live is also affected by where we live and our access to both resources and education.  Living in the city, we tend to focus more on how/where/why our resources (money, usually) are used.  Living in the country, the focus may more often be on how one lives or provides for self, money being less of a resource typically, and tangible goods being a greater resource.  Towns or villages fall somewhere in-between.

Lastly, we are short-sighted.  For most of human history, we have not had the luxury to think past our own existence.  We consume for now, make policy for now, etc.  It takes incredible discipline to think how even one action affects all of the future.

None of us (I don’t believe) chose when or where or to whom we would be born, but I think within our spaces and times, we have the call to live cognizant of a pursuit of justice for all – and that includes future generations.  Following the adage, “Live simply that others might simply live,” I would suggest, “Live harmlessly and constructively, so that others might live well.”

[Thanks to Rod and Vivi for fleshing out these ideas with us at the Quiet Garden – some of my writing reflects thoughts they brought up.]